Chapter Fifty-Five: Schemes of the Heart

Yue Wanqing knew that Feng Xiaoli was fighting with her just to let her vent her emotions; once she had done so, everything would return to normal. Feng Xiaoli glanced around—anyone would feel stifled being confined in the same place for so long, especially someone as lively and restless as Yue Wanqing.

“As long as you’ve let it out.”

“Ali, your martial arts have improved so much! I almost couldn’t beat you!” Yue Wanqing spoke with genuine feeling. Just moments ago, she had poured her full strength into the fight, yet Feng Xiaoli had dodged with ease. If Feng Xiaoli were to diligently train on Snow Mist Mountain, in time her achievements would surely surpass Yue Wanqing’s.

Yet Feng Xiaoli didn’t see it that way.

She laughed softly. “Wanqing, it’s not that I’m stronger—it’s that you’ve grown weaker.”

The laughter faded in an instant, and once again shadows clouded Feng Xiaoli’s face. Slowly, she recounted to Yue Wanqing how she had gone to Snow Mist Mountain to seek her master that day, convinced that the master’s notes would hold records of such a rare poison. What she had not expected was that someone else had beaten her to it, seizing the notes ahead of her. She described in detail the black-clad men she had encountered, carefully telling the tale but omitting any mention of Zi Lin. She also told Yue Wanqing the scheme behind why the black-clad men had split into two groups—a classic ruse, sacrificing some to draw away attention so that the notes could be smuggled out of sight of both herself and Zi Lin. They had succeeded, and she had to admit the mastermind behind it all was truly cunning.

As long as Zi Lin was mentioned before Yue Wanqing, she would lose her composure.

Yue Wanqing listened thoughtfully, resting her chin on her hand. “If what you say is true, then someone is indeed coveting those notes, and their ultimate aim is to keep you from finding a way to save Luo Wensheng. Once Luo Wensheng is dead, Xiang Lian will surely be implicated.”

“You’re right, but I can’t figure out why she wants to destroy Xiang Lian. What could she possibly gain from it?” Feng Xiaoli rubbed her temples; she had never been skilled at unraveling such schemes—they were simply too vexing.

“Suppose Xiang Lian represents Tianshang. Suppose Luo Wensheng also represents Tianshang. Suppose Xiang Lian kills Luo Wensheng…” Yue Wanqing followed the thread of her thoughts.

Feng Xiaoli suddenly said, “Then, for Huaijing, this is a golden opportunity—one to weaken Tianshang’s power. Luo Wensheng is a prince of Tianshang, and there are not many princes in the Tianshang royal family, even fewer with true ability. Luo Wensheng is undoubtedly the most capable. I suspect the throne of Tianshang would eventually fall to him. If, at this critical moment, Xiang Lian, out of resentment at being made a hostage, were to poison Luo Wensheng—even though it happens on Huaijing’s soil, the blame could not fall directly on the Huaijing royal family. The fault would lie with the hostage from Tianshang, Xiang Lian, who poisoned Luo Wensheng in an act of revenge.”

“And this would escalate to the point where, while the Emperor of Tianshang is mourning his beloved son, Huaijing might make a move, provoking war. The other princes of Tianshang are weak and incapable of defending their realm. If war breaks out at the moment of the emperor’s grief, Tianshang may not withstand the assault,” Yue Wanqing continued.

“But Tianshang is not weak; its power matches Huaijing’s. Would an emperor truly let the death of his son cloud his judgment?” Feng Xiaoli questioned further.

“Though they are well-matched, times have changed. The emperor of Tianshang grows weaker with each passing day. There’s a rumor that once Luo Wensheng completes his mission in Huaijing, the emperor intends to abdicate and pass the throne to him. Luo Wensheng is set to become the next emperor of Tianshang. But fate is unpredictable—who could have foreseen such a calamity now?” Yue Wanqing sighed.

“No wonder… So it’s the emperor’s failing health. Coupled with the loss of his beloved son, the shock might be too much to bear—he could die on the spot,” Feng Xiaoli speculated.

“That’s one possibility. If the Emperor of Tianshang dies like this, and Luo Wensheng perishes in a foreign land, there will be no one to oversee the court. The remaining princes might vie for the throne, possibly plunging the country into civil strife. That outcome would suit Huaijing perfectly—they could watch from the sidelines and reap the rewards,” Yue Wanqing continued.

“But, Wanqing, here’s what I don’t understand: if Huaijing can do this, why couldn’t the other three nations do the same—compete for Tianshang and annex it as their own? If Huaijing could do it, so could the others.”

Yue Wanqing sighed again. How could she still not understand? She had explained so clearly, yet Feng Xiaoli still looked confused. One had to wonder what exactly was inside her head.

Yue Wanqing gave Feng Xiaoli a sharp flick on the forehead, exasperated yet fond. “You really are hopeless sometimes! Do you think, after all this, Huaijing would just let the other three nations’ envoys return home easily? To seize Tianshang in one stroke, Huaijing can’t allow any further incidents. The envoys from the other nations are all of great importance in their respective countries. To ensure their safety, their rulers would not dare act rashly. Otherwise, knowing Huaijing’s depth of scheming, they might well send a pile of corpses back instead.”

Feng Xiaoli gazed at Yue Wanqing in admiration. Indeed, experience was invaluable—Yue Wanqing’s analysis was thorough and convincing, as if the events were unfolding before them. If she was right, the balance between nations would soon collapse, and war would be inevitable.

What they did not yet realize was that, beneath a veneer of neighborly peace, every nation was in fact waiting for the perfect moment to strike, to catch their rivals unprepared.

Tianshang was a prime example. What Yue Wanqing and Feng Xiaoli could deduce, others could as well. Yuchi Jingque and Jun Mochen, for instance, each held secret discussions in their own quarters, or sent messages by carrier pigeon, cautioning their people to remain still and observe the shifting tides before making any move.

Given the current state of affairs, it was highly likely that Yue Wanqing and Feng Xiaoli’s predictions would come to pass—that the nations would soon clash in war. If they wished to prevent such disaster, they needed to plan well, to make good use of the little time remaining and quickly devise a solution. For now, leaving Huaijing was impossible; so the only thing they could do was wait, and remain still.

Yet, as always, events took an unexpected turn. Often, things develop in the worst direction no matter how much one wishes otherwise. And so it happened now.

That very night, after Feng Xiaoli returned to her room, Zi Lin appeared before her, his expression grave. For Zi Lin to look so solemn, the matter must indeed be dire. His usually pleasant voice carried a chill as he delivered the dreadful news.

“Luo Wensheng is dead.”