The night was cool, the scent of rain lingering in the air as Hua Jing and Zhao Yan walked hand in hand toward the waiting carriage.
The clutched their hands so tightly that none of them wished to let go.
The world around them felt oddly silent.
It wasn’t the kind of silence that ca from peace—but the kind that followed the collapse of sothing great, sothing that would never be the sa again.
From this day on, the Hua family was never going to be the sa again.
Behind them, the grand Hua Mansion stood tall, its walls holding years of power and history. But now, it was no longer an unshakable force.
Now, it was crumbling.
With everything that had happened, and every word that had been uttered, and every year that had listened to everything that had been said, there was no way the rumors old not spread throughout the whole empire.
Hua Jing stopped.
Her fingers tightened around Zhao Yan’s hand as she turned her head to take one final look at the place she had once called ho.
He quickly covered her hands with his bigger ones providing warmth.
The place that had never truly been a ho to her at all.
Her gaze swept over the grand halls and imposing towers, the intricate carvings on the doors, the well-manicured gardens where noble ladies once walked gracefully, whispering about the lowly illegitimate daughter of the Hua family.
How ironic.
Soon, these sa halls would be filled with scandal.
Soon, the sa noblewon who had sneered at her would turn on Chen Li, whispering behind her back, treating her as nothing more than a disgraced woman who had lost everything.
Hua Jing felt no pity.
They had earned this fate.
She knew the chaos that would follow.
Chen Li’s downfall was inevitable.
Hua Ming Rong, too, would not escape unscathed.
The noble families that had aligned themselves with them—the Jiang family included—would suffer the consequences of their sins.
A bitter smile curled Hua Jing’s lips.
This world had its rules. And one of those rules was simple—when a powerful house begins to fall, no one will reach out to save them.
They would tear each other apart before they accepted defeat.
She turned her gaze toward the small courtyard in the distance, partially visible beyond the towering walls.
The place where the original Hua Jing had lived.
Her breath caught.
That place...
A rush of mories slamd into her like a tide she wasn’t prepared for.
mories not of her own—but of the Hua Jing of this world.
She had spent so much ti in that courtyard.
Trapped.
Alone.
She had wept there, silently, too afraid to cry out loud.
She had bled there, under the cruel hands of those who saw her as nothing more than a nuisance.
She had endured there, knowing that no one in that household would ever see her as anything more than an unwanted mistake.
The air felt heavy, suffocating.
Her fingers trembled.
Zhao Yan felt it.
Without hesitation, he squeezed her hand, his warmth wrapping around her like a silent promise.
"If you don’t want to look," he murmured, his voice low and steady, "then don’t look."
Hua Jing inhaled sharply.
Then, she shook her head.
"This is the last ti I will ever be here," she whispered. "I need to see it."
And so, she did.
She looked.
She allowed herself this mont—to rember, to feel the weight of the past one last ti before she let it go forever.
Zhao Yan did not rush her.
He simply held her hand.
Firm. Steady. Unshakable.
The only thing in her life that had never wavered.
She turned to him, her lips curving into the softest of smiles.
"Things will be very chaotic from now on," she murmured.
Zhao Yan’s lips twitched, amusent flickering in his gaze.
"They can try," he said simply.
Hua Jing knew exactly what he ant.
There would be resistance.
The other consorts would not accept her so easily.
The open favor Zhao Yan would show her would send shockwaves through the palace.
She knew this man.
She knew there was no way he would hold himself back from her now.
And she didn’t want him to.
She wanted him—fully, completely, without restraint.
But she also knew what that ant.
Zhao Yan was not just a man in love.
He was a prince.
And his love was a declaration of war.
Hua Jing lowered her gaze to their intertwined hands.
The warmth of his palm pressed against hers.
If I have him, then nothing else will matter.
She lifted her head and smiled at him.
He returned it, his gaze burning with unspoken promises.
Then, together—
They turned.
They walked toward the carriage, leaving behind the past that had once bound her in chains.
But just as they neared it—
A voice called out.
A weak, trembling voice.
"Seventh Consort... My Prince... Please wait!"
The words ca from behind them, breathless, desperate.
The uneven steps, the sound of soone stumbling forward—
Hua Jing turned, brows furrowed.
Zhao Yan imdiately tensed. His grip on her tightened, a silent gesture of protection.
A young woman stood there, her body swaying unsteadily, her legs wobbly, barely holding her upright.
Her silk robes, though once elegant, were stained with dirt, as if she had fallen before dragging herself here.
Her face was pale, her lips trembling.
Tears glistened in her wide, desperate eyes.
She looked fragile.
Too fragile.
Zhao Yan’s expression darkened.
Hua Jing tilted her head, her eyes flickering with quiet curiosity.
Then, her eyes widened
"You...?"
But before she could finish her question, the girl took another step forward, barely able to stand straight.
And then—
She dropped to her knees.
The rain had stopped, but the ground was still cold and damp.
Still, she knelt.
Her fingers clenched into the dirt, her lips parted as if she was struggling to breathe.
She looked up at them, her eyes filled with sothing raw, sothing desperate—
And then—
She spoke.
"Please... save ."
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