Her breath caught.
That face—!
Her heart stilled for a beat before slamming wildly inside her chest.
Zhao Ling Xu.
She took a step back.
Her eyes widened in shock.
Zhao Ling Xu didn’t flinch.
Instead, a flicker of pain passed through his eyes. So faint, but so very real.
"
And yet... here he was, staring at her with none of the madness of Pei Rong. None of the cruelty of the Empress. Just a strange calm. An eerie... sadness.
Before she could ask what twisted ga this was, he took a step forward.
"I can help your maid," he said. "If you can find him."
Her brows furrowed.
"...Him?"
Zhao Ling Xu nodded.
"You know who I an."
She blinked again, processing his words.
The prince.
Zhao Yan.
"They say he’s dead," Ling Xu said. "But I don’t believe it. You don’t believe it either, do you?"
Hua Jing’s lips parted slightly. The wind carried the strands of her hair across her face, but she didn’t move. Her brain was too stunned to keep up.
Zhao Ling Xu wasn’t done.
"You left the palace because you don’t believe it. Because deep down, you know he’s still alive."
Every word he said dug deep.
She hadn’t expected this.
Not from him.
Not from soone who had every reason to let Zhao Yan vanish into myth.
Not from soone who stood on the edge of becoming emperor himself.
"If you find him," he continued, "and bring him back before the coronation—your maid will be safe. I’ll make sure of it."
The desperation in his voice was subtle... but it was there.
It cracked through the calm he wore like armor.
She stared at him.
Who was this man?
Why was he doing this?
He had the throne within reach.
Why hand it back?
He could rule. He could erase Zhao Yan’s legacy. He could silence the world and write his own story.
And yet...
He stood before her like a broken boy.
"I don’t know what you and Zhao Yan were," he added, "but I know what he ant to people."
He paused.
"To ."
Hua Jing’s heart paused.
What?
They were half-brothers. Stepbrothers. Raised under one roof, and yet always separated by walls—blood, lies, loyalty.
She rembered the mourning hall.
Zhao Ling Xu on his knees.
Weeping like a child.
Crying not for power.
But for a father.
"Find him," Ling Xu said, his voice tightening. "Bring him back. I’ll owe you everything. My life. My na. Whatever you want."
She swallowed hard.
The moonlight bathed them in silver.
The wind roared again.
Still, she said nothing.
"Please," he said.
Her mind flashed again—Zhao Yan’s face, his smile, his touch.
And now, the face of this broken prince standing before her.
Could she do it?
Was there still ti?
Zhao Ling Xu took one final step forward.
"So?" he asked. "Can you save him? Can you bring him back?"
Hua Jing blinked.
Zhao Lingxu’s question still hovered in the air, but her mind had already begun racing—flashing back through everything that had unraveled in the palace these past days.
The Emperor’s death.
The whispers of treason.
Zhao Yan’s sudden disappearance.
The blood. The lies. The coronation being rushed.
And then—Xia Lin.
That image ca back like lightning—Xia Lin, unconscious, her small fra slumped over that hulking brute’s shoulder. Another young maid collapsed beside her, crumpled like a discarded doll.
The rage rose again.
Hot and fast.
Hua Jing’s fists clenched.
Her eyes, wide with mory and fury, now narrowed as she locked them onto Zhao Lingxu.
"I can bring him back," she said, her voice taut with conviction.
Her next words were almost a growl. "But what about you?"
She took a step forward, her eyes searing. "Will you save her?"
Her voice cracked.
"Will you save Xia Lin?"
Zhao Lingxu didn’t flinch. He looked at her, eyes solemn. The weight of her desperation sank into him like a stone. There was no mocking smile on his lips. No coolness in his voice.
"I will," he said simply.
Another step forward.
"Whatever happens," he continued, "I’ll make sure she’s safe. You have my word."
Then, from within the folds of his dark robes, he pulled sothing out.
It was a small vial—no bigger than her thumb.
But even without the cork being removed, Hua Jing reeled.
She instinctively turned her face away from the putrid stench that leaked from it, despite it being sealed.
"What... is this?" she asked, eyes wide.
"The poison," Zhao Lingxu said quietly. "The one used on the prince."
Her breath hitched. "Poison?"
Her whole body went still.
Zhao Lingxu nodded gravely.
"They used it during the ambush. The arrow was only the delivery. This..." he raised the vial slightly, "...is Widow’s Poison."
A chill ran through her spine.
"I’ve read about it," he continued. "It seeps quickly through the blood. It slows the heart, confuses the mind. If untreated by midday tomorrow..."
He didn’t finish.
He didn’t need to.
Her hands trembled slightly as she took the vial from him. It was warm to the touch, as though the evil within pulsed with life.
"Where is he?" she demanded.
"I don’t know exactly," Zhao Lingxu replied. "But I’m betting he was taken to the village east of the palace. It’s where all the royal physicians co from. There’s a healer there—old man Gu Wei."
The na felt ancient. Weighted. Important.
"He’s the only one who knows how to prepare the antidote," Lingxu added. "You’ll find his ho at the top of the hill. You’ll have to ask around—but be discreet."
Hua Jing stared at the vial, her grip tightening.
Midday tomorrow.
She had less than a day.
"Go to Gu Wei. Get the antidote. Then find the prince—before it’s too late."
She looked up.
There were so many questions still clawing at her throat.
So many things left unsaid.
"Did you—" she started, voice hoarse. "Were you the one who... who shot him?"
The arrow.
That cursed arrow.
Zhao Lingxu’s eyes darkened, his jaw tensing.
"No," he said, shaking his head. "It wasn’t ."
He looked away, almost shafully. "It was one of my father’s n. I never ordered it. I swear."
She didn’t know if she could believe him.
But she wanted to.
So part of her, broken and battered, still believed in slivers of hope.
Zhao Lingxu took a step back, pulling his mask back over his face.
"
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