ATPnovel In Chapter 350, Qin Mu mentioned Xu Fenghua, Jiang Zhaoyue, and Zhao Qingxue one by one, each word p
In Chapter 350, Qin Mu mentioned Xu Fenghua, Jiang Zhaoyue, and Zhao Qingxue one by one, each word p
Upon hearing the word "sister," Xu Longxiang's heart clenched.
The tightness started from his heart, like an invisible hand suddenly gripping it, squeezing it hard and tightly.
sister.
When Qin Mu uttered those two words, every stroke of the pen felt like a needle piercing the softest spot in his heart.
He remembered his sister's face, the way she stood on the northern city wall, her words fading in the wind, and her amber eyes that always seemed to be smiling.
He recalled the day she entered the palace, in her bright red wedding dress, phoenix coronet and embroidered robe, amidst a hall full of red silk and candles.
He sat in the guest section, watching her walk step by step toward Qin Mu, watching her lower her head and let Qin Mu put the phoenix crown on her head, watching the appropriate and just-right smile on her lips.
His fingers clenched even tighter, his nails piercing his palms, drawing out sticky, warm blood, but he could no longer feel it.
"Thank you for your concern, Your Majesty." His voice was hoarse, calm, and utterly undisturbed.
Qin Mu turned around and took a white jade porcelain bottle from the eunuch's hand.
The porcelain bottle was very small, only the size of a thumb, and was pure white. The mouth of the bottle was sealed with red silk and tied with a gold ribbon.
He placed the porcelain vase beside Xu Longxiang's pillow with a very light and gentle touch, as if he were placing a fragile piece of porcelain.
"This is the best medicine in the palace," he said, his voice still very soft. "It has a remarkable effect on internal injuries. Remember to use it, my dear minister."
Xu Longxiang's gaze fell on the white jade porcelain bottle, on the golden ribbon, and on the mouth of the bottle sealed with red silk.
He reached out, his fingers trembling slightly, picked up the porcelain bottle, and held it in his palm.
The porcelain bottle was very cold, as cold as ice. The coolness seeped into my palm, spreading along my blood vessels to my wrist, arm, shoulder, and finally to my heart.
His heart grew even colder.
"Thank you for the medicine, Your Majesty," he said.
His voice was hoarse and calm, so calm that it was completely undisturbed.
Qin Mu looked at him, at his hand holding the porcelain bottle, at his lowered eyelids, and at the faint, persistent smile on his lips.
He smiled, turned around, and faced Zhao Qingxue.
Zhao Qingxue stood beside him, her bright red palace dress standing out vividly in the sunlight.
Her face was expressionless, but something was trembling slightly in her deep purple phoenix eyes.
Qin Mu reached out and gently took her hand.
The movement was very light and natural, as if it had been done countless times before.
Zhao Qingxue did not pull away, but simply let him hold her hand.
Her fingers were slightly cool, and there was a barely perceptible tremor at the fingertips.
Qin Mu turned his head and looked at Xu Longxiang again.
The smile on his lips deepened, and his eyes held a natural, intimate light that only a husband would show when he talks about his wife.
"My Empress," he asked softly, with a hint of a smile, "how is she?"
Xu Longxiang's gaze fell on the two clasped hands, on Qin Mu's posture in holding Zhao Qingxue's hand, and on Zhao Qingxue's hand that did not pull away.
Something inside him shattered, shattered quietly, without a sound, without a trace, so quietly that even he himself could hardly perceive it.
He recalled the scene at the entrance of the Imperial Ancestral Temple—she knelt down, lowered her head, and said, "Your Majesty, I obey the decree."
He remembered her reaching out and placing her hand in Qin Mu's palm.
He remembered their fingers intertwined, raised high into the air, raised in front of everyone.
A slow, gentle smile curved his lips.
The curve was shallow and faint, like a flower blooming on the edge of a cliff, ready to be blown away by the wind at any moment.
There was a smile in that curve, but beneath that smile lay something shattered beyond repair.
"He is a perfect match for His Majesty," he said.
His voice was hoarse, calm, so calm that there wasn't a ripple in it.
Qin Mu smiled.
That smile was genuine and joyful, like a child who had received a beloved toy.
He held Zhao Qingxue's hand, squeezed it gently, and then let go.
"Don't worry," his voice was still very soft, with an undeniable certainty, "Although I now have an empress, your sister's status will not change."
He paused, the smile on his lips deepening, his eyes gleaming with a knowing, smug light that only men share.
"What's more, your sister is now pregnant with my child. She will receive even more favor from me."
Xu Longxiang's heart suddenly clenched.
The spasms started from the heart, like a dull knife, cutting slowly, one spasm after another.
Only one thought echoed wildly in his mind—the child.
His sister is pregnant with his child.
His blood is in his belly.
He remembered the letter written in blood, the neat and tidy handwriting—"Brother, I beg you. Abort this child."
He thought that as long as he aborted the child, his sister would still be his sister, and the North would still be the North.
But at this moment, Qin Mu stood before him, speaking in a nonchalant and casual tone—"Your sister is now pregnant with my child. She will receive even more favor from me."
More.
These three words, like three giant rocks, fell from the sky and crashed into the calm lake in his heart.
He remembered his sister's face, and how she stood on the northern city wall, her words broken by the wind—"Longxiang, you must remember, the people of the Xu family have the strongest backbone."
Bones are the hardest material.
But can even the hardest bone be harder than the flesh inside your belly?
His fingers clenched tightly under the covers, his nails piercing his palms, drawing blood that soaked the bedding.
But he couldn't feel the pain; only one thought occupied his mind—his sister wouldn't abort the child.
She won't.
She won't.
"Thank you, Your Majesty," he said.
His voice was hoarse and calm, so calm that it was completely undisturbed.
Only he himself knew what kind of abyss lay beneath that calm surface.
Qin Mu looked at him, at his lowered eyelids, and at the faint, persistent smile on his lips.
He nodded, turned around, faced the door, and took two steps.
He suddenly stopped and didn't look back.
"By the way," his voice drifted from the front, very soft and faint, as if through a thin veil, indistinct, "I also like Jiang Qingxue, whom you presented to me."
Xu Longxiang's body stiffened abruptly.
The stiffness started from the spine, like a rope suddenly taut, spreading from the tailbone all the way to the back of the head, with every vertebra tensing up in that instant.
"Minister Xu is truly thoughtful."
After Qin Mu finished speaking, he stepped across the threshold.
A moon-white robe flashed at the doorway and disappeared into the sunlight.
Zhao Qingxue followed behind him, her bright red skirt trailing on the ground, making a soft rustling sound.
She didn't turn around, nor did she even pause in her steps; she simply walked past him as if he didn't exist at all.
The officials followed behind, passing by the gate one after another.
No one looked at him, no one spoke, only footsteps, dull and jumbled, like some kind of ancient lament.
Fan Li walked at the very back. He paused at the doorway, wanting to turn around and take a look, but he didn't dare.
He was afraid that if he turned around, he wouldn't be able to resist rushing in and asking His Highness, "Are you alright?"
He didn't turn around, but just kept his head down and followed the group out.
The door slowly closed behind the last person.
A soft "bang" cut off the sunlight outside, and also blocked out the man's light yet dagger-like words.
Xu Longxiang lay motionless on the bed.
He was still holding the white jade porcelain bottle in his hand. The bottle was icy cold, like a block of ice. The coldness seeped into his palm, spreading along his blood vessels all the way to his heart.
His heart had turned cold.
The words Qin Mu had just said kept echoing in his mind.
Every word was like a knife, cutting into his heart piece by piece.
The first cut—"Your sister is now pregnant with my child. She will receive even more favor from me."
The second cut—"I also like Jiang Qingxue, whom you presented to me."
The third cut—"Minister Xu, you're truly thoughtful."
I have a heart.
These three words are more ruthless than all the knives before them.
Because it wasn't a threat, it wasn't showing off, it was gratitude.
It was a sincere, heartfelt, and smiling expression of gratitude.
He thanked him, thanked him for sending his sister to the palace, thanked him for sending Jiang Qingxue to the palace, and thanked him for sending his women one by one to that man's bed.
He thanked him.
Xu Longxiang let out a very soft, suppressed, broken sob.
The sound was like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, desperately trying to meow but unable to, only managing to squeeze out a low, muffled, heartbreaking sound from deep in its throat.
He opened his mouth, trying to inhale, but before he could even take a breath, a sweet, scalding liquid welled up in his throat.
Before he could swallow or cover his mouth, the liquid gushed out.
"puff--"
A mouthful of blood, not the kind of blood forced out to feign injury, but real blood, gushing from his heart, carrying all his resentment, all his anger, and all his despair.
The blood bloomed in the air like a shocking flower, falling onto the moon-white bedding, the moon-white pillowcase, and the cold white jade porcelain bottle still held in his hand.
His body suddenly arched up, like a shrimp whose back had been stepped on.
He clutched his chest, his fingers gripping the blood-soaked undergarment tightly, his knuckles white, and the veins on the back of his hand bulging.
His mouth was open, and blood spilled from the corner of his mouth, sliding down his chin and dripping onto the bedding, spreading into dark red, shocking patterns.
His eyes were still open, but the light in those deep brown eyes was slowly fading, like the last star in a northern winter night being swallowed up inch by inch by dark clouds.
He stared at the top of the bed curtains, at the blood-splattered, grayish-white canopy, at the empty space above which there was nothing.
Only one image remained in his mind—Zhao Qingxue, dressed in a bright red palace gown, standing beside Qin Mu, Qin Mu holding her hand and saying, "My Empress."
She stood there, neither looking at Qin Mu nor at him.
She simply stood there, a faint smile on her face—a smile not directed at him, but the kind of smile that woman gave to everyone: polite, just right, but devoid of warmth.