Chapter 37: Night Raid on the Imperial Palace

In the depths of winter, the Changchun Palace was filled with the cozy warmth of glowing charcoal in the heating chamber. The Empress Dowager reclined lazily on a fox-fur-covered couch, a triumphant smile playing on her lips as an elderly maid beside her spoke with animated delight.

"Your Majesty, your plan was truly ingenious!" the old maid’s voice was sharp and thin, brimming with irrepressible excitement.

The Empress Dowager nodded slightly, lifted her teacup, and took a slow, measured sip. "Hmph, that is the price for siding with the Emperor and daring to oppose me."

Just then, a fierce gust of wind burst into the room, causing the candle flames to flicker violently, nearly extinguished. Before the Empress Dowager and her maid could react, a dark figure leapt through the window like a phantom, landing without a sound. Dressed entirely in black with a mask covering his face, only his eyes—sharp as a hawk’s—were visible. In his hand, a long blade shimmered with a chilling, icy light.

"Who are you? How dare you trespass into the Empress Dowager's bedchamber!" the maid stammered, forcing a show of composure, though her voice trembled with terror.

"The antidote," the masked man said, his voice low and raspy. He held his sword in one hand, pointing the tip steadily at the Empress Dowager.

The Empress Dowager shuddered, her eyes darting downward in guilt. "What antidote? I know nothing of such things."

The masked man did not waste words. With a flick of his wrist, he struck her hair ornaments. The Empress Dowager felt her head lighten, followed by a crisp clatter as her priceless hairpins and tassels tumbled to the floor.

The maid shrieked in alarm, "Guards! There is an assas—"

Before she could finish, a hidden blade flew from the masked man’s sleeve, piercing the maid’s throat. She collapsed, blood gushing from her neck and staining the golden bricks of the floor with a shocking crimson.

"The antidote," he repeated, turning his gaze back to the Empress Dowager.

Watching the maid’s body slump to the ground, the Empress Dowager’s legs turned to jelly, and she nearly collapsed in terror. "You bold thief! What is your connection to Chen Shuwan? Are you not afraid of dying without a burial place for breaking into the palace today?"

"Chen Shuwan?" The masked man arched an eyebrow, a strange glint flashing in his eyes. A low, icy chuckle escaped from beneath his mask. "If the Empress Dowager accompanies me in death, then a thief like me shall have a glorious end."

With that, he thrust his blade forward, the cold light aiming directly for her eyes. The Empress Dowager let out a piercing scream, her knees buckling as she hit the floor.

She raised a trembling hand toward him. "You... don't do anything rash! The palace guards are everywhere; you won't be able to fly out of here today!"

The masked man pressed the sword closer, his cold gaze fixed upon her. The Empress Dowager gasped, falling silent. With shaking hands, she fumbled frantically over her person until she produced a small medicine vial, offering it to him with trembling palms. "Don't kill me! Please, don't kill me. This is the antidote."

The masked man did not take it immediately, his eyes like torches as he scrutinized her every move. The Empress Dowager felt her skin crawl; her outstretched hand remained frozen in mid-air, trembling uncontrollably.

The masked man paced around her, his footsteps amplified in the silent chamber, each one striking like a hammer against her heart. He looked her up and down, his gaze finally settling on the vial in her hand. The patterns on it seemed to be of foreign origin. He narrowed his eyes and let out a cold huff. "If this is a fake, tomorrow shall be your memorial day."

He snatched the vial with a swift, clean motion and, in the blink of an eye, vanished from the room.

The Empress Dowager collapsed to the floor. It took her a long moment to regain her senses before she shrieked at the top of her lungs, "Guards! Assassins!"

Following her cries, a swarm of imperial guards rushed in, turning the palace into a chaotic scene of shouting and clashing weapons. "A bunch of useless trash! How were you guarding this place? What use do I have for you? Chase him! Even if you have to dig three feet into the ground, you must find that assassin for me!" Her voice echoed through the hall, every word dripping with boundless rage and hatred.

The masked man stood leisurely on a rooftop outside the palace, looking down at the illuminated, chaotic mess within. A mocking smile curled his lips. He tucked the antidote away, turned, and sprinted across the complex roof tiles, slowly dissolving into the night.

News of the assassination attempt spread instantly. Chen Jinzhou sat slumped by Chen Xingmiao's bedside, his aged eyes clouded with mist, his hands hanging limply at his sides. He could not even resolve the crisis within his own family; how could he concern himself with anything else?

Just as he was drowning in despair, a "whoosh" cut through the air. A cold glint pierced through the window and embedded itself deep into the door, the blade vibrating with a low hum. A small cloth bag hung from the hilt, swaying as the blade trembled.

"Who's there!" Chen Jinzhou jolted from his stupor. He stood up abruptly, eyes wide, scanning the darkness with suspicion. He dared not approach, instead grabbing a chair and shouting, "You cowardly rat! If you have the guts, come out!"

No sooner had the words left his lips than a low, icy voice emerged from the shadows: "The antidote is in that bag. Give it to your two daughters at once."

Chen Jinzhou’s heart skipped a beat. He looked instinctively at the blade in the door and the bag attached to it, filled with a mixture of surprise and doubt. "Who are you? Why help me? Is this antidote truly effective?"

"Stop wasting time!" the masked man replied, seemingly unwilling to offer explanations. "If you don't believe me, you may simply watch them die from the poison."

Thinking of Chen Shuwan and Chen Xingmiao, Chen Jinzhou hesitated no longer. He pulled the blade from the door, opened the bag, and found the medicine vial inside. He opened it, poured out a red pill, and his eyes lit up as he rushed to the bedside.

He carefully propped up Chen Xingmiao, his hands shaking as he looked around. "Is it truly effective? Will my daughter be all right?"

He was met only with a deathly silence. The room remained perfectly still. Seeing Chen Xingmiao's pale complexion, Chen Jinzhou steeled himself—at this point, he had no choice but to treat a dying horse as if it were still alive.

His hands trembling, he lifted the pill, gently raised her chin, and carefully placed it in her mouth, quickly feeding her a little warm water to help her swallow. Once done, Chen Jinzhou stood up and began pacing the room, his footsteps hurried and heavy. He never took his eyes off Chen Xingmiao, his palms slick with cold sweat.

Time ticked by, second by agonizing second, yet Chen Xingmiao lay motionless on the bed. Chen Jinzhou’s heart rose to his throat. He clutched her hand, staring at her unblinkingly, muttering, "Xiao Miao, wake up. Please, nothing must happen to you."

After an unknown amount of time, Chen Xingmiao’s brows twitched, and a faint moan escaped her throat.

Chen Jinzhou was overwhelmed with joy, nearly crying out loud. He leaned in close and whispered, "Xiao Miao, how do you feel? Can you hear your father?"