Chapter 132 The Prince’s Bargain
A faint creak sounded outside the door, followed by a familiar, teasing voice slipping into the room.
“Well now, isn’t this my good little brother—oh, pardon, the young Master Nangong? Only a few days apart and you’re already looking much brighter. Don’t tell me our esteemed Cult Leader has been… nourishing you?”
The moment I heard that voice my heart lurched. I looked up—Pink-Lotus!
Reflex took over before sanity: “Sister Pink-Lotus!”
The instant the words left my mouth I bit down on my tongue. Terrible—she served Eighth Prince.
I turned my head sharply away, pretending to admire the non-existent clouds outside. My mind was chaos, like a medicine jar knocked over on the floor.
Pink-Lotus laughed softly as she entered, that practiced, swaying gait full of allure, though her eyes were sharp as blades.
“Oh? Young Master Nangong already sulking? But we did chat at the same table last time—drank wine together, spent the night under the same roof—”
“We only gambled on dice!” I snapped, eager to clarify.
“Pink-Lotus.” Lian cut her off, voice cold, expression sharp enough to slice paper. “Did the Eighth Prince summon us for something?”
Her smile dropped a shade. She cast Lian a glance—the kind that looked playful but wasn’t.
“So you really do know. That saves me quite a bit of breath.”
Her voice lowered, the last note drawn out like a lazy cat’s purr.
“Please follow me… Cult Leader.”
That “Cult Leader” dragged long enough to raise every hair on my arms.
As I shivered, I pulled Lian aside and whispered, “We shouldn’t just let people order us around. Whoever comes clearly means no good—and besides, His Majesty—”
“Don’t worry.” Lian lifted a hand to stop me, tone even. “I was going to meet this Eighth Prince who poisoned you anyway.”
Me: “…”
Fine. Looks like my life was about to be tossed around again.
Two sticks of incense later, dusk dimmed the sky. Pink-Lotus led us through several winding turns, out of the city, and finally stopped before a quiet manor.
In the garden, behind a hedge of bamboo and wilting osmanthus, someone was—astonishingly—using a small hoe to weed.
I stared and couldn’t stop the silent complaint in my chest:
Good heavens. This Eighth Prince certainly enjoys his leisure.
He wore white silk robes, spotless and loose at the waist, giving him the mild air of a gentle townsman. But that mildness carried a cold undertone.
Pink-Lotus stepped forward and bowed. “Your Highness, they’re here.”
The Eighth Prince looked up, smiling pleasantly—as though greeting old friends rather than adversaries.
“I heard my imperial brother met you a few days ago.”
He twirled the hoe lightly in his hand. “That confidential item—already packed and ready to send to the capital?”
“Huh?” I nearly yelped.
Packed? What confidential item? We didn’t even know what it was!
I was about to blurt, “You’ve been tricked,” when Lian spoke first.
“Yes,” Lian replied with a faint smile, calm to the point of indifference. “Your Highness should know that an imperial command cannot be disobeyed. Had you come to me directly, there’d have been no need for all this trouble. I only learned of it from His Majesty that you had sent for Gong’er.”
He emphasized “me” deliberately, a silent reminder: you approached the wrong person.
The Eighth Prince murmured an “Oh,” planting the hoe into the ground. A servant rushed to offer a handkerchief, but the prince shot him a cold glance, sending him scurrying back.
Using his own sleeve instead, he wiped his brow with unhurried grace.
“That item should be a treasure of your cult,” he said mildly. “The Cult Leader is handing it over so easily?”
Lian smiled lightly. “Since Your Highness knows where it originated, you should also know that in the wrong hands it may cease to be a treasure. If you truly desired it, I would not refuse. But His Majesty has spoken. I hardly dare defy him.”
Soft words, sharp edge.
The prince’s smile paused, barely noticeable—like ripples disturbed on a placid lake.
I watched their exchange from the side. Not a single sentence was straightforward. Every phrase concealed a dagger.
Gradually, I pieced together the truth.
This “confidential item” probably didn’t exist at all.
Most likely something Lian and Hua invented together—a diversion.
“Hua went to plant peaches” was probably metaphor.
There may be no peaches—just a strategy, a “two peaches kill three scholars” ploy, pushing the Eighth Prince to the front lines against the throne.
And the prince believed it. Far too easily.
I rushed to assist the performance. “Your Highness, I’ve done everything I could! Just when I tracked down where the item was stored, His Majesty intercepted it. Truly can’t be blamed on me. Perhaps the antidote for Monthly Crimson… could be bestowed upon me? I really have no choice left.”
I looked so servile even Lian seemed slightly embarrassed.
He added quietly, “Your Highness, Monthly Crimson is no mild poison. We ask that the true antidote be granted.”
Cool, steady, unmistakably firm.
The Eighth Prince finally laughed.
“Ah, that’s unfortunate.”
He strolled forward, tapping patterns on his sleeve with idle fingers, voice languid but edged with cold amusement.
“If the Crimson Cult doesn’t have the antidote, how could I possibly have it?”
He turned away, as if remembering something casually. “But I do have a monthly suppressant.”
The smile spreading through the air chilled like midnight frost.
“If the Cult Leader ensures the item… disappears on its way to the capital, I can give this suppressant to Young Master Nangong.”
The air froze.
Wind moved through the bamboo, whispering like a soft laugh.
My heart tightened.
He wanted to force Lian to hand it over.
But Lian stepped forward instead, expression untouched.
“No need for that, Your Highness. Keep your monthly suppressant.”
Standing straight, his tone remained calm, cold.
“And since His Majesty already knows where the item is headed, perhaps Your Highness should consider first how you intend to retrieve it from him.”
The Eighth Prince’s fingers paused.
The hoe sank slightly into the soil with a dull thud.
“Cult Leader speaks with reason,” he said softly, turning back with a smiling yet utterly frigid gaze. “But the person you protect… may not stay safe for long.”
My heart lurched. I thought he would strike.
But he merely lifted a hand. “See them out.”
Pink-Lotus bowed, smiling as she led the way out.
Lian pushed me along, half dragging me as I tried not to stumble under the tension.
Outside the manor, cold wind swept past and I finally breathed again.
“Hey,” I whispered, “why did he let us go so easily? He won’t change his mind and send assassins after us, right?”
Lian looked toward the carriage ahead. “You said the Eighth Prince knows His Majesty has seen us. In that case… don’t you think His Majesty might also know the Eighth Prince has seen us?”
I froze, nodding slowly—then shaking my head.
“But the confidential item… is it really being sent to the capital? That thing doesn’t even—exist.”
Lian smiled faintly, gaze icy. “The road is long. Whether the ‘item’ arrives safely… remains to be seen.”
He glanced back once at the manor, expression like frost.