101 The Cruelest Revenge (1/2)
Not turning around, Zhangsun Wuji repeated, ”Escort the Empress back to rest!”
The guards hesitated but complied, only to be stopped by the Empress. ”Withdraw! Is this a place for you to interfere? I come and go as I please. Let us see who would dare touch me.”
Zhangsun Wuji reciprocated her gaze and laughed. ”No one can touch you, Mother. You can do anything you want to, but let me remind you that I have the power to discipline people. If you make me feel uneasy, I will have no choice but to take action. Do as you deem fit.”
”You!”
Zhangsun Wuji grabbed Meng Fuyao and walked away. Reaching the middle of the long corridor, Meng Fuyao couldn't help but turn around. She spotted the noble lady shuddering in her bright yellow robe. From afar she no longer looked imposing. Instead, she appeared weak and fragile, like a dried leaf that was floating helplessly amid the whole palace of blooming flowers.
Meng Fuyao sighed inwardly. That was the nation's mother and son duo, and they were simply members of the imperial family, which was full of deception, opposition, schemes, and cruelty. She had always thought that as the most capable and only prince of the Five Region Continent, Zhangsun Wuji would naturally be his parents' sole source of pride and glory. Wuji royal family had to be the most harmonious family within the whole of the region continent, but the reality wasn't so. The relationship between mother and son was cracked beyond repair, and even their words for one another were cold and pressing, causing even an outsider like her to feel uncomfortable. What other unspeakable secrets were kept hidden within the multi-leveled palaces and pavilions?
King De and the empress were probably in an unusual relationship…
Was that the reason Zhangsun Wuji had given him a way out?
Meng Fuyao had unintentionally offended Zhangsun Wuji's mother and seeing that the latter couldn't wait to skin her alive, all she could feel was grief. It mattered less if she had offended God, but to offend a lady meant dire consequences…
Zhangsun Wuji sped up gradually, his light purple robe swaying in the early spring breeze. He looked like a soft, flying cloud, and staring at his feet, Meng Fuyao felt uneasy. Ever since she had known him, he had always been calm and stable, and had never, ever, lost himself.
However, now, he was clearly in an overwhelmingly complex mood, evident from his fast yet unsteady steps. Meng Fuyao was at least astonished.
'What could possibly have happened to cause him such shock?'
They followed the governor-general toward the courtyard, and the crowd around them gradually lessened as their route became more isolated. Finally, they stopped before a row of servant houses. The houses had an ordinary appearance, and colorful cloth robes were being dried outside. Three individuals passed through the laundry unit while the governor-general opened the third room door. Upon pushing it forward, a heavy metallic stench attacked their senses. The light within the room was dark and gloomy, and the tools found inside were unremarkable. Nevertheless, Meng Fuyao's attention had been caught by a simple looking oil lamp.
Indeed, the lamp turned out to be a switch to a secret door. The governor-general lifted the lamp cover, and the western wall started rising. The governor-general moved aside with a bow, not daring to advance another step. He stood at the top of the stairs as sweat poured from his forehead.
Accidentally getting involved in the royal family's secrets, the governor-general felt anything but safe. The way he looked as Meng Fuyao foolishly followed them was no different from the way he would at a goose awaiting slaughter.
The foolish goose seemed oblivious as she followed Zhangsun Wuji down the stairs. ”You're not going to lead the way?” she even asked politely.
The governor-general wiped his sweat, inwardly cursing. ”I'll guard the door from here,” he hurriedly offered.
Without turning his head, Zhangsun Wuji waved his hand, and the secret door shut close. The smell of rust became stronger and almost nose-piercing. It was a smell Meng Fuyao was exceptionally familiar with. She felt her palms turn cold.
They proceeded down the stairs, making ”tak, tak, tak” sounds as their shoes came into contact with the metal steps. Other than the echoing of their footsteps, there was no other sound. There were only dead silence, loneliness, coldness, darkness and the feeling of void as if life had fallen into permanent sleep, and as though there were countless tombs buried in there.
Zhangsun Wuji stopped at the bottommost step. He did it so abruptly, nearly causing Meng Fuyao, who was lost in thoughts, to bump into his back. She lifted her head and sucked in a cold breath.
Blood! It was everywhere!
Fresh, wet blood flowed from between the metal fences, stickily dripping down each stick like slithering scarlet snakes. It was soundless and terrifying.
The metal wall that faced them was filled with a large amount of splattered blood as well. Patches of blood flowers had bloomed generously on the wall, and in the center of these flowers were big written words. It was a sight that shocked their eyes and hearts.
”I will use my life to denounce your sin.”
The words were filled with hatred, and each stroke was the size of a finger. The tip of each stroke was insufficient to bear the malice and enmity of the writer, and it was made clear by the thick accumulation of blood at the end of each line and hook. The strokes had sinisterly smooth arcs, each dragging streaks of blood to form a net that seemed to summon the greatest curse from the deepest of Hell.
King De sat upright beneath these words.
He was sitting cross-legged, with open eyes and mouth while his tongue was missing. Fresh blood was still dripping from inside of his mouth.
He sat facing the end of the stairs, which meant that visitors to this jail would first catch view of his horrifyingly bloodied mouth.
How many could actually endure such a harsh sight?
And those words… Meng Fuyao interlaced her fingers tightly, turning to look at Zhangsun Wuji. He stood, straight as a pencil, at the lowest step, never taking the last step. His sleeves moved despite the lack of wind as a cold sensation radiated from his body. It was denser than the smell of metal and fishier than the stench of blood.
Meng Fuyao walked down and stopped right behind him. That man, in this moment, appeared indescribably weak. It was the weakest state she had ever seen him in thus far. The roomful of blood-breath had seeped into his flesh and bones, and then his heart and blood.