When she opened her eyes again, she saw Jiang Fang's anxious face and the pearl gauze curtains drifting in the air.
Xie Yu's head ached. She felt as though she had slept for a very long time. She tried to lift her hand, only to find her arm heavier than ever before.
Jiang Fang immediately rushed forward to support her.
With difficulty, Xie Yu straightened her upper body. This once effortless action now left her utterly exhausted, her heart racing.
Her entire body felt weak, as though her bones had been removed.
She shook her head and asked in a low voice, "How long was I asleep?"
Jiang Fang was silent for a moment.
"Half a month."
Xie Yu gasped softly, uncertain what had happened.
She extended a hand. Jiang Fang quickly grasped it. Using the support, Xie Yu got out of bed and slid her feet into her slippers.
Step by step, she moved toward the doorway, looking out at the lush willow trees in the courtyard, the pale blue sky and bright sun overhead.
It was already midsummer.
Even the guards standing at the courtyard gate, with ice placed beside them, had fine beads of sweat on their foreheads.
But Xie Yu did not feel hot.
She only felt warmth.
Touching herself, she realized her body temperature was as low as ice—that was why the sun felt warm rather than scorching.
She pressed a hand to her chest. Her heart pounded violently after those few dozen steps.
She had never felt like this before.
The heart that once pumped bright red blood and filled her body with seemingly endless strength—
Now it exhausted itself merely sustaining her breathing.
All her illusions of immortality, all her certainty that she could accomplish anything, vanished in an instant.
"Bring me a crossbow," she said faintly to Jiang Fang.
The crossbow was brought.
She raised it steadily, aimed for only a few seconds before her arm began to tremble. She forced herself to draw the string with her other hand.
The arrow quivered as it flew into the air.
Soon, it fell.
Silence filled the room.
Jiang Fang did not dare speak. Old Jin covered her eyes, unable to watch.
Xie Yu closed her eyes briefly.
"Someone is harming me."
She opened her eyes and looked at her trusted subordinates, repeating hoarsely,
"This is not me. Someone is harming me."
"This is not me."
She shook her head unconsciously.
"Investigate."
"Mobilize all manpower. Start with the empress. Princesses, officials, nobles—no matter who they are, investigate thoroughly."
"Begin with the Second Princess and the empress."
She added,
"I grant you the highest authority. Investigate to the death."
They all responded and left, leaving only Jiang Fang behind, looking at her with worry.
Xie Yu glanced at the flourishing willow tree in the courtyard. A bird chirped among the branches.
She remembered watching a nature program as a child. It had said that birds have a peculiar lifecycle—they remain in peak physical condition throughout adulthood, only to age rapidly in their final year and then die.
Suddenly, her throat itched.
She began coughing uncontrollably, harder and harder, bracing herself against the doorframe, bending deeply until she could no longer stand and collapsed into a crouch on the ground.
She was trembling violently all over, and Jiang Fang didn't even dare to touch her.
After a long while, the earth-shaking coughing finally subsided. Xie Yu lifted her head, and blood had already flowed across the lower half of her face.
Jiang Fang jumped in fright. Looking closer, she realized it was a nosebleed.
Even so, she was still shaken. "I'll go find doctors right now—every good doctor under heaven."
Xie Yu slowly closed her eyes, then opened them again, signaling agreement.
With Jiang Fang's help, she stood up, washed her face, then sat by the table in the main hall. She looked at the plum-blossom shapes her blood had splattered onto the floor, then touched her clothes, soaked and sticky with blood, faintly reeking of iron.
Jiang Fang hurried back with a set of heat-clearing, detoxifying pills. The moment she entered, her eyes met Xie Yu's.
She froze.
Those amber pupils were calm yet weak. Xie Yu said to her, "You know this isn't who I am."
"I'll get better."
Jiang Fang immediately rushed to the table, poured tea for her, and urged her to take the medicine. "Of course."
"There's no one in this world with a tougher life than yours. You'll recover in no time."
But she didn't. Days passed. Doctors rotated in and out. She did not improve.
The investigation into the Empress yielded nothing. The Empress herself seemed even more anxious than Xie Yu about the illness, sending rare medicinal herbs into the prince's residence as if they were free. All of them were examined by Military Physician Zhang and found to be perfectly fine.
The Empress even issued a summons, calling physicians from every region and school, from doctors to sorceresses and mystics.
Anyone who could help Xie Yu regain her health would be richly rewarded.
The secret police and the death-soldier camp took turns investigating the Empress's movements over the past half year. They uncovered many of her private schemes, yet not the slightest clue suggesting she intended to harm Xie Yu.
It wasn't that there was no evidence.
There were no leads at all.
For the past six months, the Empress had shown extreme restraint. She did not act like a ruler about to be replaced at the height of her power by her own daughter. On the contrary, she showed considerable respect for Xie Yu's sphere of influence.
Even Xie Yu couldn't understand why.
But she no longer had the time to think about it.
Her periods of wakefulness grew shorter and shorter. At first, she had intended to search through the thick student archives to find the one who might be Shen Changyin, but gradually she lacked the strength. She could fall asleep just staring at the words on the page. If she couldn't finish reading a single file, she would begin coughing violently.
After weakness came pain.
Every part of her body hurt—hurt as though her bones were dissolving, as though her organs, every muscle, every cell hated her as their master and were doing their utmost to tear themselves apart, bringing her greater agony.
By the end of the first month after she woke, she could no longer ride in a carriage. She couldn't bear the jolting; she would always vomit blood inside it.
She didn't know which part of her body was failing, but somewhere inside, something was bleeding.
Her range of movement shrank to a small courtyard.
She could only rely on others to pass her information about the capital's situation.
More than two years ago, at the joint drill between the Northwestern Army and the Jiangnan Navy, she had worn red and shot down the navy's battle flag with a single arrow. The story had spread throughout the capital, and for a time everyone talked about it with relish.
Now everyone also knew that the once battle-hardened general—the Third Princess who had shaken the capital in red, the Crown Princess—had suddenly been bedridden by illness. She couldn't even step outside, much less run or jump.
Sympathy poured in, accompanied, of course, by undercurrents from every faction.
Xie Yu remained unmoved. She addressed none of the rumors.
She swallowed large amounts of medicine, underwent acupuncture, and tried every kind of treatment. As long as something could, in theory, make her better, no matter how awful it tasted, she would swallow it.
She took so much medicine that her stomach had almost no room left for normal food.
One physician suggested fasting. Xie Yu weighed herself—she was 179 centimeters tall, and now weighed only about 45 kilograms, lighter than some models. The bones at her wrists were covered by only a thin layer of skin.
The muscles that had once made her strong, that had made her proud, that had given her the courage to face the world, slowly disappeared.
Even after she rejected that physician's suggestion and forced herself to consume carbohydrates, protein, and fat every day—eating while vomiting—she still inevitably wasted away.
She was like a tree, gradually shriveling, drying, withering.
She couldn't even step outside anymore. She could only stay inside her room, barely lifting a brush each day to write letters without end.
There were too many letters written to Shen Changyin to fit beneath her pillow. She found a new bamboo box and placed them inside.
The Empress had begun grasping at straws. She and several princesses stopped handling state affairs and instead devoted themselves to searching the entire country for mystics rumored to have performed miracles.
They sprinkled talisman water in the room, burned talisman papers, waved peachwood swords while muttering incantations.
When they first did this, Xie Yu had merely been sick in the ordinary way. She stopped them and drove them out.
But now when they brought it up again, Jiang Fang glanced at her, ready to refuse on her behalf. Xie Yu waved her hand.
"It's fine. Let them come."
In this world, who does not fear death?
Xie Yu knew it was absurd, yet she still faintly hoped that miracles might truly exist.
Until the Empress proposed finding someone to perform a marriage rite to ward off misfortune for her—then she truly laughed.
"Shen Liuzhen has already disappeared without a trace. Who else are you going to find?"
The Empress sat by her bedside, more than half her hair already white. "It's not only her whose birth chart matches yours. I can always find someone."
Xie Yu waved her hand. "Stop making a fuss."
The Empress agreed on the surface, but Xie Yu could tell at a glance that she was still harboring some scheme.
She could only ask Jiang Fang to keep an eye on things and not let the Empress act recklessly.
Most of her time now was spent sleeping. Her control over external affairs had weakened drastically. She could no longer keep watch over the Empress herself.
Until mid-August, when torrential rain suddenly struck Jizhou, quickly turning into a flood. The people were displaced, corpses lay everywhere from hunger, and an epidemic was on the verge of breaking out.
The entire dynasty had only a few usable armies. The local officials in Jizhou were so incompetent that the situation could no longer be sustained.
Xie Yu had no choice but to let Jiang Fang and the others lead the Northwestern Army to take over.
Only little Wan, fifteen and nearly sixteen, remained at the residence to look after everything.
Little Wan was a good girl. She set up a small bed in the study outside Xie Yu's chamber and kept watch over her day and night.
Until one day, when Xie Yu woke, she saw that on top of the thick white cloth curtains hung for her treatment, several strips of bright red silk had been added.
"Little Wan, little Wan." She thought she was shouting, but her voice was too weak to be heard. She had no choice but to push a cup off the bedside table with all her strength.
The porcelain shattered. Little Wan hurried in. "Your Highness."
Xie Yu: "…I said before. No marriage rite."
Tears immediately poured from little Wan's eyes, as large as beans, crashing heavily onto the floor. Her tears were like a summer downpour—sudden and fierce.
"They said it would work," she sobbed.
Xie Yu tried to remain calm. At this stage, one automatically understands the true state of one's body. She knew she was nothing but a frame of dry bones barely holding on.
She said gently, "It won't work. Do you remember what I told you? We have to believe in science."
Her head was muddled. She had forgotten she had never said this to the little Wan of this world. The one who had heard it was the little Wan outside the dream.
Little Wan's tears flowed even harder. "It will. It has to."
Xie Yu sighed. "Little Wan, listen to me."
She paused, catching her breath. Just speaking these few sentences had already drained all her strength.
"Even if it did work, we can't do it. Little Wan, listen to me—you can't stake another person's life to save mine."
"You can't do that. Do you understand?"
Afraid little Wan would remain stubborn, she added softly, "If today someone sacrifices another for me, then tomorrow someone may force you to sacrifice yourself. Little Wan, don't help build a world you don't like."
Little Wan wiped her eyes fiercely with her arm. A line of tears fell onto her clothes.
"Okay," she said through clenched teeth.
But Xie Yu was not reassured.
Little Wan certainly hadn't proposed this herself. At most, she supported it. Behind it were the superstitious members of the Xie family losing their heads.
Thinking this, she fainted again.
Only late at night did pain wake her once more.
She called little Wan over and asked her to open the bedroom window.
Lying on the bed, she quietly gazed at the bright moon in the sky, round as a jade plate.
Tears gathered in her eyes but would not fall, becoming a clear, lifeless pool.
"It hurts…"
She whispered, "Mom, it hurts."
She hadn't lived enough.
"Mom, I don't want to die. I'm not ready to see you yet."
She had never fished at sea. She had never climbed a snow mountain. She hadn't found Shen Changyin. She hadn't done all the things lovers should do with Shen Changyin.
Drowsily, she murmured, "Shen Changyin, Shen Changyin…"
"Shen Changyin, I don't want to die."
After a long time, amid her delirious whispers, the pain miraculously receded. She even regained a bit of strength.
She was even able to climb up, take paper and brush, sit at the desk—
and write down everything that needed to be written.
Xie Yu wrote one letter to Jiang Fang and Military Physician Zhang, telling them how to conduct themselves in the future—how to prevent the fate of "the hunting dog boiled once the hare is dead," how to maneuver in a game of power with the throne.
She wrote another to the steward of the residence, leaving instructions for the days ahead—telling her to move forward steadily and to never treat the others poorly.
There was also one letter addressed to the person who might be dragged here for a marriage rite to ward off misfortune—someone whose fate might be altered because of her.
She truly did not want this. But in case she failed to stop the Empress while unconscious, she still wrote the letter as a final remedy.
If the other woman entered the residence, then in theory she would become another mistress of the royal household, and in name she would have the authority to allocate many things.
For this stranger who might not even exist, she held the greatest apology in her heart. Somehow she ended up writing far too much, then felt it was overly verbose and copied it out again.
After finishing these three letters, she pulled out one last sheet of paper.
To Shen Changyin—when you see these words, it is as if we have met.
And then she could not write another word.
The bamboo box was already filled with letters. It seemed that everything that could be said had already been said. To write more would only be futile repetition.
She had been in this dream-world for three years. She had poured all her thoughts and heart into it.
In the end, she could only place this letter of eight simple words into the bamboo box as well, then go to bed.
During this period, she often lay unconscious, but it was not rest. Her mind remained in pain while her body could not be commanded—like a patient on an operating table, anesthesia insufficient, lying awake and feeling the blade cut into her.
But tonight, the moonlight was so beautiful that she finally fell into a long-lost, peaceful sleep.
The next morning, before she even opened her eyes, she heard the blaring of suona horns outside—raucous and festive.
She couldn't open her eyes. She could only vaguely sense many physicians gathered around her, speaking over one another as they prepared emergency treatment.
They said her fever would not subside. Her nose would not stop bleeding.
Precious ginseng slices used to prolong life were stuffed one by one beneath her tongue. Everyone exhausted their lifetime of skill, trying to keep her alive—even for a moment longer.
The suona music outside seemed to continue as usual.
The door seemed to open. Someone seemed to be brought in—forced to kneel.
She couldn't open her eyes. Golden needles were stuck into her hair. A physician told her the bride had arrived—perhaps hoping to cheer her.
She could only gather all her strength, control her hand, feel beneath her pillow for the letter she had hidden there, and with difficulty pass it out from behind the bed curtains.
"…Not my intention."
The letter was light in her hand, yet it felt as heavy as a thousand pounds. She could no longer hold it.
"I'm sorry."
She fell unconscious.
Someone must have tried to save her, tormenting her body in the process. Later, someone hurriedly carried her into the palace.
Once inside the palace, another round of suffering began.
Everyone wanted to save her. Everyone only brought her more pain.
She heard the Empress shouting beside her, uttering the usual threats—if she could not be cured, others would be buried with her. Xie Yu wanted to laugh but could not move her lips.
Finally, the Empress's tone turned cold and hard. "At any cost, wake her."
That was easier than saving her.
After a fierce dose of medicine, Xie Yu regained control of her body and slowly opened her eyes.
"Stop saving me," she said. "It hurts."
An attendant beside the Empress held a bowl of something dark—whether black or red, it was hard to tell. "Make the Crown Princess drink this."
The imperial physician quickly helped Xie Yu sit up and brought the bowl to her lips. A thick stench of blood rushed into her nose.
What was this?
The moment the liquid entered her mouth, Xie Yu's eyes flew wide open.
Had she ever drunk Shen Changyin's blood? She had once asked that question.
Had she? Had she ever?
She screamed with all her strength, "Whose blood is this?! Where is she? Where is she?!"
The physician tried to feed her more, but she clamped her lips shut, struggling with the last of her strength. Unwilling, she looked toward the Empress. "Where is she? Let her go! Let her go!"
She felt as though her heart were being torn apart, yet her voice remained as faint as a mosquito's buzz, hoarse and weak.
"Hold her down," the Empress ordered. "Make her drink it."
Xie Yu was forced onto the bed. The blood-medicine was practically poured down her throat. She choked, coughing violently, her whole body trembling—only to realize in horror that she was going limp, unable to move even a finger.
Her throat felt blocked by a stone. No sound could escape.
The Empress touched her forehead, her calloused hand brushing again and again across skin so thin it was nearly transparent.
"Third daughter, help me with something," she said.
Xie Yu did not understand.
The Empress did not explain what she wanted. She simply continued:
"I truly wanted to save you. I truly wanted to pass the throne to you. You are my own flesh. You resemble me so much—so much it makes my heart ache and soften."
"The throne was once the thing I loved most. I truly wanted to leave it to you."
Before Xie Yu could comprehend, the Empress paused, then said:
"But you've already become like this. I can't let you go to waste."
A chill of terror surged through Xie Yu's entire body.
She didn't understand.
What did she mean—go to waste?
The Empress gently stroked her forehead again, then turned stern and ordered several young priestesses to lift her.
They carried her all the way to the top floor of the Moon-Gazing Tower inside the palace.
In the vast, dim top chamber, several priestesses were already fully prepared, standing in solemn readiness.
Xie Yu saw intricate patterns carved into the marble floor, forming the shape of a ritual array.
It was familiar. She just couldn't recall where she had seen it.
Then the young priestesses placed her at the center of the array.
Beneath her neck was a deep groove. From that groove, channels had been carved, connecting to every line of the formation.
Xie Yu's eyes snapped open.
She remembered where she had seen it.
At the Fifth Princess's death-soldier camp—at the top floor of the small building where blood elixirs were refined—this exact array had been drawn.
She had studied it then. At its center was a circular opening. Blood poured there would flow evenly through every part of the array.
And now that opening lay beneath her throat—
She immediately tried to move, but she couldn't control her body. Her eyes blinked frantically, yet her fingers could not shift even a fraction.
She heard the Empress ask the priestess, "Are you certain?"
The elder priestess, serene and ethereal, nodded. "I am certain. The Third Princess carries the poison of a death-soul spirit. It clings only to her three souls and seven spirits. Her body itself remains healthy."
"When you enter this body, all your ailments will vanish."
The Empress asked, "How certain are you?"
The elder priestess replied calmly, "Your Majesty, this has been prepared for twenty-two years. She was custom-made as the perfect body for you. Everything is ready. We are only waiting for this moment."
The Empress nodded. "Good."
Xie Yu heard every word. In absolute terror, she managed to move one hand.
Her heart pounded wildly. As she tried to regain control of her body, she prayed the Empress wouldn't notice.
But—
"Why is she moving?" the elder priestess asked, lowering her head.
"Bind her," the Empress said.
She personally took a hemp rope as thick as a finger, knelt within the array, and carefully tied Xie Yu down.
Xie Yu had no ability to resist. She could not move.
The Empress adjusted her position so her neck aligned perfectly with the blood groove, then stroked her forehead.
"Third daughter, you were going to die anyway. Have a little pity for your mother."
"Don't be afraid. It will be quick."
The elder priestess drew out a dagger and handed it to the Empress.
The blade was thin and flat. It pressed against her neck.
With force, the Empress sliced.
Blood gushed out, flowing along the curve of her throat, dripping into the groove, then spreading flawlessly through every line of the ritual array.
Yet Xie Yu did not die.
The drug still held her conscious. She watched the world before her.
The Empress walked to the priestess's side. Together they silently watched as every carved line of the array filled with blood.
The Empress knelt before the formation. The priestess began the ritual.
Smoke swirled. Sleeves fluttered. Incantations layered upon incantations. Gods and demons indistinguishable.
Finally, the Empress looked up. "Why am I not in her body yet?!"
The elder priestess grew anxious. "Impossible—impossible! There can't be a mistake."
She tried again.
Failure.
She tried again.
Still failure.
The Empress, her hair streaked white, stared at the plan she had prepared for twenty-two years.
The elder priestess flipped frantically through her books, trying to comfort her. "Your Majesty, something must have gone wrong. Let me correct it. We have already succeeded to this extent. The Third Princess's blood has been proven to nourish you. There's no reason her body wouldn't work."
"We only need—"
Sweat poured down her face.
The Empress saw it.
The Empress's own forehead was drenched. Veins bulged at her temples. Yet she only watched quietly as the priestess flipped through her book.
The priestess finished the first volume and opened the second.
Suddenly, the Empress exploded.
She seized the dagger and plunged it straight into the priestess's chest.
The priestess fell. Still furious, the Empress kicked her twice. "Deceiving the sovereign. You deserve death."
She turned around.
Xie Yu was staring at her.
"Third daughter?" she hesitated. "Not dead yet?"
Amber eyes, like a hunted deer in the forest, remained wide open.
Suddenly, the Empress's eyes lit up.
"Can't waste it."
She dropped to her knees, disregarding all decorum, and began licking the blood pooled within the grooves of the ritual array.
Before long, hurried footsteps thudded outside. The Eldest Princess burst through the door with the Fourth Princess close behind her.
"Mother! That little maid from Third Sister's residence came crying to me, saying you took her away. She's critically ill right now—"
She stopped mid-sentence.
All her remaining words died in her throat as she took in the scene before her.
The Empress straightened up, her authority unchanged, a blur of blood smeared across her chin. "Knock before entering. Did you feed all the etiquette I taught you in the study hall to the dogs?"
The Eldest Princess stared at everything—the ritual array, the fallen priestesses on the ground.
Suddenly, she understood.
"So Third Sister was specially prepared by you…"
"The formation failed," the Empress replied evenly. "But the blood works. She truly can nourish the Xie family."
The Eldest Princess, dressed in a gentle pale-blue gown, swallowed.
The Empress gave a light laugh. "Look at you. Help yourself. Don't let it go to waste."
And so, around Xie Yu, kneeling on the ground and licking her blood, became three people—her mother, her sisters.
Xie Yu's eyes remained open, as though they would never close.
She stared at the dark, hollow ceiling. It was silent. It was barren.
Perhaps the ritual array had not failed. Otherwise, after losing so much blood—like a hen beheaded and left to drain—she should not still be alive.
At last, when the Empress finally stood up and elegantly wiped her mouth, Xie Yu's vision began to blur.
She thought of the ornamental shrimp she used to keep—tiny things no longer than a fingernail, slender and small.
Newly bought black-shell aquarium shrimp died easily. In the tank, dead shrimp would turn orange-pink, like they had been boiled.
Shrimp keepers didn't need to remove the corpses.
Other shrimp would eat them.
They would gather around the body and nibble at the companion that had swum beside them in the water just that day.
It was not just a corpse.
It was meat.
To them, it was simply—
Don't waste it.
Don't. Waste. It.
She repeated the words silently.
The world went dark before her eyes.
—
Author's Note:
—The Xie family
Except for Xie Yu, the Xie family are something very special: shrimp wearing human skin, possessing human personalities.
Not beasts. Not mammals. Not birds. Not even snakes.
Just shrimp. Insects. That sort of thing.
—The ritual array and the foreshadowing about interrogating the Fifth Princess have now been resolved.
—
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