After Rebirth, I Married my Archenemy - Chapter 3

In an instant, her thoughts drifted back to that lively night banquet. Only during grand celebrations like the Mid-Autumn Festival, Winter Solstice, or Lantern Festival could civil and military officials, along with princes and princesses, gather regardless of rank. That evening, the palace was illuminated with countless lanterns, and the sounds of games, laughter, and toasts echoed through the halls. Amidst the festivities, a bowl of fire-roasted lamb soup accidentally spilled onto Qun Qing’s skirt, forcing her to hurriedly step away from her seat.

All around her, people mingled—watching performances, raising cups in celebration. As she moved through the crowd, an arrow from a nearby game flew by, narrowly grazing her nose. Startled, she stepped back and stumbled into a table, pushing it back with a loud clatter and splashing soup everywhere.

She braced herself, expecting to hit the corner of the table, but just as she fell, a hand caught the sharp edge. Her weight landed heavily on the back of that hand. Turning in surprise, she saw a young man in white, casually pulling his hand away, a faint red mark now visible on his pale skin.

His fingers were long and graceful, striking in their beauty, and his features were equally captivating. The flickering lights from the lanterns cast a strange, almost otherworldly hue over his face, enhancing his charm.

In the Kingdom of Chen, the color of robes indicated rank, with only commoners and newly appointed scholars wearing plain white. Qun Qing had never seen this young man before, but the elegance of his attire suggested he was likely a newly admitted scholar.

As she looked at him, the young man lifted his gaze, meeting hers with deep black eyes. His handsome face, combined with those eyes, stirred a sudden, inexplicable urge within her—a desire to break something fragile. Yet, the playful glint in his eyes quickly softened, like snow melting in the warmth of early spring.

Qun Qing offered a polite word of thanks. Throughout her life, whenever something dazzling crossed her path, her instinct was always to avoid it. She straightened the table, only for another stray arrow to whistle past her, this time aimed toward the young man. Without hesitation, she caught the arrow’s tail by the edge of his sleeve and, with a swift motion, flung it back into the jar with pinpoint precision.

The thrower, a companion of Princess Danyang, was a rather carefree sort. Seeing Qun Qing angrily toss the arrow back, he clapped and cheered, praising her for her precise aim. Amid the loud laughter and the effects of the wine, Qun Qing could still feel the lingering softness of silk on her fingers.

Eager to slip away unnoticed, her path was suddenly blocked by a man in plain clothing. His expression was stern, his demeanor upright. 

“What’s this commotion? You were just sitting at my table!” he demanded.

The young man in white, still unfazed, responded with a casual smile, “It was just an accident—no need to make it sound worse than it is.”

The plain-clothed man glanced at the soup splattered on the table and grew visibly irritated.

“A sixth-rank official might brush this off, but I hadn’t even tasted my fish soup yet. You’ve spilled it all over my seat, and you’re not even going to clean it up?”

The young man in white chuckled softly as he lifted the stool, causing the soup to drip down. “What’s the harm? See, I’m cleaning it now.”

The plain-clothed man’s icy gaze fixed on Qun Qing instead. “I wasn’t talking to you!”

Though she didn’t know the man, Qun Qing suspected he might be Lu Huating, attending the banquet in plain clothing. Fearing recognition, she hurriedly took out her silk handkerchief to wipe the stool clean. Once finished, she poured him a cup of wine, offering a respectful toast to Chancellor Lu.

The noise of the celebration made it unclear if Chancellor Lu even heard her, but his frown deepened, and it looked as though he was about to slam his hand on the table in anger. The young man beside him quickly caught his wrist, stopping him just in time.

The young man in white seemed amused, though his gaze flicked briefly to the soup stain on Qun Qing’s dress. Gesturing behind her, he said lightly, “Do you need to change? The east gate is already locked, but the west gate remains open. You can exit from there.”

Grateful for his help, Qun Qing bowed slightly before hurrying away. As she turned to leave, she noticed him return her bow with a relaxed smile.

Just as she was about to exit, his voice called out softly, “My lady—”

She paused and looked back to see him lift a lantern from the table corner and toss it into her arms with effortless grace.

“It’s snowing heavily outside, and dark,” he said with a casual nod. “Take this lantern with you.”

That night, snowflakes swirled through the air, blanketing the palace paths in thick layers, like thick quilts. 

That night, snowflakes swirled through the air, blanketing the palace paths in thick layers, like soft quilts. Qun Qing trudged through the snow, gripping the lantern the young man had given her. As she walked, she realized the lantern was no ordinary gift—it had been modified. The candle inside hung suspended in the center, ensuring that no matter how it was turned, the flame remained upright and steady, untouched by the wind or snow. Its warm glow illuminated her path, casting the falling snow in a soft, golden light.

When she finally returned to her quarters, she placed the lantern on her cabinet, its light casting a clear reflection of her changing silhouette on the screen. Next door, an eighth-rank female official noticed Qun Qing was still feeling the effects of the wine and gently advised her to rest.

“I’ll lie down for a bit,” Qun Qing replied. “Come wake me in half an hour.”

The female official settled her in and quietly closed the door behind her.

Once she was alone, Qun Qing quickly got up. She wound her hair and changed into a maid’s palace outfit, then slipped out through the window. Taking the hidden paths of the palace, she made her way swiftly to the side hall near Hanyuan Palace, where the festivities were still in full swing.

The side hall was bustling with activity, a place where nobles who had overindulged could sober up or change their clothes. Earlier in the evening, Qun Qing had seen Minister of War Wei Shangshu carried into the side hall, too drunk to stand. Now was the perfect time to make her move. Shadowing him like a ghost, she watched as he was deposited into a chair, unconscious.

Wei Shangshu had once been a middle-ranking general in the Chu Kingdom. During the kingdom’s collapse, he led many officials in committing suicide, though somehow, he had survived. Whether Lu Huating had persuaded him or if Wei was a traitor all along was unclear, but after the fall of Chu, he betrayed his country, surrendering palace secrets to Prince Yan. Within a year, he was promoted to Minister of War.

Such a man stirred deep hatred in Prince Zhao. The task of assassinating former Chu officials like Wei Shangshu had fallen to Qun Qing.

As Wei Shangshu lay back, snoring loudly, Qun Qing moved closer, preparing to strike. But just as she neared him, she noticed two palace maids lurking in the corner suddenly spring into action, their movements far too sharp for ordinary servants. Her instincts screamed that something was wrong.

In that moment, she realized she had walked into a trap.

The “Wei Shangshu” snoring in the rattan chair wasn’t the real minister—it was a disguise. A skilled guard of Prince Yan’s leapt to his feet, knife in hand, killing the two fake maids in an instant. Before Qun Qing could react, dozens of assassins burst in from outside, sealing off the side hall like a steel fortress.

With hooks on their blades, the excruciating pain of being torn apart was almost unbearable. Qun Qing was thrown against the wall, then collapsed among the bodies. Cold sweat drenched her hands and feet as hot bl00d poured from her wounds, draining her inner warmth.

Fortunately, before entering, she had fastened a medicinal ring onto a nearby lamp post. The assassins, in their haste to avoid revealing their presence, had tightly sealed the doors. As the floor lanterns flickered, the smoke from the ring filled the room, causing some of the attackers to faint. Qun Qing crawled along the ground, chewing on ginseng slices she had prepared earlier, just enough to give her strength. She tightly bound her clothes around the wound to staunch the bleeding and slowly backed out through a secret passage beneath the side hall, weaving between the lifeless bodies.

As a child, she had played games where her mother taught her how to treat wounds and stop bleeding. She’d divide flour into small packets, pretending they were medicine, and with no one at home willing to be her patient, she would wrap bandages around her own belly. After playing this game countless times, it seemed those lessons had saved her life in this dire moment, as she dressed her wound with perfect precision.

Back in her quarters, Qun Qing let down her hair and wiped the bl00d from her skin and hair. It was then that she noticed the lantern the man in white had given her was still burning on the table, its light warm and steady.

She gently lifted the lantern, pulling it closer to let its soft glow warm her. Then, she undid her clothes, biting down hard as she re-wrapped the wound.

Half an hour later, the assistant came to fetch her. Upon entering, she found Qun Qing already up and dressing behind the screen. Wrinkling her nose, the assistant asked, “Why does your new outfit smell so strongly of alcohol?”

“I must have folded my new clothes with the old ones,” Qun Qing replied calmly.

“You’re so drunk! You shouldn’t go back out. It’s snowing outside, so cold! And something big seems to have happened at Hanyuan Hall. The banquet is over.”

Qun Qing applied a touch of balm to her pale lips. Normally, she wouldn’t choose such a vivid color, but tonight, under the dim sky, her snow-white skin and crimson lips created an eerie beauty that gave the assistant pause. Qun Qing smiled faintly, her expression colder than usual. “I’ll just return the lantern and be back shortly.”

When she returned to the banquet, the hall was deserted. The candles had long been extinguished, leaving behind only scattered remnants of food. She handed the lantern back to the maid in charge of the lights, noticing it had already been cleaned of any trace of bl00d.

“Please return this to Advisor Lu, and to the gentleman who sat at the same table,” she instructed.

“The gentleman at the table… Oh, that was Second Master Xiao,” the maid responded.

Qun Qing committed Second Master Xiao’s name to memory and asked, “Will they be coming back?”

The maid shook her head. “Master Xiao returned to his post, but Advisor Lu, I’m not sure. He was in high spirits today, boasting that he’s setting a trap to catch the assassin.”

Pain throbbed in Qun Qing’s abdomen with every step, but she kept her composure, her expression unreadable. “Did they catch anyone?”

“One escaped. His Highness, Prince Yan, has ordered a search of the palace. He likely won’t return until they find the assassin. It’s not safe outside; you should have someone escort you,” the maid advised.

Qun Qing nodded in acknowledgment before leaving.

That night, though the Minister of Defense survived, six of Prince Yan’s personal guards were slain. Qun Qing’s alibi, supported by the testimonies of the assistant and the maid, kept her from suspicion. Despite thorough searches, no one ever connected her to the assassination.

The one who escaped became a thorn in Prince Yan’s side.

“I searched for you relentlessly for over a hundred days. Before that, you haunted my sleepless nights for more than four hundred,” Lu Huating said, his gaze unwavering as it bore into Qun Qing. “That night—you were the one who killed the Minister of Defense.”

In that moment, Qun Qing realized she had mistaken him. The man who gave her the lantern was Lu Huating, and Second Master Xiao had been seated beside him. They had met, spoken, and yet neither had known the other’s true identity.

At the banquet, Lu Huating had smiled kindly at others, even helping a passing female official. He’d been in such a good mood because he thought his plan to kill her would work. That’s why he had dressed so elegantly that night, just as he had today.

Qun Qing thought back to the snowy night and the lantern, a heavy feeling sinking into her chest, turning her heart into a block of lead that slowly dragged down into her belly. Amidst the sharp pain, Lu Huating’s voice echoed like a ghost: “You were the one who tried to assassinate the Minister of Defense, weren’t you?”

Suddenly, a scarred face appeared outside the window, accompanied by the clinking of chains. A man’s voice cried out, “Qing Qing! Have you forgotten our childhood by the Weishui River? You were promised… How could you submit to this vile man?”

It was clear someone had forced the man to peer through the window. Inside, Lu Huating sat calmly while Qun Qing knelt before him, her slender neck arched vulnerably, her chin held firmly in Lu Huating’s hand. The scene was utterly improper.

“Qing Qing…” Lu Huating drawled her name, toying with it. Just moments before, Su Boshi had nearly ruined his reputation for her sake, and now, another man. He hadn’t expected her to have so many admirers vying for her attention.

Qun Qing, drenched in cold sweat, squinted through the haze and realized the raving man at the window was none other than Lin Yujia.

When she was a child, her grandfather had arranged a betrothal without her consent, exchanging tokens of promise with Lin Yujia, the second son of the Lin family by the Weishui River. Lin Yujia had always liked her, but Qun Qing loathed the pretentiousness of the Lin family. She would often avoid him whenever she saw him from afar.

Lin Yujia had once worked in the Ministry of Rites, feigning loyalty to Dacheng* (*Kingdom of Chen). But, like Qun Qing, his true aim was the restoration of Southern Chu. He had even passed along a few assignments to her, and upon discovering that he was a spy, she grew a bit more respectful of him. Yet now, seeing Lin Yujia in such a pitiful state, brazenly calling her by her childhood name, Qun Qing realized the truth: it was Lu Huating who had captured him first. Lin Yujia had exposed her identity and her connection to the princess.

Anger surged through her, but her mind sharpened. She met Lu Huating’s gaze and calmly said, “It wasn’t me.”

“Whether it was or not, we’ll know soon enough,” Lu Huating replied, his tone coldly detached. “As soon as you take off your clothes and reveal the dagger wound.”

He withdrew his hand and glanced at his fingers, noticing they were damp from the sweat trickling down Qun Qing’s face. Her tension caught him off guard. The feeling of disorder unsettled him, so he took out a silk handkerchief and meticulously wiped his fingers clean, as if ridding himself of chaos. Lin Yujia had fallen silent, either dragged away or silenced by torture.

Lu Huating turned back to Qun Qing, who had already started unfastening the hidden clasps of her dark green official robe. Her movements were slow, awkward, as if something inside her resisted. Even after a long time, she hadn’t managed to undo the clasps.

She didn’t strike him as the type to act this way, which intrigued him. The room wasn’t warm, yet sweat glistened on her forehead. A faint fragrance escaped from within her collar, a light scent that strangely stirred his restlessness.

Suddenly, his fan pressed against her hand, stopping her. Qun Qing sensed the disdain in his gesture, as if he was saying: What’s the point of playing this game?

Her hand froze, but the fan’s handle didn’t. It traced the embroidered flowers on her shoulder, slid down her waist, then hooked into her leather belt. It pressed down harshly on the old dagger wound, sending sharp pain through her body. The veins on Qun Qing’s neck bulged, and she stifled a groan.

“Clearly, there’s a wound. Now tell me—where did you get the medicine for it?” Lu Huating’s voice was flat, but his actions were merciless. One hand supported her waist while the other dug the fan handle into her wound. His smile vanished, and a dark, dangerous expression replaced it, as if a demon lurked behind his eyes.

His focus shifted to Qun Qing’s hand, which gripped a small peachwood doll tightly in pain. Her fingers were long and slender, pale like delicate roots. “What poison did you give Prince Yan? What is it called? And how can it be cured? Speak clearly.”

Qun Qing’s lips quivered as she replied, her eyelashes wet but a trace of amusement in her eyes. “I’ll tell Advisor Lu one thing: Xiangsi Yin isn’t a poison. It’s a Gu. As long as it’s a Gu, there’s no antidote—unless the person who raised it is found. I’ve been searching for that person for a long time but haven’t found them yet.”

Lu Huating’s eyes flared with rage. He grabbed her by the collar and pulled her close, their faces inches apart. In his gaze, she saw nothing but pure hatred, as though she were the most despicable person in his world.

Qun Qing understood. Lu Huating wanted to break her, but he wouldn’t let anyone else do it for him. His cold, murderous intent was palpable as he asked, “Are we still going through with this deal?”

Qun Qing smiled faintly, though her eyes were bloodshot from the pain. “Did Advisor Lu ever believe in the deal to begin with? Or even intend to accept it?”

Her eyes dropped to the fan, now stained with her bl00d, but the searing pain in her abdomen clouded her mind, making it hard to focus.

So hot.

“That’s right,” Lu Huating replied coldly. “After your death, I’ll simply turn around and kill Princess Bao’an. What can you do about it?”

Perhaps driven by the unbearable pain, Qun Qing grasped his sleeve, wrinkling the soft fabric in her hand. Her voice was hoarse, but her words were deliberate. “What is xiangsi? Unpaired, that’s xiangsi. This gu is a love gu, one gu for two. I had the Crown Princess give Prince Yan Xiangsi Yin, but she didn’t know that I had already planted it in her. From now on, their fates are tied—one prospers, the other prospers; one perishes, the other perishes. You can kill the princess, you can torture her, but unless you want to see Prince Yan die along with her…”

Sweat covered her temples and brows, but her mocking defiance shone through in her eyes. “Or perhaps, Advisor Lu is the real traitor, the one who wants to kill Prince Yan and seize the throne for himself?”

Lu Huating’s face darkened at her provocation, but before he could respond, Qun Qing suddenly spat out a mouthful of foul bl00d. She collapsed lifelessly to the ground, falling backward into a pool of her own bl00d.

Bright red bl00d flowed like a small stream, gradually turning dark. Lu Huating glanced at his robe, now stained with the rich red that climbed along the intricate patterns of the silk fabric. It was unmistakably the work of He Ding Hong— Red-Crested Crane Poison.

In this very hall, he had poisoned many people, and the gut-wrenching pain caused even the strongest men to writhe in agony. But only she had endured it so silently. He hadn’t realized she had taken the poison herself.

His face remained inscrutable, though his expression grew more unsightly. His temples were damp with sweat. Setting aside his robe, he gazed out at the swaying shadows of trees outside, where flowers and leaves scattered in the wind.

“You yourself said Yang Fu was too weak, useless. And if the Crown Prince of Southern Chu had been worth anything, he wouldn’t have abandoned you all those years ago. What’s worth it about any of these people? Why go to such lengths?” he asked, his voice cutting through the stillness.

Qun Qing’s eyes were dimming, her lips a vivid shade of red. Her voice, barely a whisper, floated on her final breaths. “You think Prince Yan… is any better… it’s just… winners and losers…”

Her words faded, leaving only the sound of the wind rattling the window lattice. The cool rain seeped into the room, blending with the chilling scent of bl00d.

Suddenly, the heavy bronze doors opened, and two secret guards entered alongside Eunuch Liang. Upon seeing Lu Huating’s grim expression, Eunuch Liang’s protests fell silent.

“You poisoned Registrar Qun?” Lu Huating asked, his tone devoid of emotion.

Eunuch Liang, drenched in sweat, knelt and kowtowed repeatedly. “This servant is guilty! This servant acted on secret orders from His Highness, Prince Yan. I was instructed to poison Registrar Qun before you could use torture. She alone was to bear the blame—no further investigation, no one else implicated!”

Lu Huating’s gaze remained distant, though the meaning behind Eunuch Liang’s words was clear. The order had been to prevent Yang Fu from being implicated.

After a long pause, Lu Huating smiled faintly. “What use is your apology to me? Go apologize to Registrar Qun.”

Eunuch Liang hesitated, his mouth opening and closing before he finally turned toward Qun Qing’s lifeless body, kowtowing so loudly it echoed. “Registrar Qun, this servant has wronged you, wronged you! This servant is sorry…”

“Take him away and beat him to death,” Lu Huating ordered.

Eunuch Liang’s face twisted in terror as he began to plead for his life. Lu Huating chuckled softly. “Forgive you? Sure, if Registrar Qun forgives you, I’ll let you live.”

Eunuch Liang glanced at the body, finally grasping the hopelessness of his situation. In despair, he cursed aloud. “Lu Huating! How dare you! I’m a royal eunuch! You’re nothing but a fifth-rank official! His Highness will never let you go! You’ll die a miserable death—”

Before he could finish, the secret doors in the four corners of the room opened, and several guards appeared. They hesitated, glancing at Lu Huating, unsure of their next move.

Indeed, a mere advisor couldn’t order the execution of a court eunuch. But Lu Huating had already sat down on the floor, calmly adjusting his robes. Pulling Qun Qing’s body into his lap, he cradled her, gently wiping the bl00d from her face with a silk handkerchief.

The bl00d on her lips was too deeply stained to be cleaned, and her hairpin dug into his collarbone as he held her.

Lu Huating removed the hairpin and tossed it aside, but another one poked into his arm. He shifted her position a few times, seemingly frustrated. Suddenly, he said, “Bring my coffin here.”

The two secret guards were startled. Since childhood, Lu Huating had been frail. It was said that when he was a child, he once drew a short-life fortune at a temple, so he had prepared a coffin early on. It was kept next to his residence in case of need.

The coffin was exquisitely crafted and adorned with delicate lotus carvings. It had been a valuable gift from the renowned monk, Master Zengjia, yet Lu Huating intended to present it to a corpse.

With calm precision, Lu Huating tidied Qun Qing’s official robe, smoothing out the creases as if preparing her for a final, dignified rest. His fingers brushed past the knife wound on her abdomen, but then froze when he discovered another scar—long and jagged, stretching across her chest like a grotesque centipede. It was clear this woman had endured countless injuries, her body a patchwork of scars, as though a fragile porcelain vase had been shattered and carelessly glued back together.

A frown creased his brow as he lifted her hair and examined the back of her ear. His expression shifted, darkening with realization. In the past, when handling corpses, he had a peculiar habit of marking a discreet red dot behind the ear using a blade of grass dipped in cinnabar—hidden from plain sight. He hadn’t had a chance to mark Qun Qing yet, but behind her ear, there was already an old red mark.

A sudden surge of something long buried stirred violently inside him. Before he could fully grasp what was happening, a wave of nausea overtook him. He spat out a mouthful of foul bl00d, and then another, until he could no longer control it.

Glancing at his hand, he saw the two fingers that had touched her collar were turning black and blue. The four secret guards around him were in chaos, frantically trying to comprehend what was happening. Despite the growing pain, Lu Huating couldn’t help but let out a cold laugh.

He recalled Qun Qing’s awkward attempt to unfasten her hidden clasps earlier and the faint, strange fragrance that had drifted from her robe. Now he understood—the poison had been concealed within those clasps. She had crushed the poison beads in that very moment, deliberately poisoning him.

Qun Qing’s hand still clutched the peachwood doll tightly, even in death.