After Rebirth, I Married my Archenemy - Chapter 53

Qun Qing was escorted home by An Lin.

At the residence, warm water was prepared for her. She removed her tattered garments, tending to her wounds. Most of the injuries were superficial, except for the bleeding from the gray falcon’s peck on her arm. Her wrist throbbed faintly but wasn’t incapacitated.

A woman named Yue Niang entered with a set of plain clothes, helping Qun Qing change. Once she was presentable, Yue Niang placed a steaming bowl of red date soup on the table. 

“It’s to replenish your blood. Please, have some, Miss,” she urged gently.

“Thank you, madam,” Qun Qing replied, nodding.

Yue Niang’s warm yet worried gaze lingered. Her lips parted as though she wished to speak, but seeing An Lin and Qun Qing’s serious expressions, she quietly left, softly latching the door behind her.

For a fleeting moment, Qun Qing thought of her own mother. The resemblance in Yue Niang’s kind demeanor tugged at something buried deep in her heart. 

“Brother An,” she asked abruptly, “what are your plans for the future?”

An Lin paused, his fingers tracing the edges of an account book. 

“What plans can there be in times like these? All I wish for is to find a quiet corner in this chaotic world where I can live in peace.”

“This is no longer a chaotic world,” Qun Qing remarked pointedly.

An Lin chuckled softly, flipping through the pages. 

“You’re as capable as ever, Miss Qing. This ledger has cost countless lives, yet you managed to secure it alone. Our Master will surely reward you for this feat—perhaps even elevate you to ‘Celestial.’”

Qun Qing knew it wasn’t solely her effort, but she chose to remain silent. After a pause, she said, 

“Brother An, I have a question.”

An Lin was surprised to see that she was not happy. 

“What’s troubling you?”

“Did the Celestial order us to deliver this ledger to the Censorate solely to create turmoil among the officials?”

An Lin closed the book with a soft thud and nodded. 

“That must be it. Lord Wang of the Censorate is a corrupt official,” An Lin remarked. “Just look—this ledger implicates dozens of people. He wouldn’t dare confront them all at once. With so many civil officials and military officers involved, they’ll undoubtedly cause an uproar in a desperate attempt to escape punishment. It’s bound to be chaos, and Emperor Chen Ming will surely have a headache dealing with it.”

“And this chaos,” Qun Qing pressed, her tone sharper, “will it lead to the Cui family’s downfall and the collapse of Siye Tower?”

An Lin sighed, his gaze shifting. “I understand your concerns. Do you remember that mother and daughter who rolled on the spiked board to appeal for justice? They once worked as laborers here. Yue Niang, with her soft heart, often helped them…”

“I’m paying attention to this,” Qun Qing interrupted, her voice steady, “because my mother also rolled on a nail board.”

An Lin froze.

“She told me she was a Miao woman,” Qun Qing continued, her expression unreadable. “When she was young, her father was killed in a land dispute with the local chieftain. To seek justice, she journeyed alone to Chang’an and rolled on a nail board to plead her case. It was Princess Changping who handled the matter personally. Not only did she secure justice for my mother, but she also kept her as a seamstress for her household. My mother deeply respected her for that.”

Qun Qing’s voice softened, but her words carried weight. 

“After I was born, my mother never lacked food or clothing. But I’ve seen the scars on her feet. Those injuries left her unable to walk long distances. She couldn’t run or play with me and my brother. Her days were spent either sitting on a chair or lying on the bed.”

That’s why she couldn’t imagine how Zhu Ying could trek all the way south with such a pair of feet.

An Lin regarded her solemnly. “Miss Qing, don’t you want to hand over the ledger to the Censorate?”

“If handing it over to the Censorate is pointless, why bother?” Qun Qing said. “In the short term, the lord won’t be able to restore order to the country. The court will descend into chaos, and the people will suffer. What good would that do for you or me?”

“Let me think about it.” An Lin fell silent, his expression darkening.

Outside, Yue Niang’s soft lullaby to her daughter floated through the air.

Halfway through the song, An Lin drank the wine in the cup and showed the bottom of the cup to Qun Qing:

“As spies, we’re trained to guard against everyone, even those closest to us. It’s rare to find someone whose heart remains untainted by the masks they wear. You, Miss Qing, are one of those few. Whether you’re ‘Celestial,’ ‘Elite,’ or whether you are my subordinate, I am willing to make friends with you!”

Moved by his words, Qun Qing leaned forward. 

“If you’re willing to help me replace the cipher token, I can give up being ‘Celestial.’”

An Lin considered her proposal, then nodded. 

“As you wish. I’ll vouch for you. You’ve done enough to secure this ledger. If an ‘accident’ occurs during its submission, even master must understand that nothing in this world is flawless.”

He returned the account book, his eyes falling on her wounded arm. 

“Who were those people today? Falcons are deadly creatures. It’s a miracle you escaped.”

“They were from the opposing side,” Qun Qing answered calmly. “We only worked together to retrieve the item. I was prepared for betrayal.”

Having been a spy for many years, she was always on guard, especially given the difference in their positions with Lu Huating. She had grown accustomed to staying prepared and never expected anything from anyone.

The spot where his hand had gripped hers felt slightly warm, the touch lingering on her wrist.

Since Lu Huating despised spies, she figured she would be of no use to him now that the account book was gone.

Yet, when the gray falcon swooped down and she fell, he hadn’t reached for the ledger—he had grabbed her wrist instead.

Qun Qing wasn’t heartless, but she was too soft-hearted and easily swayed. She drank the red date soup, thinking about Lu Huating’s plans, before turning to An Lin and asking:

“By the way, what’s the status of the plan to assassinate Prince Yan? Why didn’t they act?”

On one hand, she feared that she might have given the wrong order, causing Prince Zhao to take out his anger on her. On the other hand, those spies in ambush were still human lives. If dozens of them were wiped out because of her, she would find it hard to live with herself.

An Lin raised a brow, surprised. 

“Didn’t you order them to hold back? The others were grumbling at first, but when Prince Yan’s ambush troops appeared, they froze like frightened quails.”

Qun Qing frowned. 

“When did I say not to move without permission?” Qun Qing asked, puzzled. She clearly remembered writing “Act,” so how had it turned into the opposite instruction?

An Lin’s confusion deepened. 

“The wax-sealed note you sent read, ‘Better to be punished than to act.’”

Realization dawned on Qun Qing. Her heart sank. 

“It’s over, Su Run…”

“Who is Su Run?” An Lin asked.

At the door, Su Run’s hands trembled as he unfolded a slip of paper, reading the two words written on it.

“Act.”

Such a brief command, yet it carried an immeasurable weight of implication.

He hadn’t expected Qun Qing to respond this way, but Lady Qing always had her reasons—reasons that rarely, if ever, proved wrong. She had already guided him through treacherous waters countless times. If he failed to grasp her intent now, he couldn’t expect her to spell it out for him like a child.

Inside the chambers, the fragrance of sweet fruit mingled with the soft glow of lamplight. On the plush couch draped with golden curtains, Princess Danyang reclined, her back to the door. She rested her head on one hand, the embroidered sleeve of her robe slipping down to reveal her shoulder and the elegant curve of her neck.

Su Run discreetly tucked the note away. Bracing himself with the resolve of a man heading to the gallows, he pushed the door open and approached the couch. 

“This subject, Su Run, has come at the Princess’s command to paint her portrait.”

Princess Danyang flinched at his words, instinctively tugging her sleeve back over her bare skin. She turned her head slightly, her gaze suspicious. This was the same man who had stubbornly resisted such assignments before—had he suddenly changed his principles?

Her expression betrayed amusement as if mocking the depth of his supposed integrity.

Su Run positioned himself before the easel, setting up his brushes with a careful determination that avoided her eyes. Princess Danyang, noticing his unease, relaxed her guard. Her sleeve slipped again, exposing her back—a canvas marked with scars, a history etched by blades and arrows.

The sight stunned Su Run. His brush paused mid-air.

“Scholar Su,” the Princess called softly, her voice tinged with irony. “Are my scars so ugly that they cannot even be painted?”

It took him a moment to find his voice. 

“The Princess once joined the army, braving the battlefield. These scars are marks of bravery. They should be honored, not hidden. Without them, we wouldn’t have the peace we enjoy today. How could they be considered hideous? They are no less noble than the honors borne by the Emperor or Prince Yan.”

He hesitated before adding, “I excel in meticulous painting. If the Princess permits, I will trace the scars with gold ink, to reflect their true worth.”

Though his voice trembled slightly, there was no trace of servility—only sincerity. Princess Danyang glanced at him, her critical gaze softening.

Yet as her eyes lingered, Su Run quickly averted his own and stepped to the window. He shut it with a firm hand, only to catch sight of someone outside—Meng Guanlou, his face dark with barely restrained fury.

Su Run’s stomach twisted, though relief followed when he realized the man was too far to see inside.

Princess Danyang chuckled, her tone laced with mockery. 

“He’s here to beg me for mercy on his family. I want him to see the life I’m leading instead.”

Her gaze shifted to Su Run. 

“Why shut the window while painting, Scholar Su? Are you trying to shield me from other men’s eyes? Have you decided to curry favor with me, like the others?”

Su Run didn’t turn around. 

“The autumn wind bites harshly, Princess, and you are lightly dressed. That is why I closed the window.”

Princess Danyang froze, pulling her robe tighter around herself. Her playful demeanor faltered, replaced by a faint hint of vulnerability.

After ensuring she was properly covered, she moved to examine the painting. Her eyes lingered on the golden-inked scars, her expression caught between admiration and solemnity.

“You surprise me, Scholar Su,” she said at last, her voice softer. “Advisor Lu said you were a good man, but I didn’t agree. Now, it seems he was right. You are indeed a gentleman, not a hypocrite. I owe you an apology for my previous judgment. You can paint. Once you’re done, help me trace the map on the table.”

Su Run’s composure cracked for the first time. Her praise, more disarming than her earlier state of undress, brought heat to his cheeks.

As he was tracing the map, he couldn’t help but feel grateful to Qun Qing for his foresight. It turned out that Princess Danyang was not as unreasonable as he had imagined. He was just blinded by one thing.

Prince Yan’s Residence

The halls were bright with light, yet the mood was anything but warm.

A gray falcon’s lifeless body lay sprawled on the ground. Chi Su knelt beside it, her voice raw. “Though the advisor ordered me to stay, I disobeyed. I switched places with a soldier to follow. I never expected this cursed bird to misinterpret the signal.”

Lu Huating’s piercing gaze fixed on her. 

“Worried?” he said, his voice razor-sharp. “Afraid your master might worry, is that it?”

Chi Su’s head snapped up, her face stricken with fear.

The medical officer worked on Lu Huating’s fractured wrist, the bone-resetting process sending beads of sweat down his temples. Yet his expression remained stoic, his cold eyes betraying none of the pain.

“Take her away,” he ordered.

Chi Su’s protests turned to sobs as she was dragged out by two soldiers. The other attendants—Zhu Su and the rest—watched in uneasy silence, their faces pale.

Moments later, Jian Su returned with a report. 

“It turns out that four years ago, Meng Guanlou found Chi Su’s brother and took him into his mansion as a soldier. He was the leader of the gang that attacked us in the East Market that day. Meng Guanlou placed him in the manor, and now he’s been captured by my subordinates.”

“How could she have a younger brother?” Zhu Su asked, clearly annoyed. “Aren’t we selected for our lack of close kin, with no brothers to complicate matters?”

“Back then, Chi Su and her parents colluded with the villagers to cover the truth, believing they’d gain an advantage by securing two official positions,” Jian Su explained. “Meng Guanlou threatened her brother’s life and her future, so Chi Su had no choice but to cooperate and become an insider.”

“And how does the Advisor intend to deal with this matter?” Jian Su asked. 

Prince Yan’s Mansion does not tolerate betrayal. Today, someone nearly stole the ledger. It seems that Chi Su’s life cannot be spared.

Lu Huating’s voice was sharp, like a string being plucked: 

“Lock this person in a narrow cell, feed them a poison that breaks the heart, and only provide one antidote. Since she cares so much about her brother, let her see if it’s worth it.”