After Rebirth, I Married my Archenemy - Chapter 7

The grand palace loomed in the distance, soon receding like towering beasts lifting their proud heads against the vast, overcast sky.

As Qun Qing rode forward, fleeting memories of her past flashed through her mind like glimpses from horseback.

Chang’an was often rainy. When she was eleven, she would lie listlessly by the attic window, staring at the same stretch of sky.

Downstairs, the clinking of cups and lively banter floated up. The guests were praising her brother, Shi Yuming, for his poetic talent. Yet those poems had been written by her.

Her mother never allowed her to steal the spotlight, nor did she let her attend the banquets. The only way she could join in was by secretly passing her poems to her brother during the drinking games, hearing the praise meant for her land on his shoulders instead.

“Second Young Master, why is your sister never around?” someone asked once. Following their mother’s instructions, Shi Yuming replied indifferently, “Liu Niang doesn’t like lively crowds.”

“Such a timid and shy young lady!” an elder chided. “A girl doesn’t need to be talented, but all the noble daughters of Chang’an stand out. Your grandfather holds a sixth-rank official title. She must face the world, or she’ll be looked down upon when she’s married off. With your poetic gifts, why don’t you teach her?”

Someone laughed and added, “How do you know he hasn’t tried! Liu Niang is an odd one—I’ve barely seen her since she was a child. Maybe she’s afraid of making a fool of herself and losing face!”

Qun Qing’s breath quickened, her chest burning with anger.

As the drinking game began, Shi Yuming slipped away, hurrying up to the attic. Skillfully, he reached his hand under the curtain, shaking it as a signal for her to “write quickly.”

Frustrated, she let her brush fall clumsily on the paper, smudging the ink. Instead of a poem, she rebelliously scribbled all over the page before handing it back.

When Shi Yuming returned to his seat and unfolded the paper, he found nothing but a sketch of a turtle. Forced to improvise, he stumbled through an explanation. Soon, peals of laughter erupted downstairs. Qun Qing smirked, satisfied that her brother had made a fool of himself.

Amidst the laughter, everyone turned to see a young lady standing on the stairs, her face flushed with anger. From above, she hurled an ink-stained brush down in fury.

The aftermath was swift—her mother dragged her into a secluded study to confront her. When she refused to admit any wrongdoing, the usually calm and gentle woman lost her temper, delivering a sharp slap. “Do you think you’re special just because you’ve read a few books?”

It was the first time her mother had ever struck her.

Zhu Ying’s outburst shocked Shi Yuming, who had followed to stop the commotion. He stood frozen, staring at their mother in disbelief.

Qun Qing clutched her burning cheek and scurried into the shadows between the bookshelves. What hurt more than the slap was that Shi Yuming had witnessed it.

“Come out,” Zhu Ying commanded sternly. But Qun Qing only pressed herself further into the shelves, finding strange comfort in the musty scent of ink surrounding her. Shi Yuming tugged at their mother’s sleeve, while their father arrived to intervene.

When their father couldn’t calm her, he suddenly grabbed Shi Yuming by the collar and dragged him out. Not long after, the sound of a belt striking flesh echoed from the courtyard.

Their father’s beating was silent but ruthless. At first, Shi Yuming gritted his teeth in quiet endurance, but soon his cries filled the air, like a pig being slaughtered. “Liu Niang wanted to write the poems for me! She wanted to hear the compliments. What did I do wrong? I was wrong! I shouldn’t have told Mother! I was wrong! I was wrong!”

It felt as if their father was silently battling Zhu Ying, and only when she finally let go of Qun Qing to rush outside did the punishment stop. Their father glared, his anger unspoken but palpable.

Later that night, Qun Qing crossed paths with Shi Yuming, now bruised and swollen. Neither of them spoke. His once-handsome face looked so ridiculous that Qun Qing had to suppress a laugh.

As they passed each other, Shi Yuming muttered irritably, “Mother said you’re the dullest of all. If you can’t study well, don’t try to show off and embarrass yourself.”

Rubbing his cheek, he added bitterly, “She’s right. I’ve seen plenty of girls, and you’re the worst of them all. Reclusive and stubborn—no one will ever want to marry you!”

Furious, Qun Qing stormed off. Behind her, Shi Yuming called out, “Hey, hey, hey! Look at the desk—Father left you something.”

Turning back, under the flickering candlelight, Qun Qing saw a peeled persimmon carefully placed on a handkerchief, washed so often it had turned pure white.

Her father, Shi Yu, was a valiant general of Great Chu, his towering figure often standing at the alley’s entrance like an iron pillar. The first time he retrieved her kite that had flown beyond the walls, Qun Qing had feared him. There was always an unspoken distance between them.

Her father was never good with words, nor did he know how to express affection, so he conveyed his care through small, quiet gestures. Everything laid out under the lamplight—food and toys—was for her.

Her father’s love was like that persimmon.

Qun Qing took the persimmon, carried it to the embroidery room, and slowly ate it. This was her way of accepting his silent apology, his wordless comfort.

–

Several days later, Qun Qing overheard her parents arguing. Once again, it seemed to be about her. The argument had erupted because her father had secretly turned away a messenger from the palace.

She heard her normally reticent father speak, “Why must she be drawn into this storm?”

Her mother’s voice was cold and firm, “Then what do you expect her to do?”

Her father responded decisively, “Let her live a normal life. In two years, she’ll marry, have children in Chang’an, and live out her days peacefully.”

Marry? Marry who?

That insufferable Lin Yujia?

The thought of herself marrying Lin Yujia, having children, and spending the rest of her life in a small house with him filled Qun Qing with dread. The idea was unbearable. Desperation gripped her, and she rushed to the stables. Unable to untie Shi Yuming’s horse, she hastily mounted her little donkey and whipped it toward the palace gates.

She had to catch that messenger, to tell him she was willing to enter the palace.

Her mother had once let slip the truth—every lesson, every embroidery session, everything she had been forced to learn, had all been to prepare her for a path as a court lady.

The palace was an unknown, but it was better than a life tied to Lin Yujia.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Qun Qing finally caught up to a eunuch dressed in red robes outside the Anfu Gate. He wasn’t the messenger she sought, and informed her that the envoy had already left long ago.

This year’s selection for the six department of palace services was over.

“Try again in two years,” the eunuch said.

Terrified that in two years she’d be married off to Lin Yujia, Qun Qing grabbed at him, her voice pleading desperately.

“Oh, so you’re Zhu Ying’s daughter,” the old, white-haired eunuch said after giving her a glance. A smile curled on his lips as he took a brush and made a few swift strokes in the imperial register. Her name appeared on the list, bathed in the bloody red light of the setting sun.

“I’m selecting a companion for Princess Bao’an, His Majesty’s seventeenth daughter,” the eunuch continued. “If you can catch the princess’s eye, you’ll still have your chance to enter the palace. Be at the Yiyuan Gardens in ten days for the selection.”

Ten days later, Qun Qing tied her little donkey to a post outside the Yiyuan Gardens, having snuck out without her parents’ knowledge.

Inside a waterside pavilion, a circle of young ladies sat gracefully, their robes embroidered with the finest silks, their fans delicately adorned. They were the best-dressed girls in all of Chang’an, beautiful and proud. Their occasional laughter filled the air, making the whole pavilion shimmer with their elegance.

Qun Qing glanced down at her own pale blue silk robe and felt a sudden touch on her hand.

It was Wei Ran, the Grand Chancellor’s daughter.

Her bold act at the banquet had garnered some attention, and though many invitations had come to her home, only Wei Ran had continued to write, becoming her one true friend.

Wei Ran was dressed in her finest today, a delicate gold brush lining her eyelids. She cast a puzzled look at Qun Qing, her eyes questioning without a word.

In that moment, Qun Qing understood: to enter the palace, one needed more than just presence. Her attire, plain and simple, fell far short of the standard for such an occasion.

Wei Ran tilted her head, then took off her earrings and, ignoring Qun Qing’s refusals, gently put them on her. “My mother insisted on putting all this jewelry in my hair today—how gaudy. I was just thinking of taking some off,” she said, plucking a slender hairpin from her own hair and placing it in Qun Qing’s.

Before Qun Qing could protest, Wei Ran quickly grabbed her wrists, stopping her from removing the accessories. She watched Qun Qing’s face with a playful smile. “Oh—Sixth Sister, you’re blushing.”

The wind swept across Qun Qing’s flushed cheeks, her thoughts swirling like water at a boil. Faced with such kindness, she couldn’t find the words to respond.

Luckily, the sound of laughter from the pavilion gave her an excuse. “You should go join them,” Qun Qing said.

“Shall we go together?” Wei Ran asked.

“I won’t go,” Qun Qing replied. “If they start discussing music or painting, I won’t understand a thing. It would just make things awkward.”

Wei Ran frowned. “Is your mother still making you embroider for four hours a day? I swear, I’ll have my mother speak to her. You’re a noble daughter, not a palace maid! As long as your embroidery is decent, that should be enough. Just look at your fingertips, they’re covered in calluses—is she punishing you?”

Qun Qing shook her head. “It’s because I haven’t mastered it yet, so I need more practice.”

“‘Haven’t mastered it’?” Wei Ran’s eyes widened. “Are you trying to make the rest of us look bad? I think your mother’s standards are just too high. After all, she was a lady-in-waiting to the Eldest Princess. If you ask me, she favors your brother more. Look how different she treats you compared to Erlang!”

Qun Qing couldn’t help but defend her mother. “My mother is good to me.” If Zhu Ying were truly harsh, she wouldn’t have taught her to read or wanted her to explore broader horizons.

Wei Ran slapped her arm playfully. “You’re like a little dog your mother raised—you think everything she does is perfect.” The two girls shared a laugh at this.

Wei Ran glanced back toward the pavilion, and Qun Qing knew she longed to join the other young ladies. Mingling was a crucial part of life for noble daughters in Chang’an. “Go on,” Qun Qing urged.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright on your own?” Wei Ran asked.

“I’m fine. I’ll find you when it’s almost time,” Qun Qing said, her gaze fixed on a distant rock garden where a young palace attendant was struggling to pull a horse. The horse kept turning its head, snorting stubbornly, refusing to move, and leaving the poor attendant drenched in sweat.

It was a magnificent white horse, graceful and striking, capturing her attention.

At home, her grandfather forbade her from riding large horses, forcing her to act like a gentle lady to meet his expectations. Only when she went out with Shi Yuming could she secretly ride her brother’s horse. Even then, Shi Yuming only allowed her a few laps before urging her down, leaving her to watch him ride off, longing to be in the saddle again.

Once Wei Ran had entered the pavilion, Qun Qing swiftly walked over to the rock garden. She bowed to the startled palace attendant before rising to her toes, placing one hand on the horse’s muzzle and gently smoothing its mane with the other.

Shi Yuming had taught her how to calm horses, and the restless white stallion gradually stopped its snorting, lowering its head and nuzzling her hand, as if growing fond of her touch.

The palace attendant, relieved, smiled brightly. “This horse belongs to the garden and is usually ridden by the beast tamer. If you don’t mind, young lady, you could ride it to the stables, and I’ll guide the way.”

This was exactly what Qun Qing had hoped for. Without a second thought, she mounted the horse.

She guided the white horse carefully, making sure its hooves barely made a sound. The horse seemed to understand, moving gracefully through the water corridors and past the pavilions, as swift and quiet as the wind, all the way to the stables.

Qun Qing tightened her legs around the horse, but instead of stopping at the stables, the horse took off again, galloping toward the pavilion. The young attendant leaned against a stone post, exhausted, calling after her, “It must be restless and doesn’t want to be tied up. Take it for a few more laps, then bring it back!”

It wasn’t just the horse that felt stifled.

Qun Qing had already ridden far ahead.

There was still time before the selection began, so she took the horse around in circles several more times before finally dismounting, reluctantly tying it up. She patted its mane one last time, dusted off her robe, and headed toward the waterside pavilion, her heart light and full of excitement.

Even if she wasn’t chosen today, she had ridden a horse—it wouldn’t be a wasted trip.

But when Qun Qing returned to the pavilion, she froze in shock.

The noble daughters who had been chatting leisurely now stood silently in line along the path, their gazes all fixed on Qun Qing. Each face held a different expression—some curious, others surprised. Only Wei Ran looked thrilled, as if she wanted to say something but refrained.

Qun Qing halted, anxiety bubbling inside her though her outward calm remained intact. She couldn’t decipher what Wei Ran was trying to mouth to her, but a creeping sense of unease told her she might have unknowingly stirred trouble.

From the group of girls, the most striking one stepped forward gracefully, like a lotus rising out of still water.

Dressed in a golden red ruqun, her dark, voluminous hair decorated with fan-shaped gold ornaments, she moved with effortless poise. Her complexion was creamy like milk, her lips vivid as plum blossoms, and her eyes shone as bright as scattered stars.

Without hesitation, she grabbed Qun Qing’s wrist, then turned back to the group and raised her voice. “Did you all see? I choose her.”

–

Later, Qun Qing found herself sitting beside Princess Bao’an at Luanyi Pavilion, now her appointed companion. The princess spoke with a mixture of amusement and disdain. “I dressed up as an official’s daughter and blended in with the crowd to observe how noble daughters behave in their natural state. But not one of them caught my interest.”

“They all know how to flaunt their talents and show off, pretending to understand everything. But deep down, they’re nothing but tacky. And then,” her eyes brightened as she glanced at Qun Qing, “I saw you.”

“Out of all those girls, I chose you the moment I saw you.” Yang Fu, the princess’s given name, lowered her fan slightly, her clear eyes fixated on Qun Qing with intensity. “You’re different from them all. You are like… the great Congxi of our Grand Chu!”

Congxi was the thirteenth prince of the legendary Kingdom of Chu. He rode a white horse, and was known for his bravery and elegance. After his death, he was immortalized as a deity, guarding the heavens. No one had ever compared her to someone so extraordinary before. Until now, Qun Qing had never considered herself special, often believing she fell short of others.

Princess Bao’an’s words felt like starlight, illuminating her from within. Qun Qing’s lowered eyelashes trembled as her thoughts churned, her heart racing in disbelief.

As Princess Bao’an’s companion, Qun Qing never slacked off. Though called a “companion-reader,” her role was much more varied—she was a maid, a playmate, and sometimes, a sister. Kite flying, making river lanterns, playing Go, riding polo—no task was too difficult for her to learn or too tiring for her to undertake for the princess’s sake.

From that day forward, the palace became a different world for Qun Qing—a place where courtiers bowed beneath the shadow of the paulownia terrace, where Lin Yujia glared at her with thinly veiled resentment. It was a place of endless archery drills and riding lessons. Her mother still sent winter clothes, always accompanied by words of advice. Princess Changping lavished her with luxurious palace attire and jewelry that bore an uncanny resemblance to her own. When Qun Qing hid them beneath her bed, Princess Bao’an, always carefree, would find them and insist she wear them.

“Doesn’t this look beautiful?” Yang Fu would ask, holding her hand in the pavilion, her smile soft. “Just like my sister…”

Princess Bao’an was fond of play but despised her studies. Every morning, it was Qun Qing who forced herself up, dragging Yang Fu out of bed to attend her lessons. As the princess sat at the desk, struggling to keep her eyes open, Qun Qing would stand by, silently completing the lessons in her own mind. She would often wonder, Why can’t she grasp such simple problems?

Yang Fu’s head would droop over the desk, her voice barely audible as she complained, “Sitting is so exhausting. Let me lie down for just a moment.” She would then drift off to sleep.

By the time the sunlight warmed her face, she would wake with a start, panic welling in her tear-filled eyes. “What time is it? What am I supposed to do now?”

In the soft morning light, Qun Qing would place a neat stack of essays on the desk, written in her own hand, perfectly mimicking the princess’s messy script. “Don’t do this again next time…” she would begin, only to be cut off by Yang Fu’s smile breaking through her tears.

For three years, Qun Qing wrote Princess Bao’an’s schoolwork. She wrote it once herself, then had the princess memorize it, word by word, and rewrite it. With time, Princess Bao’an absorbed a little, and eventually, even the stern Grand Tutor allowed himself a flicker of satisfaction.

But by the end of the Shengping era, dark clouds loomed over Chu as the Bei Rong forces invaded the empire. In protest of the worsening situation, the Grand Tutor, unable to bear the dishonor, took his own life by ramming into a pillar.

Even the death of the Grand Tutor couldn’t halt the crumbling of the royal court. Princess Bao’an’s brother, Crown Prince Zhao, who was acting as regent, dropped the imperial seal in a fit of trembling despair. The reports from the front line soon arrived with terrible news—Chu’s emperor and Princess Changping, who had bravely gone to oversee the battle, had been captured by the Bei Rong invaders.

The Bei Rong Khan taunted at the gates, demanding that the youngest, seventeenth princess marry him in exchange for the emperor’s release. The fate of an entire kingdom weighed against a mere Princess Bao’an seemed impossible to reconcile.

When news of this marriage proposal reached Yang Fu, she collapsed into illness, refusing to eat. Her once carefree spirit was crushed under the weight of her impending doom.

Qun Qing tried to coax her into eating, but Yang Fu, her voice filled with despair, pushed her away, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Go home,” she pleaded weakly. “You’ve always been my favorite, but I won’t let you follow me to Bei Rong. I wish I could just die, so I don’t have to marry that decrepit old man. He’s sixty…” She couldn’t finish, sobbing bitterly.

But Qun Qing didn’t leave. For two days and nights, she scoured the palace archives, searching through old calendars and records, hoping for a solution. Just as the imperial decree for the marriage was to be announced, she finally found a glimmer of hope. Armed with nothing but an almanac and a sword, she mounted her horse and stormed off to the palace.

The memory of that night felt like a cold, distant dream, the events blurring into one another—red gates swinging open, the flicker of countless torches, startled faces, and eventually, the stern gaze of Crown Prince Zhao, draped in his dragon robes, staring down at her.

“What did you say?” His voice was disbelieving. “Before Princess Changping went north, she sent a letter to Prince Consort Lingyun?”

“Exactly.” Qun Qing retrieved the letter from her robes, holding it out with trembling hands. “My mother once served as a dressmaid to Princess Changping. Before she left for the front lines, the princess entrusted a secret letter to my mother, which I found at home. In the letter, Princess Changping instructed Prince Lingyun to lead an army north as a precaution. General Lingyun agreed and sent word to Li Feng, the Governor of Huaiyuan, to mobilize his forces as well. Both armies are now marching towards the capital, and by the time the marriage would have taken place, they should be arriving to rescue His Majesty.”

Crown Prince Zhao’s lips quivered with a mix of shock and hope, his breath quickening.

Qun Qing continued urgently, “Princess Bao’an is renowned for her beauty, and the Bei Rong demand for her as a concubine is an intentional humiliation aimed at Chu. If Your Highness sends her, it would be akin to offering our dignity on a silver platter. How could the people of Chu respect a kingdom that so easily bends to such insults?”

“You think I am blind to shame?” Crown Prince Zhao shouted, his voice cracking with frustration. “Bao’an is my sister—do you think I want to send her off to such a fate? But Father and Princess Changping are in their hands! What if they kill them if we refuse?”

Fifteen-year-old Qun Qing, her voice trembling but determined, held up the almanac. “The selected date for the marriage is inauspicious, clashing with the nation’s fortune. I beg Your Highness to postpone the ceremony and allow Princess Bao’an to retreat to the Temple of Serenity for twenty days of purification. The Bei Rong, believing in their traditions, will not dare to act hastily while the purification rites are underway. During this time, General Lingyun and Governor Li will arrive to rescue the emperor and Princess Changping, sparing Princess Bao’an from a cruel fate and preventing Chu from suffering public disgrace.”

Crown Prince Zhao stood in silence for a moment, his face pale and his thoughts racing. The fate of his family and the kingdom weighed heavily on his shoulders.

The Crown Prince’s imperial seal sealed the decree, and with twenty days of hope, Qun Qing rode back to the palace.

The night was dark as ink. When her horse arrived, Qun Qing was surprised to find Yang Fu—who had previously lain in bed on the brink of death—standing outside the door. Holding a lantern, her hair was disheveled, and she anxiously awaited her return.

The dim light from the lantern illuminated Princess Bao’an’s thin sleepwear, her bare feet on the blue bricks, and her tear-filled eyes.

Qun Qing dismounted quietly and said softly, “Princess, there will be no need for a marriage alliance.”

“Qing Qing!” Yang Fu cried, leaping forward to embrace her, tears streaming down her cheeks in joyful relief.

–

The memory flickered in Qun Qing’s mind, causing her lips to curve slightly before falling again.

After making her proposal, Qun Qing took Yang Fu and a few palace attendants to the Temple of Serenity for purification. No one anticipated that the two loyal commanders sent to rescue the Emperor would turn traitor. On the road, they mutinied, captured the Emperor and Princess Changping, and advanced southward with relentless force. Nineteen-year-old Crown Prince Zhao received the news swiftly and fled south with the palace concubines, not even pausing to put on his shoes.

The two young girls were forgotten at the secluded Temple of Serenity. By the time they learned of their abandonment, Daming Palace had fallen into the hands of the Li and Lingyun families.

They had narrowly escaped the massacre that followed the palace’s fall by hiding in the temple, but they could not escape the clutches of Li Huan, who rode in, consumed by his obsession for Princess Bao’an.

In that temple, Qun Qing lost her first life.

As Qun Qing recalled the loves and hatreds of her youth, the memories of her previous life’s tragic ending haunted her more vividly than ever.

What was certain was that Yang Fu was a princess, and Qun Qing was merely a maid. It was natural for many maids to die for their princesses in the eyes of the nobility; Qun Qing was never unique.

Princess Bao’an had said she was special because the princess, like a vine, needed someone to cling to. In the past, that person had been Qun Qing. But time changed, and now it could be someone stronger, like Li Huan.

Even if there were oceans of blood and hatred between them, even if Qun Qing was present, Princess Bao’an could still fall in love with him.

–

Qun Qing followed Lady Zhang into a familiar room, brushing past the sorrowful gaze of Bao Shu, who knelt at the doorway, before entering Princess Bao’an’s sleeping chambers.

Inside Luan Yi Pavilion, the room was crowded with people.

Three main seats occupied the space. Princess Yan had temporarily vacated her seat, leaving the middle position empty. To the right of this vacant spot, a girl around fourteen or fifteen in a green dress sat with one leg propped on the armrest of a round chair, her skirt fanned out like a screen, revealing her embroidered shoes. “Does Sister Yan have a small bladder? She’s been going to relieve herself several times this morning.”

Her attendant tried to lower her leg, advising her to adopt a more appropriate posture.

“No, I won’t. Why should some princess of the previous dynasty act all dignified while I, a rightful Crown Prince’s wife, can’t relax a little?” The girl in green was Zheng Zhiyi, the original wife of Crown Prince Li Xuan, brought from the northern lands.

Qun Qing’s gaze lingered on Zheng Zhiyi’s face for a moment.

Zheng Zhiyi—her rival from her past life. In that life, after Qun Qing entered the palace, the princess had confided in her that she wanted to be the crown princess. But the Crown Prince was already married; his first wife, holding the title of Liangdi, was Zheng Zhiyi. It had been Qun Qing who took Zheng Zhiyi’s opportunity and handed it over to the princess.

To the left of the empty seat sat Princess Bao’an.

No amount of ornate clothing could restore Yang Fu’s former spirit. She cradled her white cat, her expression somber. Any mention of the kingdom’s downfall would provoke her, yet Zheng Zhiyi seemed determined to make her uncomfortable.

Suddenly, the cat in Yang Fu’s arms let out a cry.

Lady Zhang pushed Qun Qing forward. “Your Highness has been waiting long; the last palace maid has arrived!”

A brief silence enveloped the room, broken only by the faint cries of the cat. Qun Qing sensed that the princess was trying to recognize her face. She could almost feel the waves of joy, excitement, and sorrow crashing over her. In their previous lives, they must have experienced a whirlwind of emotions at this very moment.

Yang Fu reached out, then quickly hid her trembling hand in her sleeve to feign unfamiliarity. “Lady Zhang, let her serve in my palace!”

Lady Zhang had just opened the palace registry when Zheng Zhiyi interjected, “She already has three maids. Why does she need another one?”

“Honorable lady, having four palace maids is still within palace rules,” Lady Zhang replied.

“Then why does I, the Liangdi of the Crown Prince, only have three?” Zheng Zhiyi challenged.

Lady Zhang stammered, “If Liangdi wishes, you… you may also have another maid…”

“Then I want one more.” Zheng Zhiyi suddenly pointed at Qun Qing. “I want her.”

At that moment, Princess Bao’an, who had seemed like a sick cat moments before, erupted in agitation. “The Crown Prince said my status surpasses that of Da Chen’s princess. Why listen to someone irrelevant prattling on? Make a note of it.”

Lady Zhang hesitated, her brush hovering midair, when Qun Qing unexpectedly spoke up. “I do not wish to serve Princess Bao’an.”

Her voice was clear and resolute. In an instant, the room fell silent. No one had expected a lowly palace maid to dare utter such words to a noble.

Lady Zhang was stunned. “What are you saying?”

Qun Qing raised her eyes, looking calmly at Yang Fu as she repeated, “I do not wish to serve Princess Bao’an.”

She had devoted half her life to this glimmer of light for Yang Fu. Now, after ten years of love, it was time for them to go their separate ways.