After Rebirth, I Married my Archenemy - Chapter 93

“What are you following me for?”

Qun Qing had barely taken a few steps when she realized Zhu Su was trailing behind her.

Zhu Su nudged Xiansu, and Xiansu nudged her back, neither willing to speak. At last, Zhu Su said, “You can command us as you wish. There may be unrest in the coming days. Xiansu and I… are considered your people now.”

Zhu Su nudged Jian Su; Jian Su nudged her back. After a moment’s hesitation, Zhu Su finally spoke.

“The Advisor said things might not be peaceful these next few days. Jian Su and I… are considered your people now. You can command us as you wish..”

At this point, Qun Qing had no real opinion about the marriage. Even if she had, she couldn’t change Emperor Chenming’s decree.

For things she couldn’t change, she had only one response: she kicked a stone into the lake and kept walking toward the East Palace.

She had to keep her official position in the inner court. Only then could she fulfill her father’s wish for revenge—and perhaps, one day, see her mother again.

Even if she was suddenly tied to Prince Yan’s household for no reason, she owed Li Xuan an explanation.

Inside the Eastern Palace, Li Xuan was seated behind a mountain of memorials, his heavy robe draped over his shoulders. The backlight hid his expression.

“You already know?” he asked.

Qun Qing understood he was referring to the marriage.

Li Xuan lifted his eyes to meet hers. His phoenix-like gaze was calm.

“Are you willing?” he asked.

Qun Qing met his gaze.

Her face had grown rosier since they first met, but her solitary air remained, like a piece of polished jade—beautiful, but cold and untouchable.

Li Xuan found it hard to picture her as anyone’s wife.

After a moment of silence, she suddenly knelt and said, “Your Highness, I am willing to be like Lady Xu of the previous dynasty— marrying into the Wang family, only to help Princess Changping destroy them.”

She offered her loyalty; whether he chose to believe it or not was up to him.

Li Xuan let out a short, cold laugh. “This palace isn’t Princess Changping,” he said. “When have I ever needed someone to sell themselves to help me?”

Qun Qing pressed her forehead to the floor.

From where he sat, Li Xuan couldn’t see her face—only the dark crown of her head.

“Your Highness, please forgive me. If I end up trapped in Prince Yan’s inner court, I might not be able to see you freely again.”

As she finished speaking, a drop of ink fell onto Li Xuan’s page, blooming like a dark flower. He crumpled the memorial in his hand.

“This matter—don’t worry about it,” he said.

“In the days ahead, just do your job like you always have.

No one in Prince Yan’s manor will dare block your path.”

At his words, the knot in Qun Qing’s chest finally loosened.

But then she heard Li Xuan say, almost to himself—

“I suddenly remembered something from a long time ago.”

“When I was first demoted to Huaiyuan, I brought a white lark from the palace with me.

Do you know what a white lark is? It’s a bird that can imitate human speech. My mother gave it to me to lift my spirits.”

“One day, on the road, it slipped through the carriage curtains and fell into the snow. My first instinct was to jump down and get it— but the Grand Chancellor stopped me. He said there were people from Princess Changping’s side among the escorts. If they saw me clinging to memories of Chang’an, they’d twist it into a reason to accuse my family. 

So I didn’t move. I just sat there and watched as the bird got buried by the snow.

Later, I kept dreaming about it. In the dream, I wasn’t even human anymore—just a puppet trapped in silk and brocade, unable to move an inch.”

The room fell quiet.

After a while, Qun Qing said softly,
“White larks are fragile. Even if you’d saved it, it might not have survived the journey to Huaiyuan.”

Li Xuan smiled faintly, almost mockingly. “If it were you, would you have jumped off the carriage to save it?”

“I would,” Qun Qing answered without hesitation. “If I can’t even save the things I love, what’s the point of living?”

Li Xuan coughed lightly into a handkerchief. When he looked down, there were specks of red blooming on the fabric. He laughed a little, the sound cold and self-mocking.

“To become emperor—to be a father to the world—one must pay a price,” he said, looking over the mound of memorials. “The carriage has come this far. There’s no turning back. I have to keep going to the end.”

He didn’t say anything more after that.

He just ordered, “There’s a memorial hidden in Prince Yan’s manor. Bring it to me.”

“What memorial?” Qun Qing asked.

“Someone’s accused Liu Sijun, the governor of Yunzhou, of embezzlement. Sanlang and Lu Huating are pressing hard against me. I can’t just sit and wait to die.”

Yunzhou’s governor… Liu Sijun.

He was Meng Guangshen’s student— and a loyal supporter of the Crown Prince.

—

When Qun Qing left the Eastern Palace, she ran straight into Meng Baoshu.

Baoshu was wearing a sixth-rank female official’s uniform. Her eyes and nose were red, like she’d just finished crying.

At the sight of Qun Qing, Baoshu’s gaze sharpened as though she wished to tear her apart.

Finally, the hatred twisted into a sneer.

“My brother is dead. Are you satisfied?” she hissed. “Your future will be bright. Indeed—still dreaming of lifting up a palace slave? In your dreams. Just wait—the Empress Dowager’s birthday banquet will be the day you die.”

Shouxi hurried over, trying to pull Baoshu away, but she had already spun around, straightening her back and striding toward the palace, presumably to seek the Crown Prince.

Even after she left, Qun Qing could feel her cold, resentful gaze lingering behind her.

When Qun Qing returned to Chongjing Hall, Ruo Chan rushed over.

“I heard Meng Guanlou caught some epidemic at Dali Court. The Meng family’s already hanging white mourning banners,” she whispered.

Qun Qing, who was standing on tiptoe arranging firecrackers and candles, froze.

She understood what Meng Guanlou’s “epidemic” truly meant.

But what shocked her more was that Meng Guangshen had actually chosen to sacrifice his own son— just to cover up the drugging scandal.

Even Baoshu had been pushed to the point of begging Li Xuan for help.

“Did Chancellor Meng ever visit him in prison?” she asked casually.

Ruo Chan replied quietly, “I heard from Sister Huanyue that Chancellor Meng had someone send in a piece of blank paper.”

“Blank paper?”

“Probably to have Meng Guanlou write something down. He was already seriously ill — when he saw that blank paper, he laughed and cried at the same time. The whole prison could hear him. In the end, he tore the paper to pieces, leaving only letters for the Crown Prince and Baoshu.”

Meng Guanlou had been thrown into prison holding Qun Qing’s handwritten confession. No wonder Baoshu hated her so much.

But since the other side had released him, Qun Qing needed to double-check everything again.

It didn’t take her long to spot something wrong. Ruo Chan also let out a sharp gasp:

Several fireworks that were supposed to be used for the banquet had gone missing from the storeroom.

A whole cart of fireworks had been dumped carelessly into the garden thicket. After days of relentless rain, the red cloth covering them was completely soaked through — the fireworks had turned into duds.

Several palace attendants gathered around, helpless and at a loss. Zhu Shangyi, seeing the mess, flew into a rage:

“Our Shangyi Bureau dreads nothing more than managing these grand banquets! I haven’t even been able to close my eyes at night! And yet somehow, every time you’re in charge of the storeroom, Qun Qing, something goes wrong! Hurry — go buy replacements from outside the palace!”

Qun Qing thought for a moment, then said, “But fireworks bought outside aren’t inspected the way those from the Ministry of War are. If anything goes wrong, it’ll be our Shangyi Bureau held responsible.”

Zhu Shangyi hesitated. “But this is the Empress’s memorial feast — the ceremony must follow protocol exactly. Even for Consort Han’s birthday last month, there were fireworks! If we’re missing them now and His Majesty blames us…”

“I’ll find a way to handle it,” Qun Qing interrupted calmly, lowering her long lashes. “I’ve heard Prince Zhao has prepared his own fireworks for tonight. Compared to his display, our Shangyi Bureau’s absence won’t draw much attention.”

Zhu Shangyi’s expression softened slightly — though she was clearly surprised at how Qun Qing had gotten this information.

Naturally, Qun Qing had sent out her own spies to find out.

She also knew that Li Pan was secretly dressing as a woman and practicing a dance to perform behind a screen — all to win the Emperor’s guilt and forgiveness, by showing a face that closely resembled the late Empress. Li Pan really was willing to risk everything.

But Qun Qing understood: a parent’s love for their child is the hardest bond to break. If they didn’t strike now, Li Pan would survive through the fourth year of Emperor Chenming’s reign — live freely in his fiefdom with his favored concubines — and only die peacefully many years later.

Thinking this through, Qun Qing let out a soft whistle.

In no time, Jian Su appeared before her, looking all innocence.

Qun Qing unfolded a sheet of paper painted with images of fish lanterns.

“Go buy me thirty-three of these lanterns.”

“Thirty-three?” Jian Su blinked, thinking he’d misheard. “Each stall only sells one or two like this. I’ll have to run all over the city! Mistress, are you punishing me for something?”

“I know it’ll take running all over,” Qun Qing said evenly, glancing at him and Zhu Su. “But I want them delivered before midnight.”

Jian Su and Zhu Su exchanged a look — then slipped away into the darkness.

—

The night before a major banquet, the Shangyi Bureau’s attendants always stood night watch.

Tiny lanterns dangled from the eaves, turning the Daming Palace into a glittering sea of light. The attendants climbed wooden frames to check the colorful lanterns, the flowers around the Buddha statues, the offerings on display — everything had to be perfect.

“Lady Qing, your intel’s spot on,” one of the ceremonial officials nudged Qun Qing, pointing ahead. “Look — Prince Zhao really did prepare fireworks.”

In the distance, palace guards were unloading several carts, neatly arranging crates of fireworks.

Meanwhile, word had already reached Prince Zhao’s residence: 

“Our men are ready outside, but Lady Qing hasn’t left the palace to buy more fireworks.”

Li Pan, tired from dancing practice, sat back with his face lightly powdered, frowning slightly — but he soon relaxed.

“Keep the music playing,” he said.

His mother’s memorial feast was his main stage. Serving at the palace tonight, any mistake — even one not directly his fault — could still be blamed on him. Better to keep everything looking flawless.

Back in the side halls, Qun Qing ducked inside carrying her lantern.

And “ducked” was the right word — the side chambers of the Liangyi Hall were packed with hanging scrolls.

Short scrolls dangled from every wall; long ones unrolled across tables and chairs like flowing rivers.

Slipping between the artwork, Qun Qing brushed past the painted images, lit by the faint lantern light — her shadow and the women in the paintings seeming to gaze at each other.

On one scroll, a woman’s face was depicted — gentle, serene, but with faint sorrow furrowed in her brow.

It was the late Empress, the former wife of Emperor Chenming.

Qun Qing lightly touched the Empress’s painted brows and eyes, and for a moment, felt a sharp pang of sorrow — thinking of her own mother.

Inwardly, she whispered an apology to the Empress.

Because she was about to move against Prince Zhao — and she prayed for forgiveness from his late mother.

Just then, she bumped into someone.

It was Princess Danyang. Without missing a beat, Qun Qing drew back her hand and raised her lantern.

“Your Highness, why are you still awake so late?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Danyang said, squeezing in beside her.

She smelled faintly of flowers — and since the lantern gift last time, she’d become much closer with Qun Qing.

“These days the Emperor keeps bringing up marriage proposals for me. It’s driving me crazy.”

“Which families?”

“Chu Huaiyao, son of the Vice Minister of Justice. And Liu Dan. 

During the Empress’s feast, I’m supposed to meet them formally. But I don’t like any of them. Still, my imperial uncle insists — he says only if I marry will he allow me and my husband to return to our fief.”

Qun Qing listened carefully. Both men were aligned with Chancellor Meng. It was obvious: whoever married Danyang would gain control of the troops she commanded.

But Danyang was deeply beloved by Emperor Chenming — lively on the outside, but sensitive at heart. In her previous life, she eventually gave in to the Emperor’s will and married — but grew increasingly unhappy, drowning her loneliness in wine and frivolity.

Qun Qing gazed at the Empress’s painting and said softly, “Doesn’t the Empress look a little sorrowful?”

“She does,” Danyang said. “She was born Yang Zhennang, of the old Chu royal family. Because the Princess of Changping was wary of the Li clan, she was forced to cut ties with her own family — wore herself out serving the imperial house. She barely knew a single day of happiness. Then she was sent to that harsh northern frontier — and eventually, died at Feihu Crossing.”

Qun Qing thought for a moment, then smiled slightly. “If Your Highness wants to test whether those two men are truly worthy of you, I may have a way.”

She leaned closer and whispered the idea in Danyang’s ear.

Then she said, “Your Highness is a truly wonderful person. I hope you find real happiness.”

—

The next night, at the third quarter of the hour of Xu, drums beat solemnly through the palace.

The sky was fully dark, but the halls glowed with countless soft lights.

Twenty monks sat cross-legged, chanting sutras while tapping wooden fish. Emperor Chenming and Empress Ma sat at the main seat, faces grave and dignified.

Li Xuan and Li Huan, dressed in pure white, offered three sticks of incense before the Empress’s spirit tablet.

Perhaps caught by memory, Emperor Chenming’s expression flickered with sadness.

The palace herald read out loud the birthday offerings from each consort.

“Concubine Lü offers a statue of Guanyin, the Merciful Goddess.”

A palace attendant carefully lifted the heavy statue from its box and passed it to Qun Qing. Qun Qing cradled it with both hands, walking steadily toward the altar.

But the moment she placed the statue on the table — a crack sounded.

The Guanyin statue split cleanly in two — the top half rolling off.

Before it hit the floor, Qun Qing swiftly caught it.

But the hall had already fallen into dead silence.

And from the corner of her eye, she could feel Emperor Chenming’s cold, sharp gaze turn toward her.