The mad princess forces love upon him, and the aloof imperial advisor trembles every night.

Chu Qingyue glanced at him, her eyes seeming to shatter like cold stars.

Two hundred thousand taels of gold.

Chixiao: "..."

She looked up at the moon, and in that instant, a rare, almost tender ripple appeared in the depths of her icy eyes.

"Mianmian will be back soon, and we need some money."

The three walked to the edge of Taiye Pond. Palace servants were cautiously cleaning up the mess. The strong stench of blood mixed with the cloying sweetness of the leftover wine from the banquet created a nauseating stench.

Chu Qingyue walked to the dead Siberian tiger. The beast died with its eyes wide open, its yellowish-brown pupils unfocused, reflecting the shattered moonlight. She crouched down, her fingertips tracing its cold, rough fur, the touch as familiar as those of her kind who had died at her hands on the Northern Snow Plains.

"Your Highness," Liu Yun reported in a low voice.

"It's been confirmed. Both tigers were fed large amounts of 'Mad Bone Powder,' a drug that can drive wild beasts to a frenzy of relentless pursuit of a specific scent. The incense on the Crown Prince's clothes was tampered with."

She paused, her voice growing deeper: "And that snow tiger... it should have pounced on Your Majesty, but for some reason, it came towards you instead."

Chu Qingyue did not answer. She got up and walked towards the pure white tigress. She lay on her side, like a silent snow mountain, the soft fur on her belly trembling slightly in the night breeze.

Chu Qingyue took out a bracelet from her bosom—made of eighteen sharp tiger teeth. During her seven years in Beiming, she had taken as many teeth as she had killed tigers.

"Because this snow tiger... has cubs." Chu Qingyue's voice was so soft it was almost inaudible.

"Snow Tiger... regarded me as one of its own. So when she pounced on me, she didn't bite. And I... didn't kill her either."

Just as the palace servants were about to carry away the snow tiger's body, Chu Qingyue suddenly saw—the snow tiger's abdomen moved very slightly.

Chu Qingyue's gaze sharpened: "The thing inside, is it still alive?"

Chi Xiao understood and drew the dagger from his waist. With a flash of cold light, the blade precisely and cleanly sliced ​​open the snow tiger's already stiff and cold belly.

The warm scent of internal organs wafted out. Curled up inside was a white tiger cub the size of a palm.

It was soaking wet, its eyes were not yet open, its four tiny paws were weakly scratching in the air, and it was emitting a faint whimper, barely breathing.

Chi Xiao took off his outer robe, carefully wrapped the frail little life in it, and presented it to Chu Qingyue.

"Your Highness, this...?"

Chu Qingyue lowered her eyes.

Moonlight fell on the tiger cubs, their snow-white fur stained with blood and slime, so fragile it seemed as if it would break at the slightest touch.

Since fifteen years ago, when her mother's remains were torn to pieces and fed to the beasts kept by the eldest prince—although she had long since poisoned all those tigers overnight—she still hated all tigers.

During her seven years in the Northern Underworld, she killed tigers on sight without hesitation.

"I don't like tigers," she said softly, taking the dagger from Chi Xiao's hand.

The blade was as thin as a cicada's wing, reflecting her cold and desolate eyes. The tip of the blade slowly pressed against the tiger cub's fragile neck; with just a gentle slash, this fragile life would come to an abrupt end.

The tiger cub seemed to sense the imminent danger and suddenly began to struggle violently.

It struggled to open its eyes—eyes as blue as the purest sky, devoid of the ferocity of a wild beast, only the bewilderment and helplessness of a newborn child.

It looked at Chu Qingyue and let out a whimper that was almost pleading. Just like the way she looked at Si Chen back then.

Chu Qingyue's hand holding the knife paused almost imperceptibly. Time seemed to freeze. The night wind brushed against her blood-stained sleeves and her cold cheeks.

a long time.

She sheathed her dagger, turned, and her robes traced a solitary arc in the wind. Her voice was devoid of emotion: "I am merciful; I will not kill...the old and the young."

Chi Xiao held the tiger cub, at a loss for what to do.

————Star-Picking Tower————

Chu Qingyao knelt on the cold, star-patterned stone surface of the observatory, tears rolling down her cheeks and shattering into sparkling points of light under the moonlight.

"Your Excellency, I never intended to harm my eldest brother. He is my brother, born of the same father and mother... We siblings have an extremely close relationship. As for why the tiger went berserk, I truly do not know..."

He stood before the vast star map, his back as solitary as a snow-capped peak that never melts. Four hundred years of cultivation on the ruthless path had forged him into a jade sculpture walking among mortals—perfect, cold, and untouchable. His voice was calm and unwavering: "Your Highness, I am powerless. I am not involved in court disputes."

Chu Qingyao crawled two steps on her knees, her silk skirt rustling on the stone surface. "Grand Preceptor, you needn't get involved in the conflict. Just say a few good words to Father Emperor… Saving a life is more meritorious than building a seven-story pagoda!"

She recalled the scene from tonight—after the tiger pounced on the Crown Prince, it was the man before her who killed the beast with a single palm strike. At that moment, his aura radiated like moonlight, his silver hair fluttering in the wind, like a celestial being descended from the heavens. She thought then: if she had this man's protection, how could she not kill Chu Qingyue, that madwoman who returned from the Northern Underworld?

"Princess, please return." Si Chen's voice remained indifferent, yet carried an undeniable resolve.

Chu Qingyao bit her lower lip, then suddenly looked up: "Then please ask the Imperial Advisor to cast a divination for Yao'er and point out the way forward, okay? Last time Yao'er was frightened and lost her soul, it was the Imperial Advisor who used a soul-soothing technique..."

The moment the words "Soul-Soothing Technique" were uttered, Si Chen's slender fingers curled up almost imperceptibly.

He recalled another face—also calling him "Imperial Advisor," but always with a smile that was three parts mockery and seven parts madness, always able to...

"Very well." Si Chen regained his composure, his voice indifferent. "I will perform a divination for the princess."

With a flick of his wide sleeves, three ancient copper coins flew into the tortoise shell. Spiritual energy flowed, and the tortoise shell floated and spun in his palm, emitting a deep hum. The starlight on the observatory blazed brightly, and the star map on the dome seemed to come alive, with countless stars flickering and shimmering.

The hexagram is complete.

The copper coin fell onto the star-patterned stone, making a crisp sound.

Si Chen lowered his eyes to look—the Qian hexagram, changing lines, the ninth line of the third hexagram: "The superior man is constantly vigilant, and at night he is cautious as if in danger; there will be no blame." This was originally an auspicious omen, but the accompanying judgment was as glaring as blood: "For a lost person, hiding his heart will bring disaster, but revealing his heart will bring peace."

He picked up the divination coins, his fingertips icy cold: "The divination is a warning. Your Highness is blinded by your obsession. Only by telling Heaven the truth and being sincere to the Emperor can you have a glimmer of hope."

Chu Qingyao's face turned deathly pale. Tell the Emperor the truth? What could she say? Was she to tell her father that she had already arranged for a tiger, intoxicated with madness-inducing drugs, to kill the Third Prince at the victory banquet, and then frame that madwoman who had returned from Beiming?

To admit that this seemingly obedient fifth princess is actually a venomous snake lurking deep within the palace?

She shook her head, her hairpin trembling like a withered flower in the wind: "Grand Preceptor...is there no other way?"

Si Chen turned away, no longer looking at him. His silver hair cascaded down like moonlight, falling onto his purple robe, and a three-foot-wide aura of spiritual energy surrounded him, isolating him from the turbidity of the mortal world.

"The divination is clear. Princess, please return, otherwise—there may be bloodshed."