Killer Queen: Tyrant, prepare to die!

On the third day after Bao'er recovered from her illness,

The sky cleared, and the snow began to melt.

Water dripped from the eaves, and the air was filled with a crisp, damp scent.

In the study of Qingyan Pavilion,

Shen Qingci was deep in thought, looking at several secret reports sent from different channels.

A copy from Tingfenglou

The document details the meetings between Prince Jing, Nangong Shuo, and the Minister of Rites and the Director and Deputy Director of the Imperial Observatory over the past three days.

His words began to contain veiled references such as "the upbringing of the Crown Prince is related to the fate of the nation" and "the celestial signs are obscure, so it is advisable to cultivate virtue in stillness."

Another document, from Shen Anbang, mentions several old ministers in the court known for their rigidity.

Their recent frequent interactions suggest they are preparing a joint petition.

The rain is coming and the wind is all over the building.

She rubbed her temples.

He put away the secret report and his gaze fell on the old plum tree outside the window, which had lost all its leaves.

Bao'er's illness came on suddenly and went away quickly; the child has a strong recovery ability.

Today they were able to get out of bed and play, but they were kept indoors and not allowed to go out in the wind.

And that night, Nangong Ye shed tears, and Bao'er unconsciously called out "Daddy."

And her own fleeting, complex emotions were like pebbles thrown into a deep pool.

Although the ripples have subsided, something at the bottom of the pool has changed.

She wouldn't allow herself to get caught up in it. There were more pressing matters to attend to.

However, the tree wants to be quiet but the wind keeps on.

In the afternoon, Nangong Ye stepped into Qingyan Pavilion again.

This time he brought nothing with him, and was all alone, even leaving Xuan Ying outside the courtyard.

He changed into a casual outfit, a slightly somber dark blue.

His face looked rather pale.

The shadows around his eyes suggest he hasn't had a good night's sleep these past few days.

When he entered the study

Shen Qingci was sketching something on the paper when she heard the sound. She looked up and saw it was him. A very faint, almost helpless emotion flashed across her eyes.

He quickly regained his composure, rose, and bowed: "Your Majesty."

"No need for formalities." Nangong Ye's voice was a little hoarse. He raised his hand in a gesture of support.

His gaze swept over the writing brush and ink on the desk, then returned to her face, as if he wanted to say something but hesitated.

Shen Qingci straightened up without asking why he had come.

She just stood there quietly, waiting for him to speak.

A distant attitude is like an invisible wall.

Nangong Ye's Adam's apple bobbed, as if he was gathering his courage.

The study was quiet, with the faint crackling of the charcoal brazier and the distant dripping of water outside the window.

"Qingci,"

He finally spoke, his voice low and deep.

With an unprecedented solemnity, and even a hint of barely perceptible plea,

"Can we... talk this out calmly?"

Shen Qingci's eyebrows twitched slightly: "What does Your Majesty wish to discuss?"

"Let's talk about...back then."

Gong Ye uttered those two words as if he had used all his strength.

His gaze was fixed on her, not missing a single subtle change in her face.

"Let's talk about what happened back then, the witchcraft case, and why I made that decision."

He was finally going to explain.

Shen Qingci felt no emotion; in fact, she almost wanted to laugh.

Explanation? After everything has settled, the Liu family has been destroyed, and the truth has come to light?

After she and Bao'er suffered and their hearts hardened like iron?

But her expression remained calm, and she even turned her body slightly to the side.

She made a "please speak" gesture: "Your Majesty, please sit. Your humble servant is all ears."

Her calmness only made Nangong Ye more uneasy.

He would rather she be angry, rebuke him, or even interrupt him coldly as she had done before.

This businesslike "listening" attitude

He felt that his explanation had been deemed irrelevant before he even had a chance to speak.

He sat down in the chair opposite her.

Hands clasped together unconsciously, knuckles turning slightly white from the force.

"then,"

He began, speaking slowly, each word as if painstakingly unearthed from the depths of his memory.

"I have only recently ascended the throne, and my position is not yet secure."

In the imperial court, Liu Chengzong held immense power, with his cronies spread throughout the six ministries and even extending to the military.

In his later years, the late emperor became senile, leaving behind many malpractices and hidden dangers.

"Every step I take is like walking on thin ice."

He paused, then looked at Shen Qingci.

Her face was expressionless, as if she were listening to a story that had nothing to do with her.

"The reason I made you empress is firstly because your Shen family has a clean and upright reputation."

Your father was a leader of the Qingliu faction, who could keep the Liu family in check;

Secondly, it's also because of you... your gentle and virtuous nature. I did indeed... " His voice choked, skipping over that fleeting moment of emotion—an old feeling that perhaps even he himself didn't want to delve into.

"I initially thought this was a good move. But the Liu family acted too quickly; the witchcraft case came to light, and the evidence... was irrefutable."

When he emphasized the word "certain," his voice carried a suppressed pain.

"The needlework on the little figure, the handwriting and paper of the letter..."

And there's also the testimony of your personal maid...

Everything seemed too perfect, so perfect that even with my doubts,

It was also impossible to openly protect them under such circumstances.

Liu Chengzong, along with several high-ranking officials, pressured the emperor to make a statement in court.

The case involves "a foreign official colluding with the imperial harem to plot the assassination of the emperor," a heinous crime beyond redemption.

His breathing quickened, as if he had returned to that suffocating golden palace of yesteryear.

"If I forcibly protect you and the Shen family, the Liu family will surely seize the opportunity to stir up even greater trouble."

The political situation could collapse in an instant, the borders would be unstable, and internal strife would break out.

"I am the emperor... On my shoulders rests the entire empire of the Nangong clan, and all the people of the world."

His voice was filled with struggle and a long-buried weariness.

"At the time, I thought... perhaps I should take a step back."

After being deposed, the Shen family was temporarily demoted, seemingly as a punishment.

In reality, it's also about pulling you out of the spotlight and avoiding the Liu family's most direct attack.

"I believe... I can investigate secretly, and once I have conclusive evidence, then..."

"No matter what?" Shen Qingci suddenly interrupted him.

Her voice wasn't loud, but it pierced his immersive memories and self-justification like an icicle.

Nangong Ye was stunned.

Shen Qingci slowly stood up, walked to the window, and turned her back to him.

Sunlight streamed through the window paper, casting a hazy glow around her, but making her silhouette appear even colder and more rigid.

"Your Majesty, you've said so much..."

She turned around, her gaze clear and sharp, landing on his face without anger.

There was only a kind of almost cruel calm.

"They are all explaining your 'no choice' back then, your 'weighing the pros and cons,' and your 'priority of the country.'"

Nangong Ye opened his mouth, as if to say something.

She didn't give him a chance and continued.

His tone even carried a very faint hint of sarcasm:

"Do you feel that expressing these grievances is..."

Please explain to me the difficult choices you, as emperor, have made.

Should I, your concubine, understand and be considerate of you?

Even... I'm moved by your forbearance and sacrifice of your concubine and the Shen family for the sake of the country and its people?

"That's not what I meant..." Nangong Ye said urgently, his face growing paler.

"What does that mean?"

Shen Qingci took two steps closer,

The distance wasn't too far, yet Nangong Ye felt as if there was an insurmountable chasm between them.

"Explanation is the privilege of the victors, Your Majesty."

She spoke each word clearly and distinctly.

Only victors have the right to casually recount their past hardships.

The wisdom of disguising all choices as "unavoidable".

Only those who stand at a high vantage point and hold absolute initiative...

Only then will they have the mindset and the time to ask the victims to understand the perpetrators' "difficulties."

Nangong Ye was struck dumb, frozen in place.

"And I, your humble servant,"

Shen Qingci looked at him, her gaze sharp as a knife, piercing straight into his eyes.

"I don't think you've won yet."

"What did you win back?"

Is it my heart, which has long been frozen?

Or is it Bao'er's complete and unconditional reliance?

Or perhaps, it's the peace you find in the dead of night, when guilt no longer gnaws at you?

Each of her questions was like a heavy hammer blow to Nangong Ye's heart.

"You have not won, Your Majesty."

She concluded, her voice chilling to the bone.

"In this war between you and me about trust, about justice, about hurt,"

You're just beginning to try to make amends... the defeated side.

A defeated party has no right to demand understanding, much less the right to talk about forgiveness.

The study was deathly silent.

The charcoal fires seemed to have stopped burning.

Nangong Ye's face was frighteningly pale.

Her lips trembled slightly, and in those always deep and unfathomable eyes...

At this moment, a torrent of pain and frustration surged forth.

There was also a hint of dishevelment after the disguise had been completely torn off.

He wanted to argue, to tell her he hadn't come to ask for forgiveness.

I just wanted her to know...

I know he wasn't entirely heartless, and I know he had struggled and suffered.

But all the words, spoken through her all-seeing eyes...

Under the gaze of cold, calm eyes, everything seemed pale and laughable.

Yes, explanations are the privilege of the victors.

What right does he have to explain himself now?

The harm he caused her was real.

What he missed is something that can never be recovered; the fatherly love that Bao'er lacked cannot be rewritten.

He used grand principles about the country and its people to cover up his mistakes; wasn't that just another form of arrogance?

Shen Qingci stopped looking at him.

Turning around, he walked back to his desk.

Take something out of a locked rosewood box.

It was a piece of coarse linen cloth, about the size of a palm, with a dull, blackish color.

The fabric was torn at the edges, clearly from some kind of clothing.

The center of the fabric is a dark brown, almost black, color.

It was written in a large, distorted style, yet the strokes were powerful enough to penetrate the fabric—

"hatred".

The handwriting was frantic, filled with desperate screams.

Each stroke seemed to have exhausted the writer's entire life and strength.

The color was clearly dried blood.

Nangong Ye's pupils suddenly contracted.

My heart felt like it was being gripped tightly by that bloody word, and it stopped beating instantly.

"This was written by your concubine in the cold palace during winter."

Shen Qingci's voice was as calm as if she were narrating someone else's story.

"No pen, no ink."

He bit his finger and wrote it in blood.

At that time, I was suffering from "the death of a beautiful woman," and coughing up blood was a common occurrence, so it wasn't a waste.

She gently placed the tattered cloth on the desk, right in front of Nangong Ye.

"Winter in the Cold Palace is very cold."

The window was broken, and the wind blew in like a knife.

The blanket was damp and smelled musty.

The spoiled food was hard to swallow, but she had to eat it for the sake of the baby in her belly.

When the poison takes effect, it feels like the internal organs are being burned by fire, or soaked in ice.

She paused, her gaze falling on the blood-written words.

It was as if I could see myself struggling to survive amidst despair and hatred through it.

"At that time, what kept me alive, besides the baby in my womb, was this word 'hatred'."

She raised her eyes and looked at Nangong Ye again.

This time, a hint of genuine emotion finally appeared in his eyes.

That was a sorrow that had been brewing for far too long, a chilling, bone-deep grief.

"Your Majesty, look,"

She pointed to the blood-written words.

Some wounds cannot be healed by an apology. Some pain cannot be erased by an explanation.

"This word 'hate',

Already with those cold winds, those poisonous pains, those days of despair,

It is etched into my bones and melted into my blood.

It became part of me.

"Tell me now that you have your reasons and that you have no choice."

She smiled softly, a smile filled with utter desolation.

"But who will suffer for me?"

"I have no choice but to plead my case, to whom can I turn?"

Nangong Ye stared intently at the blood-stained cloth.

He stared at the shocking word "hatred" written in his wife's blood.

He could almost smell the strong stench of blood.

You can feel the utter despair and overwhelming hatred that accompanied the writing.

He tried to reach out and touch it, but his fingertips trembled violently.

He finally...saw it with his own eyes.

She saw the devastating harm he had inflicted on her.

That wasn't just a casual "deposed empress," nor was it a few cold lines of record in history books.

It was a cycle of cold, illness, fear, and hatred, day after day.

It was a sea of ​​fire that nearly claimed the lives of both the mother and the unborn child.

It is a curse written in blood by a mother in despair, filled with endless worries about her child's future.

All his previous explanations, all his confessions, all his attempts to make amends

Compared to this blood-stained cloth, everything else seemed so ridiculous, so pale, so... insignificant.

He suddenly understood what she meant by that sentence.

Interpretation is the privilege of the victors.

And he, faced with all the suffering she endured,

They are always the despicable perpetrators; how can they possibly claim any "victory"?

"sorry."

He heard his own hoarse voice, dry and rough like sandpaper being rubbed.

"I...I really...am sorry."

Aside from those three pale words, he found himself unable to utter any more words.

No language could stand before that blood-stained cloth.

Shen Qingci looked at him quietly for a moment.

Looking into his eyes, I saw the near-collapse of pain and despair.

Then, she reached out and picked up the blood-stained cloth again.

I carefully folded it, put it back in the wooden box, and locked it.

"If Your Majesty has nothing else to attend to, please return."

She used the same words to see guests off, but her voice carried a weariness that came after everything had settled down.

It was as if the heart-wrenching conversation and the blood-stained cloth were just an illusion.

Nangong Ye stood up dejectedly, his steps unsteady, almost unable to stand.

He took one last look at the locked wooden box.

He glanced again at Shen Qingci's calm and expressionless face.

I wanted to say something, but in the end I couldn't utter a single word.

He turned around, staggered, and almost fled from the study and Qingyan Pavilion.

Until his figure disappeared outside the palace gate,

Shen Qingci slowly sat back in his chair, his straight back slumping slightly.

She reached out and pressed her hand to her chest.

There was no pleasure there as I had imagined.

There was only emptiness and a heavy weariness.

She opened the wooden box, glanced at the bloodstained cloth again, and gently traced the word "hate" with her fingertips.

"You're right," she murmured to herself, unsure whether she was referring to her past self or the person who had just left, "Some wounds never truly heal."

"But we still have to move forward."

She closed the wooden box, took a deep breath, and suppressed all the turbulent emotions in her eyes.

Outside the window, the setting sun painted the snow a poignant golden-red hue.