Chapter Six: A Difficult Choice

As she drew closer to the Hall of Earthly Tranquility, the heaviness in her heart only deepened, suffocating her with anguish. How was she to face herself, let alone those who had once loved her? There was no turning back now.

Reaching the doorway, she saw her mother lying motionless upon the bed. At last, Ye Qianling could no longer restrain herself—tears fell in great, silent drops as she collapsed to her knees before the threshold. She dared not enter. How could she face her mother, her father, or any of her brothers and sisters?

"Your Majesty, the Fifth Princess has arrived," a nearby guard ventured in a tentative voice.

No answer came—only a deathly silence. Her eldest brother and third sister turned to look at her, their faces twisted with unmistakable anger and hatred. Ye Qianling forced a bitter smile but did not dare step inside. She remained rooted at the door, tears streaming down without end.

Ye Qianchen approached her slowly. In one swift motion, he seized her by the collar, his other hand forming a fist that he brought down hard against her chest, again and again. The blows landed with dull, brutal force; sweat broke out across her brow, mingling with her tears. She made no sound, not even an instinctive attempt to shield herself.

With each strike, blood welled up in her mouth and spilled out; blow after blow, until at last she went limp, and when he released his grip, she crumpled to the ground, utterly spent.

Ye Qianmu wanted to intervene, but what could she do? Everyone’s hearts were in turmoil, their emotions volatile and unrestrained. Their mother had sacrificed her life to save her daughter; who could expect her eldest brother to master his fury? Yet what was to be done—was Ling’er truly to bear the wrath of so many? How could anyone endure it?

“Don’t play dead. Get up.” Ye Qianchen, seeing Ye Qianling lying there, blood pouring from her lips and her body wracked with spasms, kicked her sharply in the shoulder blade and growled, “Get up! How dare you come here—get out!”

And though he shouted at her to leave, he continued to kick her mercilessly, not caring where the blows landed. He was wild, unhinged. All Ye Qianling could do was curl up, hands shielding her head as she whimpered softly, lying in a pool of her own blood, making not a sound as consciousness ebbed away.

So cold—her body was numb, pain radiating as if her bones were coming apart. She tried to move her leg, and was vaguely relieved to find she still could. Her bare wrist brushed against something cold and soft, and she jerked it back, the sudden movement triggering a fresh wave of agony in her chest. Again, blood gushed from her mouth. She gave a wry smile—when had coughing up blood become so routine, so numb?

She opened her eyes to a world of white; beams of lamplight spilled from the hall, illuminating the snow that had yet to cease falling. Would things ever return to how they once were, when the snow finally stopped?

Her clothes bore the marks of kicks, broken bones left unset. Her whole body burned with fever—perhaps she was ill, perhaps she’d lain in the snow for too long. The mingling of cold and heat made her skin feverish, her mind hazy. Staggering, she tried to rise, only to fall back with a muffled groan, blood flecking the pristine snow in vivid red. She coughed and coughed, as though her lungs would burst.

She looked up at the brilliantly lit Hall of Earthly Tranquility, where Emperor Guangde stood unmoving. Since she’d arrived, he hadn’t shifted in the slightest.

Tears slipped soundlessly down her cheeks as she gazed at his back. Father, will you never forgive me? From the moment I took the blame, my fate was sealed.

After a quarter of an hour's struggle, Ye Qianling managed to stand. Swaying with weakness, she inched toward the hall. Fever clouded her mind; her lips trembled, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glazed as she walked on, heedless of all else.

“Ye Qianling!” The voice behind her was choked with grief and fury. She didn’t respond, pain dulling her senses so much that she barely heard it.

When she failed to answer, the speaker hurried forward, catching her by the arm just as she reached the steps. He spun her around. “Are you deaf now? Can’t you hear me?”

He gripped her arm so tightly it felt as if he’d bore a hole straight through her, but even then, she only stared at him blankly, her gaze empty of emotion.

“What’s wrong with you?” he demanded, looking her up and down in disbelief. She seemed so fragile a mere gust might blow her away. He released her arm and moved to her wrist, pressing his fingers to her pulse. The moment he touched her, his body stiffened in shock; he looked at her, speechless.

Another young man hurried over, clad in blue armor, fresh from the battlefield. He took one look at Ye Qianling, held his composure, and clapped the other man on the shoulder. “What’s going on?” His voice betrayed no emotion. Then, turning to Ye Qianling’s expressionless face, he said, “To end up like this—has something gone wrong in your head?” He tapped her forehead sharply. She nearly toppled backward—if not for the grip on her wrist, she would have collapsed.

She wavered, and both young men tensed. The armored one swiftly stepped forward to support her; as his hand touched her, he felt burning heat beneath her skin. He said, more seriously, “What’s happening?” He glanced toward the hall, where Emperor Guangde’s silent figure stood, knowing the matter was far from over.

When the summons came, Ye Qianzhi and Ye Qiange had been at the southern border, negotiating with the vassal state of Suo over poor tribute goods. They had just rooted out some extremists when an urgent imperial decree arrived, summoning them both back to the capital. On hearing what had transpired, their outrage had been immense, but seeing their sister in such a state, they found themselves at a loss for words.

Ye Qiange, startled by Ye Qianzhi’s question, finally tore his gaze from Ye Qianling, who was feverish and barely conscious. Seeing his brother supporting her, he let go of her arm, placed a hand on her forehead, and commanded his attendant, “Fetch my medical kit at once.” The attendant, though confused, responded instinctively and vanished into the night.

Ye Qianchen had already heard them return when Ye Qiange called out Ye Qianling’s name. He rose, sorrow etched deep in his face, and walked to the door. His voice was hoarse, strained with grief. “If you’re back, go see Mother. Let her be—she is not worthy to see Mother.” He cast Ye Qianling a glance; at the sound of his voice, she shuddered uncontrollably and shrank back in terror. He felt a pang of pain but could do nothing. He ushered his two brothers inside.

He had struck her hard, and his conscience was troubled. This was the sister he had cherished from childhood, doted on by all the family, never allowed to come to harm. But if he hadn’t acted, the Emperor’s anger would have destroyed her. As Crown Prince and eldest brother, he had to consider the greater good, and though it tore at his heart, he had no choice.

Ye Qianzhi looked at her, clearly wanting to speak. Ye Qianchen, seeing this, patted his back and shook his head gently. Under the circumstances, Ye Qianling could only endure for now. No one believed she was guilty, but the facts were irrefutable, and she herself had confessed. Any plea for mercy now would only worsen matters and render the Empress’s sacrifice meaningless.

Suddenly, Ye Qianling seemed to recall something, and looked at Ye Qianchen with trepidation, suppressing her fear as she forced herself to speak. “Eldest Brother, has anything happened at your manor?”

“What?” Ye Qianchen was momentarily taken aback; after so long apart, her first words were to ask about something so irrelevant?

Ye Qianling struggled with how to broach the subject. She had to ask about Hong’er. If not for Hong’er, she would never have spared Wan Feng. Hong’er was her brother’s firstborn, and the only heir of the new generation—such a deep bond of blood could not be ignored. Besides, Wan Feng’s son had saved her, and she owed her this much. Even if it meant taking the blame, she had already resigned herself to her fate.

She said nothing further. Ye Qianchen turned to Ye Qianzhi, confused. “A few days ago, Hong’er had a mysterious fever that wouldn’t break. After I returned, your sister-in-law told me about it. I was about to go see him after sending off the envoy from Anguo, but he suddenly recovered for no reason.” His tone was even, calm. Since childhood, he and Ye Qianzhi had been close, always confiding in each other about important matters, more friends than mere brothers.