Chapter 70: Lin Zhiyuan's Fate

Madam Liu trembled at those words.

She had suspected it herself, but under such circumstances, she could only devise a plan so riddled with flaws. In her mind, Shen Qingyun would soon reach her coming-of-age, and marriage discussions would begin. If Lin Zhiyuan grew impatient and she truly died, Lin Zhiyuan would scheme against her again, and she’d have no one to help. Hadn’t she, in some way, saved Shen Qingyun too?

Shen Qingyun asked again, “If you hadn’t held back Lin Zhiyuan, what then?”

Madam Liu looked bewildered. “That wouldn’t happen. I’m here. He said he only wanted to speak to you. How could he dare do anything to you?”

Shen Qingyun’s dark eyes gazed at Madam Liu, but she did not reply.

“Qingyun, I’m sorry. Can you ever forgive me?” Madam Liu’s voice quivered; she knew no matter how she explained, she was in the wrong. She lowered her head, unable to meet Shen Qingyun’s eyes.

Perhaps Qingyun would never forgive her again.

She had even wondered whether she should truly help Lin Zhiyuan achieve his wish. But if she plotted against Shen Qingyun in such a way, her own conscience would torment her, and if Shen Qingyun were forced to marry Lin Zhiyuan, could she still truly love Yu?

She had no other choice.

Perhaps sensing Madam Liu’s inner turmoil, Shen Qingyun’s eyes softened with a hint of pity. “Actually, I’ve already thought of a solution for you.”

Madam Liu looked up in surprise.

Shen Qingyun opened the gift delivered that day; in a hidden compartment lay a packet of powder, prepared for her by Lian Rufeng. She had intended to give it to Madam Liu today.

“This powder will keep a person in a state of false sleep—unable to speak or move, only occasionally regaining a sliver of consciousness. If you have the heart, give it to him. From then on, he’ll be bedridden, entirely at your mercy.”

Madam Liu shuddered violently, staring at Shen Qingyun’s expressionless face. One decision, and everything would change.

Shen Qingyun placed the powder in Madam Liu’s hand. “This may be the last time I help you. Choose as you wish. If you can’t bear it, it doesn’t matter. He likely won’t threaten you or Yu anymore.”

“Why?”

“When he fell into the water, he struck a stone. He probably won’t be able to father children again.” By doing this, even if Lin Zhiyuan woke, he could no longer harbor evil intentions toward her.

Madam Liu’s eyes widened, then she gave a bitter laugh. “It’s what he deserves. Qingyun, thank you.”

The nursemaid, upon hearing Madam Liu had fallen into the water, brought Yu to see her.

This time, Shen Qingyun did not go to amuse Yu, but cast a final glance at Madam Liu, slumped in desolation upon the bed, before turning to leave.

Regret flickered in Madam Liu’s eyes. She knew she had likely lost a friend who had once truly cared for her, and the road ahead would be hers alone.

Afterwards, Madam Liu claimed that Lin Zhiyuan, while assisting her, had accidentally fallen into the lake with her, taking all blame upon herself.

The Minister of Rites, grateful to Shen Qingyun for rescuing them, sent generous gifts to the Duke’s estate.

Though the Minister’s wife blamed Madam Liu for causing her son’s accident, seeing how diligently Madam Liu attended him, she could not say much more.

Lin Zhiyuan remained in a coma. When he occasionally woke, he could only manage liquid food; he needed assistance for every basic need. Madam Liu appeared meek and dutiful, speaking daily at his bedside. Watching his pained, helpless expression, she felt both relief and sorrow.

But that is another story.

After leaving the Minister’s residence, Shen Qingyun went straight to the Prince’s manor.

The old steward, delighted to see Miss Shen unexpectedly return, ushered her into the flower hall. The kitchen quickly prepared a special batch of steaming pastries.

He wondered, how did the Prince know she’d come these days?

The pastry chef, forcibly recruited by the Prince’s staff days ago, was finally assigned a task today. Eyes brimming with tears, he performed his best, eager to keep this cushy position.

Each pastry was adorned in vibrant colors: green ones were glutinous rice mixed with mugwort juice, filled with egg yolk—bouncy and soft. White osmanthus cakes dripped with special syrup, fragrant and sweet. Golden pastries wrapped a filling of date paste; when eaten hot, the crust was crisp and the inside smooth.

Shen Qingyun wasn’t hungry, but seeing the pastries, her mouth watered and she nibbled a few.

When Prince Li arrived, he saw her nibbling like a small hamster, not her usual cool demeanor, but displaying the adorable charm of a young girl.

“Your Highness,” Shen Qingyun greeted him respectfully, rising at once.

Prince Li’s eyes lowered, unreadable.

He preferred her earlier look.

“Are you here to ask about the matter at the Minister’s residence?”

“Yes. I want to know how Princess Jing’an plotted her scheme, so I can guard against similar incidents in the future.”

Shen Qingyun pressed her lips together, recalling Lin Zhiyuan’s behavior that day—clearly drugged, or he would not have been so frenzied, so brazen in his attempt to harm her.

Si Mo Li thought of Jing’an’s intentions, a cold hardness flashing in his dark eyes. “Rest assured, she’ll never have such an opportunity again.”

“This? The Princess?” Shen Qingyun’s eyes were puzzled by his words.

“My people discovered she planned to drug you and Lin Zhiyuan. I merely fed her the same poison, then left her at the rear gate of the Minister’s residence.”

Shen Qingyun drew a sharp breath.

A woman, drugged and senseless, abandoned on the street—what might happen was impossible to predict. Princess Jing’an, proud as she was, would surely shatter if something occurred.

Prince Li did not elaborate. Jing’an’s fate was likely harsher than Shen Qingyun imagined.

The rear gate of the Minister’s residence was secluded, frequented by wandering beggars. The Minister, wishing to display his virtue, sometimes distributed leftovers there.

That day, several beggars were stunned to see Princess Jing’an before them, disheveled and incoherent.

“What’s going on?”

“Judging by her attire, could she be a young lady from some household?”

They circled her, noticing her closed eyes, cheeks flushed unnaturally, her forehead beaded with sweat. She writhed in agony, tugging at her own clothes, uttering broken moans.

A filthy beggar swallowed, hesitating. “She doesn’t look like a respectable woman—maybe a girl from the brothels. If you don’t want her, I’ll try my luck.”

He spoke as he reached out, and the soft, delicate touch made him shudder, muttering under his breath.

The others, knowing he’d said it on purpose, found courage to join in.

Their lives had always been spent groveling; when had they ever touched a woman like this?

The beggars dragged Princess Jing’an into a nearby alley. Soon, the alley echoed with the laughter of men and the moans of a woman.