MY PRINCE HUSBAND HAS SEVEN WIVES AND I AM HIS FAVOURITE!
Chapter 192: Almost turned back and left

Chapter 192: Almost turned back and left

THUD!

A heavy weight suddenly collapsed onto Zhao Yan’s body.

He had been so certain—so very certain—that death had come for him. The blade had gleamed in the night, already descending. There had been no time to move, no room to parry.

But instead of steel piercing through flesh, he heard a soft clang—a sound so clean it made his ears ring—and the enemy’s blade clattered uselessly to the ground!

And then came the body.

Zhao Yan blinked in absolute shock as the man who had meant to kill him fell forward like a puppet whose strings had been cut, crashing heavily onto his chest!

Blood. Warm, sticky blood seeped through the man’s clothes and stained Zhao Yan’s own, oozing with a pungent metallic scent that made his stomach churn.

Disgusted, Zhao Yan shoved the corpse away with all the strength he could muster.

The man rolled off limply, his head tilting just enough for Zhao Yan to see it—

An arrow!

Right in the center of the forehead!

"What in the—?!" Zhao Yan gasped, staggering backward.

The arrow was thin. Peculiarly thin. Unlike the ones he had seen used in the imperial army. Its shaft was black, its fletching a sharp, blood red.

Before he could make sense of anything, he heard shouts—

"MY PRINCE!" Wei Ling’s strained voice echoed.

Wei Ling and Deng Mi came limping toward him, bloodied and bruised but still on their feet.

"Are you hurt?!" Deng Mi called out.

"No... no, I’m fine," Zhao Yan replied, still staring at the dead man.

But before they could reach him—

FWIP! FWIP! FWIP!

The unmistakable sound of arrows slicing through air!

"WATCH OUT!" Wei Ling shouted.

They ducked just in time.

The arrows whistled past them, their tips glinting faintly under the moonlight.

But... they weren’t aimed at them.

SHUNK!

ARGHHHH!

Grunts erupted behind them.

The enemy!

The arrows had struck the ambushers squarely in their backs, dropping them instantly.

Three fell.

Then five.

Then more.

Zhao Yan’s eyes widened.

Who?! WHO was doing this?

The surviving attackers spun in place, eyes frantic.

"WHERE ARE THEY?!"

"SHOW YOURSELF, COWARD!"

"WE’RE UNDER ATTACK!"

"PROTECT THE TARGET!"

Chaos exploded!

But Zhao Yan wasn’t moving. His mind was racing.

The arrow... the precision...

This wasn’t a fluke.

Someone was protecting him.

The attackers—who had moments ago exuded a confident, sinister aura—now looked as if they’d been dropped into a pit of snakes.

Their formation broke.

They were disoriented. Frantic. Their blades were no longer steady. Their eyes kept darting to the shadows.

And then—

That sound.

FWOOOO—SHUNK!

Like a gust of wind.

Like a whistle that screamed death.

More bodies fell. One even managed to scream before collapsing with the arrow lodged in his throat.

Zhao Yan followed the path of the arrow—searching, searching—

And then he saw it.

Atop a tree.

Cloaked in shadows.

A figure stood on a high branch, barely moving, as if the wind itself had carved his silhouette.

Long, black hair cascaded behind him like a waterfall of silk, dancing with the breeze.

His robes were black from head to toe, blending into the night.

A mask—dark as obsidian—covered the lower half of his face.

But his eyes...

Cold. Calculating. Deadly.

He was a predator. A shadow hunter.

In his hand, a sleek bow.

And not one... not two... but FIVE arrows nocked at once!

WHO WAS THIS MAN?!

Zhao Yan’s breath caught.

He was... beautiful.

Terrifying.

Otherworldly.

The man released the arrows. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

The barrage hit its mark.

Enemy after enemy collapsed like ragdolls.

Blood painted the forest floor.

The remaining ambushers started to scream.

"RETREAT! RETREAT!"

"WE CAN’T WIN AGAINST THIS THING!"

They turned and scattered into the woods like rats.

It was over in seconds.

The masked figure stood still atop the tree, his bow now lowered.

Zhao Yan opened his mouth—to speak? To thank him?

But in a blink, the figure vanished.

Just like that.

Gone.

A shadow melting into night.

Wei Ling stumbled forward.

"I’ll chase—!"

"NO!" Zhao Yan barked, catching his arm.

Wei Ling winced, clutching his side. He was bleeding heavily.

"You’re in no shape to follow him."

Silence.

Only the sound of leaves rustling.

Zhao Yan turned again, eyes scanning the tree line.

But the mysterious man had vanished.

Not even a trace.

Only the dead...

...

In the deepest chamber of the Imperial prison, cloaked in shadows and a silence thick enough to choke on, a lone figure slithered through the stone corridors.

The first consort of Crown Prince Zhao Yan, known for her beauty and pride, was barely recognizable in her plain robes and the veil that shielded her face from the flickering torchlight.

Her silks, her gold, her ornaments—all left behind. She had traded them for secrecy and passage, slipping the guards several silver taels for a mere ten minutes of audience. Ten minutes with the man who had become the center of chaos, the nucleus of the Empire’s calamity.

The heavy iron doors of the holding cells creaked as she stepped in.

And there he was.

The Prime Minister.

Not broken. Not bloodied. Not bowed.

But lounging with lazy elegance, like a man sipping tea in his garden.

The first consort almost turned back when she saw this but she still followed her instincts and walked in.

The candlelight flickered off his sharp eyes as he looked up. A smile curled on his lips, but the words he greeted her with dripped like ice.

"What are you doing here?"

The First Consort removed her veil slowly, like peeling off a layer of illusion. Her eyes glimmered with restrained emotion.

She looked around in disgust before her eyes settled back on him

"I thought I would find you in chains... or perhaps dead."

He chuckled darkly. "Ah, so you were hoping I’d be rotting in some corner? How cruel."

"That’s not what I meant," she snapped. "Why are you not troubled?"

The Prime Minister rose from his wooden bench and stretched his arms with the nonchalance of a man waking from a nap.

"Why should I be troubled," he said, walking with maddening calm to the bars, "when my enemy is already halfway buried?"

She clenched her fists. "Your enemy is walking outside free while you’re here behind iron bars. So enlighten me, how exactly is he halfway buried?"

His eyes gleamed with wicked mischief.

"Plans, my dear... plans are not born in a single night."

He leaned forward. "They are brewed slowly, like the finest poison—drop by drop, until the blood itself forgets how to resist. Months. Years. Sometimes decades."

Something shifted in his gaze that made the first consort freeze for a few seconds.

Even though his words came out with that gentle tone, they still held daggers and blood thirstiness like anything she had seen or felt before.

She blinked, something behind his words chilling her bones.

"What did you do?"

"Come closer," he whispered, curling his fingers around the bars.

Against her better judgment, she took a step forward.

His breath was cold against her ear.

"Your beloved Crown Prince," he murmured, "might just be finding out what the afterlife tastes like."

Her entire body trembled. She stumbled back.

"You... killed him?"

He shrugged. A vague gesture. Not a yes. Not a no.

Her hands flew to her mouth.

"No...!"

He watched her. Observed. Measured.

And then he asked the question that cut deeper than a blade.

"You still love him?"

She froze. Her expression betrayed everything.

"Tch," he clicked his tongue. "Poor thing. Love is so very inconvenient, isn’t it?"

He turned away slightly, gesturing like a showman preparing for a final act.

"But dry your tears. Tomorrow, it all ends. The curtains close. The throne opens."

Her voice was barely a whisper. "Tomorrow... I become Empress."

He smiled without humor.

"After Zhao Yan’s unfortunate demise, the Empire will mourn." His tone was mocking now, sugarcoated poison. "And before the Emperor’s body is even cold in the grave, the son will follow the father into the afterlife. Ah, such a tragedy! The entire royal line, vanished!"

She stared at him in horror.

She already knew how mad this man was and when she decided to follow him back then, she had not anticipated such top tier madness.

She had not realised how obsessed he was with the throne and how willing he was to destroy everything that came in his path.

She wondered if he was just using her as well...

Her mind was brought back as he spoke.

He pressed on. "The throne shall remain empty, but not for long."

His voice lowered. "My son shall ascend. And once he does, who do you think he will choose as his Empress?"

She blinked.

Something didn’t add up. Something felt...

Off.

How would she be chosen as empress whole she was still Zhao Yan’s wife?

Did he want her to be someone else’s wife in order to achieve that?

The most important parts wasn’t even that...

And so she asked, almost numbly.

"Your son?"