MY PRINCE HUSBAND HAS SEVEN WIVES AND I AM HIS FAVOURITE!
Chapter 193: A brewing storm so thick

Chapter 193: A brewing storm so thick

The moon hung high, casting an eerie glow on the blood-streaked path.

Zhao Yan, Wei Ling, and Deng Mi limped forward, their robes tattered and their bodies black and blue from the savage ambush. The wind stung their open wounds, and every step felt like dragging mountains behind their heels.

Zhao Yan’s breathing was heavy.

Labored.

Then, a wave of nausea.

It slammed into him without warning, his vision blurring as the world tilted sideways.

Wei Ling, ever sharp despite his injuries, saw it. "Your Majesty!" he cried, rushing to the prince’s side, his own pain forgotten.

Zhao Yan stumbled again. He tried to speak but his tongue felt like sand. The metallic taste of blood coated his mouth. The pressure in his temples was unbearable.

"Something’s wrong," Deng Mi said, his voice hushed and tense.

Wei Ling threw one arm around the Crown Prince, trying to steady him.

"Your Highness! What is it? Say something!"

Zhao Yan’s gaze was dazed.

Then he raised his hand.

Fingers trembled.

He touched his ear.

Warm.

Wet.

Still bleeding.

His mind flashed to the ambush—

—the arrow.

That single, whistling arrow that had grazed him.

No...! Not just a graze.

Zhao Yan’s knees buckled. "I’ve been..." His voice rasped. "Poisoned."

Wei Ling and Deng Mi froze.

Zhao Yan’s lips trembled.

"Take me... to the Third Province..."

And he collapsed.

"YOUR MAJESTY!!" Wei Ling shouted, falling with him.

Deng Mi was by their side in a heartbeat. "What’s happening to him?!"

His skin was icy.

His breathing was shallow.

His lips... faintly blue.

"He’s going into shock!" Wei Ling barked.

"No!" Deng Mi shouted. "This can’t be happening! Not now!"

Wei Ling looked down at Zhao Yan’s face—still, pale, lifeless. The blood on his ear had dried into a thin crust, but the color on his face was draining fast.

Without another word, Wei Ling pulled Zhao Yan over his shoulder, despite the pain in his own limbs.

"Deng Mi, help me! We ride now!"

The two men rushed to the nearest horses they could find. Zhao Yan was loaded gently, carefully, between them.

The horses took off.

Galloping.

Hard.

The cold air whipped at their cheeks. Every hoofbeat pounded into the earth like a war drum.

"We have to get to the Third Province," Wei Ling whispered to himself, over and over. "We have to— we must—"

Behind them, the palace faded into the distance.

They had no idea what chaos was already building.

Zhao Yan—

The Crown Prince—

Was gone.

And no one knew.

Inside the palace? A storm was brewing...

...

The night had never felt longer.

Hua Jing paced back and forth across her courtyard like a restless spirit, her soft slippers brushing over the stone floor with hurried, panicked steps. The moon above, bright and full, offered no warmth—only a cold glow that deepened the anxiety in her heart.

Xia Lin stood nearby, watching her mistress with worried eyes. She had long stopped trying to offer soothing words. What use were they when Hua Jing’s every instinct screamed that something was wrong?

"My lady..." Xia Lin tried again, softly. "You must rest. You’ve been pacing for more than two hours now..."

Hua Jing didn’t stop. She didn’t answer. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, as if trying to contain the thudding of her own heart. It was too loud. Too chaotic. Every beat echoed with dread.

Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

Zhao Yan... Where was he?

He had told her he would go see the Empress. "I’ll be back soon," he had whispered before pressing a kiss to her forehead. That was hours ago.

Now, the moon had risen fully into the sky.

The shadows had grown darker.

And Zhao Yan was still not back.

The emperor was dead. The palace was in mourning. Tension coiled through every corridor like a venomous serpent. And amidst all of it, the one person Hua Jing needed by her side had vanished.

"This... this doesn’t feel right," she whispered, finally breaking her silence.

Xia Lin stepped closer. "The prince is probably just caught up in ceremonial duties. After all, he’s the Crown Prince. With His Majesty gone..."

But Hua Jing shook her head.

"No," she said. "If he was attending to court duties, someone would have informed me. Wei Ling would have sent word. Deng Mi would have sent word. Someone would have said something!"

She stopped pacing, clutching her own arms as if trying to hold herself together.

A dreadful silence followed.

And then—footsteps.

Rushed. Uneven. Approaching from the main gate.

Xia Lin straightened, her face lighting up. "See! I told you! That must be His Highness!"

Hua Jing’s head snapped towards the door. Hope surged in her chest—sharp, overwhelming, terrifying hope.

Please...

Let it be him!

The doors opened—

And her heart dropped.

It wasn’t him.

It wasn’t Zhao Yan.

Instead, it was a woman draped in mourning robes, her face pale and eyes wide. She looked just as haunted as Hua Jing felt.

It was the second consort.

And she was alone.

No maids. No guards. No formality. She hadn’t even bothered to tie her sash properly. Her hair was slightly unkempt beneath her mourning veil.

Hua Jing blinked in surprise. "Second Consort...?"

The woman didn’t answer. She rushed forward, ignoring etiquette completely, and grabbed Hua Jing’s hands.

"I heard something," she said, her voice breathless, trembling. "I heard something and I... I didn’t know where else to go—!"

Hua Jing’s breath hitched.

"What... what is it?"

The second consort stared at her. Her lips trembled. Her eyes were rimmed red.

And then she whispered it.

"He’s dead."

Time stopped.

Hua Jing didn’t understand.

"What...?"

"The Crown Prince—" the second consort breathed. "They say—he’s dead."

"No..."

Hua Jing staggered back, her knees giving way as she sank into the nearest seat. Her fingers went cold. Her face, already pale from worry, lost all color.

No.

This wasn’t happening.

Xia Lin gasped. "What did you say?!"

The second consort nodded numbly. "I heard it in the East Hall... A palace guard was whispering it. He said... He said the prince was ambushed on his way back from the Cold Palace... And... And he didn’t make it."

"No!!"

Hua Jing’s voice tore through the night.

"No—he promised—he said he’d come back!"

Xia Lin dropped to her knees beside her. "My lady..."

Hua Jing’s hands clutched at her chest.

She couldn’t breathe.

Her heart pounded so violently she thought it might burst.

"He’s not dead!" she screamed. "He can’t be!"

But the second consort only looked at her with pity in her eyes.

"I don’t know if it’s true... But the palace is whispering. Everyone’s talking."

"No... No..."

Hua Jing’s tears spilled down her cheeks, hot and blinding. Her body shook with the force of her sobs.

Zhao Yan...

Her Zhao Yan...

Dead?

Just like that?

"No," she whispered, over and over again, rocking back and forth.

"He promised me—he said... he said he would come back—"

Xia Lin clutched her tightly. "My lady—please! We don’t know if it’s true! We don’t—"

But Hua Jing was already on her feet.

Her eyes were red, wild.

"I need to find him."

She turned and bolted for the door.

"My lady!!" Xia Lin shouted, chasing after her.

The palace air was thick.

It wasn’t just the lingering scent of incense from mourning rituals.

It was heavier than that.

Denser.

Something was wrong.

Deeply, terribly wrong.

Hua Jing ran like the wind through the corridors, her royal slippers soaked from the morning dew, her long robes fluttering behind her like broken wings.

Everywhere she turned, she saw them.

Servants. Palace maids. Guards.

All of them standing in tight little huddles. Whispering.

Whispering his name.

Zhao Yan.

Her prince.

Her heart.

And every time she passed, they would quickly lower their heads, step aside, or pretend to be busy. But none of them—none of them—could hide the look in their eyes.

Sympathy.

Fear.

Guilt.

She stopped abruptly in one of the main corridors, her chest heaving.

She was surrounded.

Palace workers had paused what they were doing. They were staring. Staring at her.

At the woman whose world had already started to collapse.

And then she screamed.

"What?!"

Her voice cracked like lightning.

The corridor silenced.

"What is it?! Why is everyone looking at me like that?!"

No one answered.

The maids bowed their heads even lower.

The guards shifted uncomfortably on their feet.

Cowards!

"Tell me! Someone tell me—what’s going on?!"

Her voice echoed like thunder, sending a ripple of unease through everyone present.

And then—

One young maid stepped forward.

She looked terrified. Her hands trembled as she clutched her skirt.

"My lady..." she said in a low voice. "I—I work in the chambers of the Crown Prince..."

Hua Jing turned sharply to her. "Speak."

The maid bit her lip, swallowed hard.

"There is... a rumor, my lady. A terrible one."

"Rumor?" Hua Jing’s voice was ice. "What kind of rumor?"

The maid’s lips quivered.

"That His Highness... the Crown Prince... was ambushed on his way back to the palace."

The words dropped like a bomb.

Everyone flinched.

Hua Jing’s breath caught in her throat.

She blinked rapidly.

"No," she whispered.

But the maid continued. "The guards have been searching everywhere. The rites for the Emperor cannot proceed without him. But they couldn’t find him. Instead..."

"Instead what?!"

The maid’s voice lowered. "They found a pile of bodies. Blood everywhere. Just a few paces away from the palace gates."

Hua Jing staggered back.

"No... no, no..."

"There was... a trail, my lady," the maid whispered. "A trail of blood that went off the path. But the prince—his body was not there. It’s missing. His guards too."

Hua Jing shook her head violently.

"Then he’s not dead!" she shouted. "If his body hasn’t been found, he’s not dead!!"

No one spoke.

The silence... was unbearable.

A death sentence in silence.

"But..." the maid said, hesitant, "there’s too much blood. Too much. They think... they say... there’s no way he could’ve survived!"

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