MY PRINCE HUSBAND HAS SEVEN WIVES AND I AM HIS FAVOURITE!
Chapter 198: Master, who did this?

Chapter 198: Master, who did this?

The air between them was thick. Suffocating.

The First Consort could barely breathe as the figure in black began moving—slowly, steadily, with that bone-chilling silence that screamed louder than thunder.

Step.

Step.

Step.

The sound of it echoed in her mind, louder than it should have been. Her fingers shook violently as she reached behind and grabbed the closest thing she could—an ornament, a golden vase the size of a plum.

"STAY BACK!" she screamed, and with all the force her shaking arm could muster, she hurled it forward.

The vase soared—

But the black figure merely tilted her head.

Whoosh!

The vase missed entirely, smashing into the wall with a deafening CRACK! Shards of gold scattered across the pristine floor like shattered dignity.

The First Consort stumbled backward. "Who are you?! Who are you?!" she screamed again, voice rising into hysteria.

The figure gave no reply.

She simply walked closer, her movement unhurried, her silence heavy like a mountain pressing on one’s chest. The candlelight flickered against the shadows cloaking her figure, revealing only two sharp, glimmering eyes—cold, dark, unreadable.

But oh, the emotion in them...

It wasn’t blankness.

It was fury.

It was sorrow.

It was pain so ancient and deep it had clawed its way from another lifetime.

The First Consort felt like prey. Like a trembling rabbit cornered by a serpent.

Her feet scrambled backward but found no ground—there was nowhere left to go.

And then—

The figure raised her hand.

And slowly—

So slowly—

She peeled the mask off her face.

And just like that...

Time stopped.

The First Consort’s breath was stolen from her throat as the face became visible under the flickering flame.

"...Hua Jing," she whispered, her voice strangled.

Hua Jing’s expression was blank. But her eyes... those eyes burned with an inferno too wild to name.

"I’ve come to seek something from you," she said softly, her voice perfectly calm—too calm.

The First Consort nearly tripped over her own feet. "W-what do you want?" she stammered. "Y-you think you can threaten me? I can call the guards—now—and you’ll be dragged out of here in chains!"

Hua Jing laughed.

But it wasn’t a laugh made from joy or amusement.

It was a hollow sound.

A sharp, jagged thing.

As if her lungs were filled with blades instead of breath.

"Oh, those idiots?" she said, tilting her head as her lips curled into something... unholy. "Go ahead. Try calling them."

The First Consort’s lips parted, but no sound came.

"See if even one of them comes running to your rescue," Hua Jing continued, taking another step closer. Her tone was delicate. Playful. Almost... mocking. "I’d love to see that."

A chill swept up the First Consort’s spine. Her fingers twitched by her sides as she glanced toward the chamber doors, as if praying someone—anyone—might burst through and save her.

But no one did.

No sound.

No footsteps.

Only the howling wind outside.

Her heart dropped into her stomach.

Her eyes widened. "What did you do?!" she shrieked. "You killed them?!"

Hua Jing blinked—slowly—like she was genuinely confused by the accusation.

"Killed them?" she repeated, feigning innocence. "Now why would I do such a thing?"

She stepped closer.

The lanterns flickered again, shadows dancing madly behind her as the wind rattled the windows.

"I’m not such a bad person, you know."

The way she said it—

So gently.

So... reasonably.

It made something snap in the First Consort’s mind.

"No... no, no, no," she whispered, staggering backward into the mirror. Her own panicked face stared back at her, pale as moonlight. "You’re insane... INSANE!"

Hua Jing’s gaze did not waver. "You betrayed him," she said.

Those three words, spoken so quietly, hit harder than a thunderclap.

"You betrayed him," she continued. "And now you want to sit on a throne built on his corpse."

The First Consort gasped. "I—I didn’t know it would go this far! I never wanted him dead!"

She had truly not thought it would go this far. She had underestimated Pei Rong’s madness and just how bloodthirsty the man was.

All she thought was that the crown would be given to Zhao Yan and then she would be the empress to take full control of the matter on the inside but she had not known that this was what the mad man planned all along!

"But you wanted the crown," Hua Jing said, each word slicing like a dagger. "And for that, you sold your soul."

The first consort’s face twisted

"No—! No, this wasn’t—! This wasn’t how it was supposed to go!"

"You don’t get to decide that now," Hua Jing said.

The First Consort’s body was pressed tightly against the polished wooden walls, her chest heaving in gasps, her pupils trembling with frantic terror.

Hua Jing moved closer.

Step by step.

Silent as a shadow, purposeful as death itself.

The First Consort’s knees buckled. She screamed—loud and long, her voice slicing through the air like a bird being gutted alive.

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!"

The sound echoed far beyond the bedroom walls, searing into the night air like a red-hot blade. Outside, the trees shook. The lanterns quivered. Even the moon seemed to pause in the sky.

Meanwhile, not far off—right at the edge of the East Courtyard—a group of cloaked figures halted their steps.

At the front stood none other than Pei Rong, the Prime Minister himself. His eyes, dark and alert, narrowed at once.

He raised his hand.

All the men behind him stopped.

A long silence followed. The stillness of the courtyard gnawed at their senses like creeping ice.

One of the guards leaned forward. "Master... is something wrong?"

Pei Rong didn’t answer. His head tilted slightly.

Something wasn’t right.

The air was too calm.

No footsteps.

No chatter.

No greetings from the guards stationed there.

Then—

The scream.

That piercing, bloodcurdling scream.

The Prime Minister’s eyes flashed like lightning. He immediately unsheathed his sword with a metallic hiss and charged toward the courtyard gate.

"MOVE!"

he roared, his voice thunderous.

The men surged behind him as he threw open the gate. But the scene that awaited them froze their steps.

They all looked in stunned silence at what was before their eyes.

The guards stationed outside the First Consort’s residence were either sprawled across the ground in unnatural positions or slumped against walls like discarded puppets. All were unconscious—completely knocked out. Not even a groan left their lips.

The person who did this must have been extremely skilled!

One of the guards turned pale. "Master... who did this...?"

Pei Rong didn’t wait for answers.

He dashed forward, tearing through the now eerie halls of the First Consort’s residence, sword drawn and fury mounting. The other men, sensing the danger, followed with blades in hand.

Inside—

Hua Jing smiled coldly.

She leaned in.

So close her breath touched the First Consort’s tear-streaked face.

"You tell him this..." she whispered.

The First Consort could barely see through her tears.

"In two days," Hua Jing said slowly, each word like a death knell, "there will indeed be a coronation."

The First Consort’s chest tightened.

"But the person who sits on that throne... will be someone entirely different."

"No—no—!" the First Consort gasped.

"He can dream," Hua Jing hissed. "Let him keep dreaming."

And before the First Consort could react, Hua Jing whipped out a tiny blade from the folds of her black robe—no larger than a finger, gleaming cold under the lanternlight—and slashed it across the First Consort’s wrist.

"AAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!"

Blood exploded from the wound.

Hot. Red. Furious.

The First Consort collapsed onto her knees, clutching her wrist in agony, shrieking again.

Hua Jing let out a low chuckle. "So delicate. So dramatic."

She turned toward the window, her body light like mist, ready to vanish into the night.

But then—

A high-pitched whistle ripped through the air!

A gleam of silver shot toward her like a lightning bolt—

A sword!

It came spinning with deadly precision, aimed for her chest.

Hua Jing’s eyes widened.

In a flash, she twisted her body, ducking just as the blade tore through the air where her head had been a second ago.

The sword embedded itself in the wooden column behind her with a sharp THUNK.

"Too close..." she muttered.

And then—she was gone.

Out the window. Disappearing into the shadows like she had never been there at all.

By the time Pei Rong and his men burst into the chamber, all they found was chaos.

The First Consort was crumpled in the middle of the room, sobbing uncontrollably, her sleeve soaked in red.

Pei Rong’s heart dropped.

He rushed forward, casting his gaze quickly over her form.

"Check her!" he barked at one of the guards.

Another man inspected the wound—and his face paled immediately.

"Master... this isn’t a normal cut."

Pei Rong’s breath caught. "What do you mean?"

"There’s something on the wound—look!"

He pulled back the sleeve.

Pei Rong’s sharp eyes narrowed.

The veins around the cut were bulging, spreading like dark roots.

A sickly blue-black shade had already begun creeping up her arm.

"Poison," he spat. "She used poison."

The First Consort shrieked again, her eyes wild with terror. "It hurts! It HURTS! Make it stop!!"

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