MY PRINCE HUSBAND HAS SEVEN WIVES AND I AM HIS FAVOURITE!
Chapter 87: That is, if he ever wakes up!

Chapter 87: That is, if he ever wakes up!

The damp air clung to Hua Jing’s skin, chilling her to the bone. The chamber she had been thrown into was suffocating—cold, dark, and uncomfortably silent except for the occasional distant echo of footsteps from the guards outside.

Her chest rose and fell heavily as she pressed herself against the rusted iron bars of the cell, her fingers curling around them tightly.

"Let me out!" she yelled, her voice sharp with frustration and indignation. "I did nothing! You have no right to imprison me like this!"

The guards remained impassive, their expressions unreadable as they stood their ground. Not a single one of them even spared her a glance.

Hua Jing clenched her jaw, her head throbbing from the lack of air in the cramped, suffocating space. The darkness weighed on her, but she refused to let fear take over.

Then, the sound of approaching footsteps reached her ears.

Click. Click. Click.

A deliberate, measured pace.

A slow smirk formed on her lips as she turned her gaze toward the entrance, already knowing who it was.

And sure enough, the First Consort appeared, standing just beyond the bars with an air of superiority.

Dressed in the same exquisite robes from the banquet, she looked regal, untouched by the chaos that had unfolded earlier. But her eyes—those sharp, calculating eyes—glowed with barely concealed glee.

She looked at Hua Jing’s disheveled state and let out a soft, satisfied chuckle.

"My, my," she mused, folding her hands before her. "How different you look now from when you sat beside the prince. If you ask me, this look suits you much better."

Hua Jing’s grip on the bars tightened. Her body stiffened at the sheer audacity of this woman.

She ignored the taunt, her eyes flashing dangerously.

"You accused me of poisoning the prince," she said coldly, her voice steady despite the fury bubbling inside her. "Are you saying Zhao Yan was actually poisoned?"

The First Consort scoffed, taking another graceful step forward.

"Why else would he collapse?" she replied smoothly. "Why else do you think no one has been allowed near him? Why else did every eye in that hall land on you with suspicion?"

Hua Jing’s stomach clenched, but she refused to show weakness.

The First Consort’s lips curled upward.

"And one more thing..." she added, her voice dripping with triumph.

She motioned toward one of the guards standing nearby.

At her silent command, the guard stepped forward, holding a small, neatly wrapped cloth in his hands.

Hua Jing’s sharp eyes followed the movement.

The guard unfolded the fabric carefully, revealing a delicate handkerchief embroidered with intricate golden patterns.

It was stained.

Darkened at the edges, with faint traces of something unnatural.

Poison.

The First Consort’s smile widened as she tilted her head slightly.

"This," she declared, "was found in your chambers."

Hua Jing’s breath caught in her throat.

A setup.

Her mind whirled.

She had only entered her compound today. The First Consort must have planted it there beforehand, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Hua Jing’s hands trembled—not with fear, but with barely restrained rage.

She lifted her gaze, locking eyes with the First Consort.

"That isn’t mine," she said firmly.

The First Consort let out a laugh, amused by the sheer boldness of her denial.

"If it isn’t yours," she purred, "then why was it found in your chambers?"

Hua Jing inhaled sharply through her nose, forcing herself to remain calm.

"I only stepped into my chambers today," she replied icily. "Are you telling me that in the short time I was there, I not only managed to poison a cloth but also somehow found the opportunity to give it to the prince?"

She raised a brow.

"If I gave it to him, why is it still in my compound?"

Silence.

For a brief second, a flicker of irritation crossed the First Consort’s face.

Then she recovered, her expression twisting into an amused smirk.

"That doesn’t matter," she said smoothly. "What matters is that it was found in your possession. The Emperor will not need anything else."

And there it was.

The confirmation.

The First Consort had orchestrated everything.

This wasn’t just a misunderstanding—this was a deliberate, calculated attempt to eliminate her.

Hua Jing’s fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms.

This woman wanted her gone.

But Hua Jing had no intention of being anyone’s pawn.

She forced a laugh.

"You’re really desperate, aren’t you?" she said mockingly.

The First Consort’s smile wavered, her eyes narrowing.

Hua Jing tilted her head, stepping forward until she was mere inches away from the bars.

"You’re so afraid of me," she murmured, her tone laced with amusement. "Afraid that the prince might actually like me. Afraid that I might take away whatever little influence you have left. That’s why you went through all this trouble to set me up."

The First Consort’s face twisted in anger.

"Do not flatter yourself!" she hissed.

Hua Jing only smirked.

"Then why are you so desperate to get rid of me?" she asked, her voice deceptively sweet.

The First Consort’s lips pressed into a thin line, her fingers twitching at her sides.

Then she let out a sharp exhale, as if regaining control over her emotions.

"It doesn’t matter anymore," she said. "The Emperor will have the final say. And once he hears that the prince was poisoned with something found in your chambers..."

Her voice trailed off, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

Hua Jing met her gaze, unflinching.

"And when the prince wakes up?" she asked, her voice cool, sharp.

The First Consort stilled.

"When Zhao Yan wakes up," Hua Jing repeated, "and finds out where I was taken, what do you think he’ll do?"

Silence.

The First Consort’s fingers curled slightly into her robes, a barely perceptible movement.

Hua Jing smirked.

"Between the two of us," she whispered, "who do you think will be laughing last?"

A flicker of doubt flashed across the First Consort’s face before she quickly masked it with indifference.

"That is," she said smoothly, "if he ever wakes up."

Hua Jing’s breath hitched.

Her smirk disappeared.

The First Consort turned, her robes swaying as she walked toward the exit.

"I suggest," she added without looking back, "that you pray he does."

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