Joy of Life: Starting by clinging to the eldest princess's coattails!

Chapter 24 A Bloodstained Funeral

Taiping Villa.

The night was as dark as ink, and blood soaked into the blue bricks and white walls of the courtyard.

Shouts of killing, the clash of swords, and wails mingled together. The once tranquil courtyard was now littered with corpses, and the air was thick with the stench of blood.

The Empress Dowager, the Empress, and their followers, along with members of the old noble families of Qing Kingdom, have breached the outer courtyard and are now closing in on the inner quarters.

In a secluded room in the side courtyard, candlelight flickered.

Ye Qingmei sat leaning against the bed, her face as pale as paper, her bangs soaked with cold sweat and clinging to her skin.

She held the newborn baby in her arms; the tiny body was wrapped in a plain brocade swaddle and the baby was asleep with its eyes closed.

"Miss, we've found it."

A maid of about twenty-three or twenty-four years old walked in quickly. Her name was Qinghe, and she had a knife wound on her left shoulder that was still bleeding.

Behind her were two guards escorting three women: Wang Ma and her two daughters, A Qing and A Hong.

The three were pushed to their knees, trembling all over.

"It was Wang Ma and her two daughters who leaked the information," Qinghe's voice trembled uncontrollably. "They...were bribed by the Empress Dowager."

Ye Qingmei slowly raised her eyes.

She looked at the three people kneeling on the ground, her eyes first filled with confusion, then with deep pain.

Wang Ma is an elderly woman who came from Suzhou; she watched Aqing and Ahong grow up.

Why?

Ye Qingmei's voice was very soft, so soft that it was almost inaudible.

She believed she had never mistreated these people, giving them generous monthly allowances, teaching them to read and write, instructing them in accounting and business, and allowing them the freedom to marry.

In this secluded courtyard, there was no distinction between master and servant, only people who had traveled together from Jiangnan to the north.

Wang Ma kowtowed loudly, her forehead instantly turning bruised and purple.

"Miss, we know we were wrong... Please spare us, we really know we were wrong..." She cried, tears streaming down her face.

Her two daughters also kowtowed desperately, the muffled sounds from their foreheads particularly clear in the bloody night.

"What did she offer you in return?" Ye Qingmei asked again, her voice weary. "To make you give up your current lives and betray me?"

Wang Ma raised her tear-blurred face and choked out, "They said... as long as we accurately send out your due date, His Majesty will take my two daughters into the palace as concubines when he returns..."

She lunged forward to grab Ye Qingmei's skirt, but was stopped by Qinghe.

"Miss, it's all my fault! Please forgive Ah Qing and Ah Hong, they're still so young... Please, Miss..."

Ah Qing and Ah Hong cried out, "Miss, spare us! Miss, spare us!"

Ye Qingmei closed her eyes.

At that moment, she suddenly understood.

She was wrong, terribly wrong.

She gave them abundance, equality, and dignity.

But all of this pales in comparison to the words "entering the palace as a concubine."

That was a promise that transcended class, an allure that allowed one to rise from humble beginnings to the top.

Everyone is equal? ​​Everyone can be a dragon?

It turned out to be just a dream she had all by herself, a ridiculous and naive dream.

"laugh!"

The sound of the sword slicing through flesh was crisp and clean.

When Qinghe sheathed her sword, Wang Ma and her two daughters were already lying in a pool of blood, their eyes still open, as if they couldn't believe they were dying like this.

Ye Qingmei didn't look at the corpse on the ground, but simply hugged the child in her arms even tighter.

The sounds of searching outside the secret room grew closer.

"Miss, Wu Zhu hasn't returned yet," Qing He said urgently, her hand on the hilt of her sword. "What should we do?"

Ye Qingmei opened her eyes and looked down at her wrinkled son in her arms.

The little guy was fast asleep, his little mouth slightly pouting, completely unaware of the bloodshed outside.

Wu Zhu was also a temple messenger.

The combat strength of the envoys was roughly equal, and even though she had upgraded Wu Zhu, the improvement was limited. By the time he returned... it would probably be too late.

"Qinghe," Ye Qingmei called softly.

Qinghe looked at her with red eyes.

"We're like sisters," Ye Qingmei's voice was calm, a calmness that sent shivers down one's spine. "You're the only person I can trust now. You stay in the secret room with the child, and I'll go out and distract them. Their target is me; once I'm out, it'll be very difficult for them to find this place."

"No!" Qinghe cried, tears welling up in her eyes. "Miss, I'll go with you..."

"obedient."

Ye Qingmei interrupted her directly, and, supporting her weak body, got off the bed.

Her body swayed slightly after giving birth. Qinghe tried to help her up, but she pushed her away.

"If this continues, we'll both die." Ye Qingmei placed the child in Qinghe's arms; the swaddling clothes still held the mother's warmth. "Only if I leave will you and the child have a chance to survive. This is the only option, do you understand?"

Qinghe instinctively hugged the child, tears blurring her vision.

Ye Qingmei walked to the secret door of the chamber and pressed the mechanism. The stone door slowly opened a crack, and the sounds of fighting outside instantly rushed in.

"Miss!" Qinghe cried out.

Ye Qingmei didn't turn around, but squeezed through the crack in the door. Just before the stone door closed behind her, Qinghe heard her last words:

"Protect him."

……

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

About an hour later.

The severely damaged Wu Zhu returned to Taiping Villa.

He "looked" at the courtyard full of corpses, those familiar faces lying in pools of blood in various contorted positions.

Then he "sense" something.

A strange, scorching stream of data surged through the processor. Later, someone told him that the feeling was called "anger."

He carried the black steel shovel towards the inner courtyard.

The number of corpses along the way increased, including guards from the villa and enemies.

Wu Zhu's black clothes were soaked in blood, and every step he took left dark footprints.

He finally found Ye Qingmei.

She sat leaning against the threshold of the main hall, three feathered arrows stuck in her chest, her plain white dress stained dark red with blood.

Wu Zhu stopped in front of her.

He crouched down and reached out to touch her face, but stopped an inch away.

The blood on her hands would get her dirty.

Just then, the sound of fighting came from behind.

Wu Zhu stood up, drew his sword, and rushed towards the direction of the sound, which was the direction of the secret chamber.

The entrance to the secret room.

Qinghe was desperately resisting while holding the child, and the wound on her left shoulder tore even more badly, with blood flowing down her arm.

Three black-clad assassins surrounded her, their blades repeatedly slashing at the swaddling clothes.

Wu Zhu moved very quickly.

A flash of black light, and blood mist spurted from the throats of the three assassins simultaneously, their eyes still wide open as they fell to the ground.

When Qinghe saw Wuzhu, the tension she had been holding in finally eased.

Her legs buckled and she knelt down, but she still used her body to protect the child in her arms.

"The box...the box..." She coughed up blood, her voice broken, "...found by the Empress Dowager's people..."

Before she could finish speaking, she fell forward.

Wu Zhu caught her, and also the child in her arms. The baby in the swaddling clothes seemed to sense something and suddenly burst into tears.

The cries were particularly jarring in the blood-soaked courtyard.

Wu Zhu picked up the child and stood up, his "gaze" under the black cloth sweeping across the courtyard.

Then he saw a man in black carrying a leather suitcase and retreating towards the back door.

He chased after him.

The weapon in his hand drew a cold arc in the twilight, and the man in black died before he could even turn around.

Wu Zhu lifted the box with one hand.

More footsteps approached from afar, and the light of torches converged and surged toward them.

Wu Zhu looked at the child in his arms, then at the box in his hands.

He is now severely damaged and there are too many enemies for him to kill.

He turned around, and his black clothes disappeared into the deepening night.

Behind them, the firelight from Taiping Villa illuminated half the sky, like a grand, bloody funeral.