CHAPTER 216: I HEARD YOU WERE LOOKING FOR ME

Gasps filled the hall, sharp and loud, like the breath of the entire empire had been sucked into one gasp and then let out all at once.

Every single pair of eyes turned toward the dais.

The veil that had covered the Empress’s face was gone, ripped away in a single flash of motion by that perfect arrow. It now hung pinned against the wooden pillar behind her, the delicate red silk fluttering gently in the sudden rush of wind from the open doors.

But no one was looking at the veil anymore.

They were all staring at her.

At Hua Jing.

Her face was no longer hidden. And what a face it was—radiant, luminous, framed by that intricate hairpiece that gleamed with pearls and rubies. Her skin was pale and perfect, her lips painted the color of blooming peonies, her eyes outlined with kohl that made them seem even larger, more arresting. There was a faint flush to her cheeks, as if she had stepped from the cold of night straight into the heat of the throne room.

A beauty that seemed almost unreal.

Whispers rose like a wave.

"Who is she...?"

"That’s not Qin Su—who is this woman?"

"Too beautiful... I’ve never seen anyone like her..."

The old nobles stared, dumbstruck. Even Pei Rong’s allies, smug and arrogant just moments before, were frozen, their jaws slightly slack.

Because there was no question—this was not the First Consort.

This was someone else entirely.

Someone more dangerous.

More alive.

And she was smiling.

A sly smile, the kind that didn’t belong in a coronation hall. The kind that belonged in the darkness of a battlefield, or the glint of a blade. Her lips curved just enough to show the faintest edge of white teeth, sharp as a dagger’s edge. It was enough to send a shiver down the spines of every man and woman who saw it.

Even the Prime Minister.

He had been standing there, arm half-raised, hand inches from where the veil had been. Now he was staring at her, eyes wide, mouth working silently for a moment before he finally found his voice.

"You..." he breathed.

Hua Jing’s smile deepened.

She lifted a hand in a small wave, her fingers delicate, her movements lazy—almost mocking.

"Long time no see," she said softly, voice like velvet wrapping around a blade. "I heard you were looking for me."

The Prime Minister’s face flushed red, then white, then red again. His lips moved, the same word repeated over and over in a voice that climbed with every utterance.

"You... you... you—"

The confusion in the room thickened. The guests exchanged frantic glances. Some were trying to remember if they had ever seen her face in the palace before. Others were too stunned to even blink.

Hua Jing didn’t move.

She just stood there, regal and composed, her head tilted slightly, that wicked smile still playing at her lips.

The Prime Minister took a half-step back, shock written across every line of his face. His hands trembled slightly. But there was something else there too—anger. A hot, simmering fury that cracked the calm mask he always wore.

"You—how dare—" he stammered, voice finally breaking through the chaos.

Zhao Ling Xu turned to look at her, his eyes wide with disbelief. For a moment, he looked as lost as the rest of them.

But then—just for a fleeting moment—there was something else in his expression. A flicker of relief. And then... satisfaction.

He didn’t say a word. He just watched.

The room erupted into frantic murmuring.

"Is this a coup?"

"Was this all a trick?"

"Who is she—what does she want?"

Before anyone could form an answer, the air shifted again.

A second arrow flew through the open doors.

It struck the base of the dais, quivering there like a living thing.

The noise that followed was instant.

A shout.

A scream.

And then chaos.

Arrows rained down, their whistle slicing the tense air. They struck the Prime Minister’s men first—soldiers who had been standing at rigid attention just seconds before. Now they were dropping one by one, arrows buried in their throats, their chests, their backs.

Blood splattered the polished floor.

Guests screamed and scattered, silk skirts and heavy robes tangling as they fled. The old nobles tried to rise from their seats, their faces pale with terror. The musicians abandoned their instruments, the sweet strains of flutes replaced by the heavy drum of running feet.

The Prime Minister’s men scrambled to draw their swords, but it was already too late. In the shadows of the high balconies, figures in black dropped down, blades gleaming, eyes hard.

Zhao Yan’s men.

The true prince’s loyal soldiers.

They moved like a storm, cutting down the Prime Minister’s guards with precise, ruthless efficiency.

Steel clashed against steel.

Screams echoed through the hall.

Hua Jing watched it all with those sharp eyes, her lips still curved in that infuriating smile. She didn’t move. She didn’t flinch. She stood there in her red robes, as if the world had finally shifted the way she had always known it would.

Outside the palace gates, the sounds of battle raged. Zhao Yan’s forces had broken through the perimeter, clashing with the bandits Pei Rong had stationed there. Swords flashed in the cold light of dawn. Blood spilled into the white marble courtyards.

Inside, Pei Rong’s face was a mask of rage and fear.

His eyes snapped to Hua Jing. "You... you... how dare you do this here?!"

She tilted her head, that smile never wavering. "It seems the empire isn’t yours yet, Prime Minister."

He looked around wildly, as if searching for someone to give him the answers he couldn’t find. But his men were dying, his control unraveling before his eyes.

Zhao Ling Xu stepped closer to Hua Jing, his expression calm now, as if he had known this moment would come all along.

And at the great doors of the ceremonial hall, the final figure appeared.

Zhao Yan.

He stepped through the chaos like he belonged there—like the blood and the screams were just part of the world he had always known.

He wore no armor, just a dark cloak that billowed around him as he walked. His hair was tied back, his eyes sharp as a blade, his mouth set in a line that promised retribution.

He didn’t say a word.

He just walked, every step measured, every breath calm.

The Prime Minister turned to see him, his face draining of all color.

Zhao Yan paused at the threshold, his eyes sweeping the hall—taking in the chaos, the blood, the fear. Taking in the sight of Hua Jing, standing there like a queen reborn.

Then he looked at Pei Rong.

And the Prime Minister, for the first time in his life, shivered.