Chapter 82: The Crying in the Abandoned House (Please Subscribe and Vote for the Monthly Ticket)

Chapter 082: The Cries Within the Abandoned Manor

After that night, not a single word escaped the Prime Minister’s residence; all news was sealed off completely. Anran knew that Lu Anrong had abandoned Lu Junfan. Even Leng Yiyun managed to restrain herself from causing trouble, which made Anran regard her with a touch more respect.

But it wasn’t that Leng Yiyun could really hold back. The first thing she said upon waking was, “That wretch Anran!” Everyone in the Prime Minister’s house—Leng Yiyun, Lu Anrong, and many others—knew in their hearts that it was Anran’s doing. Such audacious, ruthless acts—who else but Anran? She had tormented Lu Junfan’s legs again and again, and finally, to give Lu Anrong a warning, she’d simply severed them at the knees.

Anran truly thought the household was enduring in silence, but when she inquired, she learned the Prime Minister’s residence was in chaos over the imperial selection of consorts. This year, the palace had published a list of eligible daughters—every legitimate daughter of officials of rank three or higher, who had reached maturity and were yet unbetrothed, was named, excepting those whose sisters had already entered the palace in previous years.

Once this was known, Lady Liu of the Qin family flew into a rage, smashing everything in her room. Why had the rules changed this year? In the Prime Minister’s residence, Lu Anrong and Leng Yiyun were both worrying themselves sick. King Jun Dingyue was old enough to be Lu Xueqing’s grandfather, and besides, they’d never intended for her to enter the palace as a consort. At his age, Jun Dingyue could die at any moment.

Lu Anrong had spent years grooming Lu Xueqing to marry a prince with prospects, hoping that after the nine princes vied for the throne, her status as the Prime Minister’s legitimate daughter would make her the rightful Empress. But now, why had Jun Dingyue ordered the Ministry of Rites to alter the rules? Or had someone from the ministry made such a suggestion to him?

With Lu Xueqing’s beauty, talent, and learning, she was almost certain to catch Jun Dingyue’s eye. Yet he was a decrepit old man—even as emperor, Lu Xueqing would never accept him. Day after day, she wept herself haggard. Since his release, Prince Jing had only visited her twice, both times with Prince Li’s attendant in tow, so they’d spoken no private words. His meaning was clear: he wanted the emperor to grant them a marriage, making her Princess Jing.

But Lu Xueqing was not resigned. She wanted neither to enter the palace nor to marry Jun Yihong, a man fated to never ascend the throne. Her real targets were the Princes Qian, Kun, and Li, but Prince Li had withdrawn from court life these past two years, so she set her sights on the other two, planning to act when one emerged victorious.

The happiest about Lu Xueqing’s participation in the selection was Matron Xu of the Lu family—she’d returned early from the countryside just for this. She wanted Lu Xueqing to be chosen, letting Jun Dingyue and his sons see her grace. With Jun Dingyue’s age, he’d likely bestow her upon his favored son, revealing his true intentions, so Lu Anrong could pick the right side. It was a plan to kill three birds with one stone—only Matron Xu could devise such schemes.

Since the founding of the country, the Ministry of Rites had overseen the selection of consorts every three years, filling the imperial harem with twenty-eight women. The rest would be assigned to various princes, and those left would be sent home to marry, never to participate again.

Seeing the chaos in the Prime Minister’s residence, Anran devoted herself to studying the poison in Jun Moli’s body and experimenting with new toxins, making some progress. Thus, for over a month, Jun Moli became a frequent visitor to Anran’s residence.

“Ran’er, what are these two little things for?” Jun Moli asked, pointing at a golden bowl containing two unusual worms.

No one could blame his curiosity; every day in her pharmacy, he saw something new. Today, it was two crystalline worms, one with antennae, the other without, their tails entwined—not at all repulsive like other poisons, but rather, almost cute.

Jun Moli became more and more brazen, first addressing her as "Miss," then "Miss An," and now simply "Anran"—lately, even "Ran’er," as if he were the master of the place, lingering from noon till dusk, reluctant to leave. Half a month ago, he’d switched to calling her Ran’er, the term warm and intimate.

Anran ignored his familiarity. He could call her what he wished; she simply didn’t respond. Glancing at the bowl he pointed to, she replied flatly, “Linked Heart Gu.”

Jun Moli didn’t mind her coldness—she was always aloof, keeping everyone at arm’s length. Yet she wasn’t truly heartless; she was crafting new poisons to cure him, after all. Even if she said nothing about his daily visits, her attitude toward Qin Ruoyang was clearly warmer, which made Jun Moli a little jealous.

“Linked Heart Gu? What does it do?” The name intrigued him; he’d never heard of it before.

“It makes two people who don’t love each other deeply enamored, envied by all around.”

Oh? Then couldn’t it be...

“This poison only works its wonders when the two parties differ in age by forty years or more. I’ve spent a long time developing it!” she added, the gift specially prepared for Lu Xueqing.

Her words dashed Jun Moli’s hopes to dust. Why would she research such a thing?

“Ran’er, could you make one for people only ten years apart?” Jun Moli asked, fanning the small flame of hope in his heart.

Anran arched an eyebrow, her gaze appraising. “Prince Li, you’re just my test subject—what right do you have to order me around?”

Jun Moli fought the urge to throttle her—arrogant, brash, and utterly disrespectful. He did like her quiet side, the way she fit her years. In his heart, Anran was like a venomous scorpion hidden away: let anyone encroach on her domain and she’d rear her deadly tail in warning, exacting death on any who dared offend her.

“Ran’er, don’t look at me like that. I’m not used to it. Relax...” Jun Moli eyed the poisonous toad in her hand, quietly taking a few steps back—he didn’t want it leaping onto his face. He might not have long to live, but he wanted to leave a handsome corpse, not be disfigured by a toad’s poison.

“Lie down!” Anran ordered, tilting her head. Today was the forty-second day of his detoxification. The old worms had lost their effectiveness, so she used new ones to cleanse his blood, subjecting him daily to the pain of needles and bloodletting.

Jun Moli smiled and shook his head. She was all stubbornness and soft heart—under that thick armor, she was still just a young girl. If only he weren’t poisoned, he’d have every reason to marry her. But as a doomed man, he could only watch as someone like Qin Ruoyang had a chance with her—a thought that soured his heart.

“Hiss... it hurts!” When he hesitated, lost in thought, Anran jabbed him with a golden needle, making him gasp in pain. This ruthless girl...

“Stay still!” The needle in her hand became a dagger, her eyes cold and hungry like a wolf eyeing prey.

“Aaah—!” Jun Moli cried out again from the couch, his guards Liehuo and Jiaoyang standing outside, trembling with sympathy for him and anger toward Anran. Especially Liehuo, who resented her for withholding the antidote—now Jun Moli had less than a year to live, where he might have had three or five.

Half an hour later, Jun Moli lay limp, unable to speak from pain. Anran had deliberately tormented him, forgoing anesthetic powder and stabbing several acupoints, then cutting his wrist for bloodletting, making him wish he could cry for his mother. She was clearly taking revenge—she never forgot an offense.

Anran threw him a triumphant look, cleaned up the tools, blood, and venom, and issued her dismissal. “Prince Li, head home early. Anran’s residence is closed to visitors today!”

Jun Moli looked weakly at the hourglass. It was past you-shi, but not yet night—he refused to leave, feigning death with closed eyes. He’d stay until the last possible moment.

Anran rolled her eyes at his shamelessness and, carrying the Linked Heart Gu, headed inside, unwilling to waste time with him.

Liehuo saw her open the door and glared, unable to voice his anger. He turned to Jiaoyang. “She did it on purpose, didn’t she?”

He wanted to vent but dared not say it aloud. Jiaoyang waved him off, signaling that their master and Anran were both willing parties—best not to meddle.

Anran watched Liehuo’s antics with interest, her expression turning cold. “Of course I did it on purpose. If you’re not happy, bite me!”

Liehuo and Jiaoyang were both stunned, and even Jun Moli inside was amused. Liehuo had discovered a shocking secret—Anran could not only smile, but joke!

Night fell. Under the ink-black sky, Anran stood by the railing outside her bedroom, fox cub in her arms, gazing at the distant Prime Minister’s residence. The air had grown chilly; the night wind tangled her hair, a stray lock clinging to her cold lips. A single tear slid from her hollow eyes. Are you well, my Chen’er?

“Squeak, squeak...” Snowball whimpered uneasily, making Anran alert. She sensed the area with her inner force—no disturbance inside her residence, but someone was in the abandoned General’s Manor next door. Who could it be?

Her heart pounding, she leapt onto the railing and soared into the General’s Manor. The once-glorious estate was now a wasteland, overgrown and wild. She swept the grounds with her inner force—indeed, someone was near her old quarters, the Serenity Garden.

The place had long been emptied of valuables, and haunted by so many wrongful deaths—who would dare come here at night? Anran grew uneasy, lightly leaping onto the roof and slipping toward Serenity Garden.

As she drew near, faint sobs drifted from within—heartbreaking, indistinguishable as male or female. She paused on the rooftop. The night was moonless, starless, the garden in utter darkness, but the cries persisted.

A timid soul would have thought the manor haunted and fled in terror. But Anran had died once already; she did not fear ghosts, for she herself was a revenant. Could there be another vengeful spirit?

She stroked the fox’s fur and entered the garden—the crying ceased abruptly. Startled, she rushed inside. The hall was empty. She hurried to the bedroom and found a pile of half-burned funeral money smoldering, white candles and incense showing signs of recent use.

The window of this room faced the lotus pond, designed by General Leng himself, and the adjacent chamber was for her maid to keep night watch, so she hadn’t seen any light from outside.

She had been the only legitimate daughter of the General’s house, the living testament to her parents’ love, so all the best had been given to her. Leng Yiyun, though the eldest daughter, was born to one of the old lady’s favored maids—a result of a drunken mistake, not love.

After her rebirth, Anran had wondered if her father’s lapse had been more than drunkenness—perhaps he’d been set up, which explained his bone-deep affection for her and indifference to Leng Yiyun.

Seeing the funeral money, Anran’s heart squeezed painfully—could it be? She’d seen her whole family executed, the ground awash in blood, their eyes wide open, staring at Jun Dingyue, dying with untold grievances. They’d been dead for fifteen years—how could any of them have survived? Yet someone had come today, on her birthday, to honor her! She was sure the offerings were meant for her.

Tears sprang from her eyes, her head spinning. Who had returned? If not a blood relative, who would secretly burn incense for her on this day?

Yes, someone must have survived—she told herself so with all her strength. Perhaps she might yet see them again...

“Who are you? Come out! Come out!” Anran called out in a hoarse, tearful voice to the empty, dusty room.

Only a sudden gust of cold wind replied, stirring the ashes and swirling them past her. Even she, reborn, felt a chill.

“Are you man or ghost? Show yourself!” she shouted again, but no one answered.

The General’s Manor felt terribly eerie, the night heavy with haunting cries. Anran told herself it was just her imagination, nothing more...

“Squeak, squeak...” Snowball whimpered again, nestling deeper into her arms, his little body trembling.

Anran felt a crushing disappointment. Who was it? She had seen her family butchered—her parents, brother, sister-in-law, nephews, and nieces all beheaded, blood splattering the execution ground, eyes staring in death at Jun Dingyue. They’d been dead for fifteen years—how could any of them return? A bitter laugh escaped her lips as she staggered away. She was thinking too much. There was work to be done.

But after she left Serenity Garden, plaintive sobs rose again from the attic, so wrenching they made anyone who heard them weep as well.

Anran returned to her bedroom, still in shock, collapsing onto her couch as if her heart were being torn apart, nearly forgetting to breathe.

With her inner strength, her ears picked up every sound—the sobbing continued. She wanted to know who was mourning for her, who cried with such grief. Someone was there, but she couldn’t sense their presence. Whenever she left, the crying started anew.

If they didn’t wish to be seen, so be it. When she’d dealt with Lu Anrong, her family, and Jun Dingyue, she’d seek out this person—she would see if they were human or ghost.

Wiping her tears away, she dressed in black, her slim figure outlined by the fabric. Her face was once more expressionless, her eyes cold with hatred, her aura lethal. Soon, when the selection began, Lu Anrong and Leng Yiyun would be driven mad.

She had intended another way to deal with Lu Xueqing, but the person inside the Prime Minister’s residence was too incompetent—no wonder she was so unloved, as stupid as a pig, unable to handle even the simplest tasks. Still, this method was better—Lu Xueqing would find it preferable to shame and scandal. It was worth all the effort she’d spent sneaking into Jun Dingyue’s chambers to steal a dragon whisker for her plan.

Snuffing out the candle, Anran’s figure vanished into the attic. Since she’d cut off Lu Junfan’s leg, this was the first time she’d infiltrated the Prime Minister’s residence. Sleep, sleep—for soon enough, the show would begin.

The next morning, rumors swept through Liu Yi Alley—someone had wept all night in the abandoned General’s Manor, so sorrowful it moved listeners to tears. People whispered that the Leng family’s vengeful spirits had returned for revenge.

So many had heard the weeping, even an officer whose home was nearby. The entire city was soon abuzz with tales of the haunting, and the imperial palace was quickly informed.

Before the morning court session ended, the ministers, already vexed by drought reports, were stunned by this news. Lined up on both sides of the hall, no one dared speak loudly, but small knots of officials whispered about the truth of the rumors. Many old ministers remembered well the reasons behind the Leng family’s execution, even if the official records were silent.

“Enough!” Jun Dingyue, pained by their noise, struck his throne and bellowed, his imperial face darkening.

Nearly sixty, Jun Dingyue was wrapped in a golden dragon robe, a five-clawed dragon embroidered on his chest. His face was square, brows like swords, eyes like stars, his handsome features sharp and commanding, exuding an inescapable aura of power.

The ministers immediately fell silent, fearing his wrath.

“You’re all so eager to talk—who among you will handle this matter?” he demanded.

At once, everyone bowed their heads lower, wishing to sink into the floor. Gossip they could manage, but ghosts were beyond them; that was the realm of priests and monks, not scholars and warriors.

“Weren’t you just so talkative? Now that the court needs you to calm rumors, you’re all mute? Useless!” Jun Dingyue’s eyes swept over them, finally settling on Lu Anrong. “Minister Lu, you oversaw the case back then. Now, with these rumors, whether ghost or man, you will investigate thoroughly and give the people an answer!”

Jun Dingyue feared unrest among the people. He had slaughtered his brothers and the Leng family—his reputation was already stained. Though the official histories were silent, the unofficial ones recorded everything. He didn’t want the rival kingdom seizing on his “slaughter of heroes” to stir unrest in his realm.

Lu Anrong was the perfect choice: it was his advice that led to the destruction of the Leng clan for holding too much military power, resulting in the execution of over four hundred from three branches, and the exile of another seven hundred from six branches. He had ensured the family’s extinction.

Now, Lu Anrong’s own power was at its peak, his allies many. If Jun Dingyue did not remind him of his place, the Lu family would become the next Leng family—too powerful for the throne to contain.

The emperor’s words shocked the court. So it was Lu Anrong who had destroyed his own wife’s family—they gained a new understanding of his “filial piety.”

“I obey, Your Majesty!” Lu Anrong replied, expressionless, kneeling in respect.

At that moment, Qin Ruoyang of the Ministry of Justice spoke up, “Your Majesty, this humble servant has a matter to report!”

PS: Stuck on this chapter—more updates tomorrow!