Chapter 29: The Heart-Corroding Art

All the blood vessels in Leng Xiangning's heart had ruptured, which caused her to suddenly cough up blood and die. Yet, what could possibly make a person's heart vessels burst so abruptly?

“Heart-Eroding Art!” Situ Gong cried out in alarm.

Shen Qianmo turned to him and asked, “Mr. Situ, do you recognize these symptoms?”

Situ Gong replied uncertainly, “I once came across a similar account in an ancient text. It is said that in the northern Di kingdom, there exists a herb called Heart-Eroding Grass, exceedingly poisonous. Even the Di people shun it. Somehow, it was acquired by some southerners, who refined it into a type of venom used to control the mind. Once the afflicted wakes from this control, the heart is eroded and death follows. That’s where the name Heart-Eroding Art comes from.”

This explanation made sense. After Leng Ao Shuang was struck by Leng Xiangning, the blood she coughed up splattered onto Leng Xiangning’s face, shocking her awake. At that moment, the venom took effect, causing her heart to rupture and killing her.

“However, the text notes that the Heart-Eroding Art differs from ordinary venoms. It isn’t controlled by parent and child venom, but rather requires constant ingestion of a medicine made with Heart-Eroding Grass to maintain its potency,” Situ Gong added.

So, Leng Xiangning’s sudden change in temperament and violent tendencies must have been due to this venom. Heart-Eroding Art—what an apt name.

According to Shen Qianmo’s understanding, Leng Xiangning was essentially hypnotized under the influence of some drug, and the reason she could be so easily hypnotized was likely because she clung too deeply to her obsessions.

Finding no other abnormalities in the organs, Shen Qianmo finished the autopsy, stitched up Leng Xiangning’s wounds, and gazed upon her breathtaking face, sighing inwardly at the tragic fate of beauty.

But as the dignified mistress of Flower Moon Palace, how did she fall victim to such venom? What was the perpetrator’s motive?

Shen Qianmo stepped out of the ice chamber and saw Meng Yuanheng sitting at a distance in his wheelchair, appearing aloof and cold.

She pursed her lips; he was putting on an air of icy pride, possibly still angry at being forced into the wheelchair earlier.

To be fair, Changdong, his attendant, was truly diligent. Worried that Meng Yuanheng had been walking upright for so long, he thoughtfully brought the wheelchair when fetching Situ Gong.

But Meng Yuanheng shot Changdong a sharp glance, coldly saying, “Busybody.”

Changdong turned pale, wishing he could instantly toss the wheelchair away. If not for Shen Qianmo’s insistence on him resting, the wheelchair might have been scrapped by now.

She hadn’t expected Meng Yuanheng’s temper to flare up so easily—did she need to coax him? Shen Qianmo considered, but decided against it; there were more pressing matters.

To sustain the Heart-Eroding Art, regular doses were required, and the person able to administer the drug to Leng Xiangning without detection was most likely someone from Flower Moon Palace.

Leng Ao Shuang was shocked upon hearing this—so her sister had been poisoned? Who would go to such lengths to harm her? The palace maids closest to her and her sister were all trusted confidantes; who had betrayed them?

“Someone, summon Tingyu,” she ordered.

Tingyu served Leng Xiangning at close quarters, and knew her dietary habits better than anyone.

Soon, a blue-robed palace maid glided in, graceful and delicate—a girl of rare beauty.

Yet in Flower Moon Palace, all were beautiful, and Shen Qianmo was starting to feel aesthetic fatigue.

The blue-robed maid knelt before Leng Ao Shuang, bowing her head respectfully. “Tingyu greets Aunt.”

“Tingyu, are you responsible for the mistress’s daily needs?” Leng Ao Shuang asked coldly.

“Yes, Aunt,” Tingyu replied.

“Has there been any change in the mistress’s meals lately?”

“No, Aunt. Nothing has changed.”

“Any unusual occurrences?”

“No, Aunt. Tingyu noticed nothing.”

Tingyu kept her head lowered, her posture submissive as she answered.

This maid was lying! Shen Qianmo’s eyes sharpened, watching Tingyu’s movements.

She had studied some micro-expressions in psychology; people tend to unconsciously shrink and tense their shoulders when lying—a subconscious act of self-protection, sometimes unnoticed even by themselves.

She shook her head at Leng Ao Shuang, indicating a problem.

Leng Ao Shuang’s face tightened, about to explode, but Shen Qianmo raised her hand to stop her. Turning to the blue-robed girl, she asked, “Your name is Tingyu?”

“Yes.” Tingyu still answered without raising her head.

“I hear you serve the mistress closely. Then tell me—what does she like to eat most? What does she dislike? What are her favorite and least favorite colors? What does she do when she's happy, and when she's unhappy?”

Shen Qianmo fired off a string of questions. Tingyu remained silent for a long while, offering no reply.

“You’re not Tingyu,” Shen Qianmo said calmly. She had only suspected before and tried to probe—now she was certain. Would a personal maid need so much time to recall her mistress’s preferences?

Leng Ao Shuang’s face changed dramatically. “Who are you? Why impersonate Tingyu and infiltrate Flower Moon Palace?”

The kneeling Tingyu suddenly let out a strange laugh, slowly raised her head, and tore off a human-skin mask, revealing a face even more dazzling than Tingyu’s.

She stood up, her smile blooming like peach blossoms. “Princess Xuan is indeed formidable.”

After a pause, she continued, “What a pity that Leng Xiangning, such a valuable pawn, is gone. I went to great lengths to make sure she was ensnared.”

Though she claimed regret, her demeanor remained relaxed and unconcerned.

“The fire at Baoning Temple was your doing?” Shen Qianmo frowned.

Letting Leng Xiangning witness Tao Zhirui’s death in the blaze, then taking advantage of her despair to administer the drug—only then did Leng Xiangning gradually lose her sanity and become cruel.

The blue-robed woman smiled admiringly. “Princess Xuan is meticulous and clever. But too much cleverness in a woman can be dangerous—take care.”

Before her words finished, she flew at Shen Qianmo with lightning speed.

Shen Qianmo felt helpless—she had been a capable woman in modern times, skilled in grappling and boxing, but compared to these ancient people who seemed to fly at will, she was utterly outmatched.

But she couldn’t just sit and wait for death. She was about to dodge, when a figure swept in, whisking her away from the attack and landing her safely in a warm embrace.

The faint scent of herbs drifted by, and she couldn’t help but curl her lips. Wasn’t this fellow angry with her? His actions were certainly swift now.

Feng Ze, Lu Ziqing, Leng Ao Shuang, and the others were caught off guard. When they recovered, they saw Shen Qianmo had been rescued by Meng Yuanheng and turned to attack the woman. She found herself unable to gain the upper hand, threw a smoke bomb, and white mist immediately filled the hall, obscuring everyone’s vision.

Taking advantage of the chaos, the woman slipped away. Her voice echoed from afar: “On the third day of May, the Wujiao Sect awaits you in Suzhou.”

Shen Qianmo ignored Meng Yuanheng’s darkened face, slipped from his arms, and stood up from his lap.

After carrying her away, he had landed in the wheelchair, so she had been forced to sit sideways on his legs in an extremely ambiguous pose. In front of so many people, even Shen Qianmo, thick-skinned as she was, felt a bit embarrassed.

Hearing the woman’s words, Shen Qianmo was startled and exchanged a glance with Xie Mingyu, who was equally shocked.

The third day of May—that was the eightieth birthday of Mr. Misty. Did this mean the Xie family was in danger?

Lu Ziqing’s expression was grim. He had come to Yunzhou because the governor reported a series of mysterious disappearances among scholars, which he suspected was related to the Wujiao Sect.

Du Yu, Li Wenzheng, Yunzhou’s scholars, and now the Baoning Temple case—unbeknownst to them, the Wujiao Sect had already stirred up so much trouble. Yet he had accomplished nothing; it seemed everything was manipulated by the sect, leaving him deeply frustrated.

Meng Yuanheng also sat in his wheelchair, his face dark, gripping the chair tightly, a fierce gleam in his eyes. Any woman who dared to harm her—the Wujiao Sect would not be spared!

Only Feng Ze looked forlorn and desolate. He had volunteered to accompany Lu Ziqing south to investigate the Wujiao Sect, mostly to see Shen Qianmo. He hadn’t expected Shen Qianmo to be betrothed to Prince Xuan, and Prince Xuan seemed to care for her. Seeing him holding her just now, Feng Ze felt as if his heart had been wrenched, aching and sour.

For twenty-five years, he had never cared for any woman; he had hoped his future wife would be an extraordinary woman with whom he could walk side by side through life. Now he had found her—but was it already too late?