Chapter 25 — Sacrificed by the Heir: Reborn as Yue Zhaoyue to Avenge Sixteen Years of Injustice

The Grand Princess’s expression shifted instantly. A five-clawed dragon is no mere pattern for anyone to flaunt; it belongs exclusively to the Imperial bloodline, specifically reserved for those with the standing to contend for the throne. Just then, frantic footsteps thundered outside the prison. A guard burst through the door, collapsing to his knees before the Grand Princess.

"Your Highness, a tragedy has occurred at the manor of Noble Consort To."

"Our men arrived a step too late. The Consort has consumed poison; her fate remains uncertain, hovering between life and death."

At the same moment, the fingerless eunuch retched, spewing a mouthful of black blood. Gu Yan rushed forward to check his pulse, but after a mere instant, his countenance darkened.

"He hid poison within his teeth."

As the eunuch collapsed onto the cold stone floor, his eyes remained locked on mine. With his final breath, he mustered the last of his strength to whisper a single sentence.

"The other half of the wooden tally... it remains in Qingzhou."

"But the one who guards it... may no longer be human."

Outside the window, a violent crack of thunder tore through the sky. I stared at the half-tally on the table, knowing deep within my heart that this confession was not an end. It was merely the turning of a key, unlocking a conspiracy that had been buried in the dark for sixteen years.

On the very night the fingerless eunuch died in the Dali Temple prison, the Emperor issued an immediate decree to seal off the entire residence of Noble Consort To. Simultaneously, he dispatched a detachment of the Imperial Guard to escort the officials of the Dali Temple to Qingzhou. I petitioned to accompany them. The Grand Princess initially refused, arguing that as the case had only just been reopened and the mastermind remained in the shadows, leaving the capital would be an invitation to danger. But I only looked at the wooden tally in my hand and replied with a calm resolve: my parents had lain in Qingzhou for sixteen years, and now that the final thread had surfaced, I could no longer sit idly in the manor, waiting for others to bring me the truth. Eventually, she relented, assigning two additional squads of guards to protect me.

Gu Yan accompanied me as well. He noted that his master’s medical records contained references to the location of the old courier station, and he suspected that the eunuch's dying words alluded to a mechanical trap or a concealment method unknown to the common eye.

Seven days later, we reached Qingzhou. The old courier station was long gone. Only wild weeds thrived on the barren foundation, where blackened wall fragments lay churned into the mud. In the distance, a withered pagoda tree stood, its trunk split by a lightning strike years ago. The locals whispered that the land had been cursed since the great fire; night after night, the wails of children were heard, and for years, no one had dared to build a home or till the soil there.

I stood before the ruins, my palms turning deathly cold. Sixteen years ago, my parents were here. Perhaps my mother had held me as she walked through this courtyard; perhaps my father had stood beneath these eaves, staring at the sky, utterly oblivious that within hours, this place would become a sea of fire.

Following the eunuch’s testimony, the Dali Temple officials ordered their men to excavate the western side of the ruins. For the first half of the day, they unearthed nothing but broken brick, charred coal, and fragments of rusted weaponry. As the sun began to sink, a guard struck something solid—a square slab of bluestone, its edges still caked in mud that had clearly been applied to mask its presence. Everyone gathered to clear the debris. Beneath the stone lay a rusted iron ring, which, once pulled, revealed a narrow shaft just wide enough for one person to descend. A blast of cold, musty air rushed up from the depths, carrying a faint, lingering scent of smoke that, even after sixteen years, burned the back of my throat.

Gu Yan took a torch and descended first. I followed. The underground chamber was cramped, its walls lined with bluestone. There were scars of fire everywhere, though being so deep beneath the earth had prevented it from collapsing entirely. In the innermost corner lay two skeletons, one significantly larger than the other. The larger frame was hunched over, positioned as if, in the final, agonizing moments, it had desperately tried to shield the one beside it.

I stood paralyzed before the remains. I did not need to be told who they were. My knees buckled, and I collapsed onto the cold stone floor. For sixteen years, I had endlessly wondered what my biological parents were like—if they had ever remembered me, or if they had abandoned me at the gates of the Shen family because they had no use for me. Only now did I realize they had never abandoned me. My mother had sacrificed her life to delay the pursuers, and my father had guarded her even as they perished. And I—the child they had purchased with their very lives—had spent my youth craving the affection of the Shen family, blaming myself time and again for not being obedient enough.

I bowed my head, pressing my forehead against the stone.

"Father, Mother, I am late."

No one in the chamber spoke. Even the officials of the Dali Temple quietly turned away. After examining the remains, Gu Yan discovered a blackened bronze object clutched in the hand of the larger skeleton. They had to carefully remove each bone fragment to retrieve it. It was the other half of the crescent moon tally. When placed together, they fit perfectly, not a single groove out of alignment. Yet, strangely, no writing appeared upon the surface.

Gu Yan studied it for a long time before applying a drop of medicinal liquid from his kit onto the seam. The black corrosion began to flake away, revealing a minute groove in the center. He pressed a silver needle into it. The tally clicked open. Inside was not gold or jade, but a thin sheet of copper tightly rolled. Etched upon the copper was a line of secret code and an Imperial seal, partially scorched but still clearly discernible. Upon reading it, the color drained from the face of the Dali Temple official.