I've Decided To Be This Tyrant's Dark Moonlight - Chapter 87

Before she could figure out the reason, someone from the Changchun Palace came to summon Wei Ying.

The Virtuous Consort smiled softly:
“Since even the Empress misses you, I won’t fight with her over you, Yingying.”

Wei Ying stood up, walked to the doorway, then turned back to ask:
“Your Ladyship, what do you think of the Empress?”

The Virtuous Consort froze, blinking in surprise. Her fingers twined together in unease, her brows furrowing prettily.
“Of course the Empress is most excellent. Her family background is distinguished, her literary talent unmatched. Why do you suddenly ask this, Yingying?”

Wei Ying shook her head with a smile, lifted her skirts, and stepped out.

It was already dusk. Outside the Changchun Palace, rows of palace maids carried candlesticks to light the stone lanterns along the path.

The dim yellow glow spread like melted gold. At the end of the white jade road, the lanterns stretched into the distance, like a river of stars laid across the ground.

The little palace maids, like immortals holding starlight, laughed as they came and went. Their gauzy skirts fluttered in the wind. Many of them were acquaintances of Wei Ying, who greeted her with smiles.

Wei Ying walked amidst the cheerful voices until she reached the wide-open gates of Changchun Palace. Inside, the palace was cold and solemn. Furnishings were few, but each was a priceless treasure, unique in the world.

The Empress sat in her study, head lowered over a book. Beside her lay a stack of letters held down by an inkstone, the ink on the top sheet not yet dry.

Hearing footsteps, she rose to welcome Wei Ying.
“I heard you encountered assassins on the road. Were you frightened?”

Wei Ying shook her head.
“I’m fine.”

Yue Qinghui smiled faintly.
“The ones in trouble must have been the assassins.”

With a single sentence, she pierced through Wei Ying’s little secret. Wei Ying laughed sheepishly and followed her to sit by the table, accepting the cup of tea the Empress handed over.

“This is tea from the Southern Seas, blended with fresh osmanthus. Do you like it?”

Wei Ying took a sip. The fragrance was refreshing. She smiled.
“Of course I like it.”

Yue Qinghui curved her lips.
“I thought you would. I was reminded of… forget it, it’s nothing. His Majesty is safe as well?”

Wei Ying nodded.
“The Emperor is unharmed.”

In fact, when the assassins came, she had still been fast asleep.

Yue Qinghui frowned, setting down her cup. Her voice lowered:
“These may not have been assassins from the northern tribes. Yingying, the palace is unstable lately. Perhaps you should leave for a while.”

Wei Ying arched a brow.
“Leave?”

Yue Qinghui nodded, sighing lightly. She seemed to want to say more, but one look at Wei Ying stopped her.

Wei Ying replied:
“With so many guards in the palace, how could it be unsafe?”

Yue Qinghui hesitated, then spoke honestly:
“Yingying, the palace is the most dangerous place of all. You have His Majesty’s favor, your influence is rising—others will grow envious.”

Wei Ying shrugged, unconcerned.

Yue Qinghui added softly:
“Others are tolerable, but the Empress Dowager…”

Wei Ying blinked at her, eyes wide and sincere.
“The Empress Dowager doesn’t like me? But last year I gave her a birthday gift, and she seemed very pleased. And this year, I played a suona piece for her—she was so excited she fainted! Yingying tries so hard… how could the Empress Dowager not like me?”

She frowned pitifully.
“So sad.”

Yue Qinghui was silent for a long while before speaking again.
“There are a few safe places outside the palace.”

Wei Ying lounged lazily in her chair, cracking melon seeds.
“Your Ladyship, are you going to leave the palace?”

“I am the Empress,” Yue Qinghui replied. “Naturally, I cannot leave.”

Wei Ying laughed.
“Then if you don’t go, and His Majesty doesn’t go, why should I be left alone and lonely? That would be no fun at all.”

Yue Qinghui smiled faintly, refilling her tea when the melon seeds left her throat dry.

Wei Ying suddenly recalled the dream she had had: Yue Qinghui arriving alone in the capital, becoming Empress not by choice but because of a deceiving letter from an old friend. Her conscience pricked, she touched the corner of her mouth, sneaking a glance at the Empress while silently chanting in her heart—

“She won’t recognize me. She won’t recognize me. She won’t recognize me.”

Now, Wei Ying regretted that in order to curry favor at the very beginning, she had shown off her vocal mimicry skills to the Empress. But surely there were many people in the world who could do such tricks. Unlike the little Emperor, the Empress would never leap to conclusions about souls taking over bodies and see through her immediately… right?

She took another sip of tea and asked:
“Your Ladyship, why did you enter the palace in the first place?”

No matter how many women dreamed of becoming Empress, Yue Qinghui could never have wanted to be trapped in these cold palace walls all her life.

Yue Qinghui closed her eyes for a moment, then smiled.
“Because someone tricked me into coming.”

Wei Ying’s heart lurched violently. She lowered her head to drink, trying to hide her guilt.

“But in the end,” Yue Qinghui went on, “it wasn’t only because of her. I came of my own will.”

Wei Ying lifted her gaze. Their eyes met. Yue Qinghui’s were clear and luminous, black and white distinct, pure as water. Wei Ying’s heart skipped a beat—she thought of the girl she had seen in her dream.

Back then, Yue Qinghui’s eyes had also shone brightly with youthful pride, but not with this same calm depth, not with this quiet resolve.

Yue Qinghui smiled.
“Yingying, I’ve only ever done what I myself wanted to do.”

The Empress Dowager was the last to hear that Prince of Luling had left without permission.

To welcome his return, she had set a banquet at Cining Palace, only to learn after the food had gone cold that the Prince had long since fled, probably already back in his fief.

The Empress Dowager was furious. She had devoted herself wholeheartedly to planning for him, yet the ungrateful boy kept trying to escape. Now he had fled all the way back to his fief, never giving her a moment’s peace.

What was this?

Did he not even want to be Emperor?

Her heart filled with grievance. No matter what happened, he should have at least spoken to her before leaving. At the very least, he ought to have come to bid her farewell.

Back then, she had been powerless. The late Emperor, fearing she would suffer injustice, had entrusted the Prince of Luling to her care, promising that he would one day be made Emperor. For over ten years, she had raised him with all her heart, treating him as her own son.

And in the end, this was the thankless ingrate she had raised.

His sword dance was weak and sloppy, he snuck out at night reeking of urine, and now he had been frightened into fleeing back home. Was this what one called a man?

Consort Shu quickly offered her a cup of tea.
“Aunt, don’t be angry.”

A palace maid chimed in:
“Yes, Aunt, please breathe deeply—inhale—exhale.”

“Inhale—exhale—”

“Inha—”

“Shut up,” the Empress Dowager cut her off icily. She took the tea and drank.
“In the end, only family can be trusted. No one else is reliable. Hah.”

She sighed heavily, suddenly thinking of the late Emperor.

He had promised her a lifelong devotion, to love none but her—yet he had gotten another woman pregnant. Every time she recalled it, a burning hatred surged within her, hatred for the late Emperor, and hatred for the current one.

Whenever she looked at Yunshao, she was reminded of betrayal and humiliation. Every appearance of the Emperor in dragon robes was like a stinging slap across her face.

Her cheeks burned, her eyes flickered with a deep but fleeting hatred before returning to icy calm. She turned to Dong E, her smile cold.
“His Majesty has been favoring the two from Yulu Hall lately. Has he truly fallen for them?”

Dong E lowered her head timidly.
“Yes, Your Majesty. But if one speaks of real affection, His Majesty favors Concubine Ying above all.”

The Empress Dowager’s brows knit.
“Duan Weiying? But she looks nothing like the one from before. Hah. So much for promises of lifelong devotion. The new always replaces the old.”

She toyed with her string of prayer beads, lips curving into a sneer.
“Duan Weiying…”

The palace maid rolled her eyes.
“Aunt, she’s just some country girl. Why bother with her?”

The Empress Dowager shot her a glance.
“She rose from Noble Lady to Consort within a single year, and you still think she’s just a country girl?”

She lifted a jeweled fingernail, pointing to a rosewood drawer.
“Dong E, bring me what’s inside.”

Dong E obediently retrieved a small wooden box.

Without lifting her gaze, the Empress Dowager said lazily:
“You know what to do. Mix it into their face powder.”

The maid’s eyes widened.
“Aunt, I understand! I’ve done this kind of dirty work before!”

The Empress Dowager: …

Consort Shu pinched her sister’s arm, shooting her a frantic look: Please, ancestor, don’t say more.

The Empress Dowager drank more tea to steady herself, then explained softly:
“This powder is different from what you used last time. At first, it makes one’s complexion even lovelier, radiant like a painting. But after ten days, the poison takes hold. The body will fester, limbs will rot, the skin will split—leaving only a flawless face. That’s why I call it ‘Beauty’s Bloom.’”

This was an upgraded version of their previous poison, more vicious, more effective.

Its toxicity was so strong that even if Dong E only placed it by a window or sprinkled it under a bed, anyone nearby would be poisoned without realizing. Truly a deadly weapon.

The Empress Dowager nodded to herself.
“‘Beauty’s Bloom’ is precious. Handle it carefully. Don’t waste it, and don’t let yourself get exposed.”

Dong E nodded, clutching the box carefully as she hurried out of the hall.

The palace maid watched her go, clenching her fists, brows knitted.

She thought: Duan Weiying isn’t so hateful. She doesn’t deserve such a cruel poison. I’ll have to think of something… anything.

After returning from Changchun Palace to Yulu Hall, Wei Ying lay down on her couch, hands behind her head, reviewing what was to come.

In the original book, the coming year was critical—and perilous.

The heroine’s health, already frail, could not withstand the Emperor’s favor. Gradually, she lost his affection. By the year’s end, a vassal state sent a beauty to court, one who resembled the Emperor’s first love. Instantly captivated, the Emperor abandoned the heroine, indulging in nightly revels, indifferent to her grief.

At the same time, the northern tribes invaded. General Pei led the army to battle but, due to an accident, died in the field. The nation was shaken. His son, Pei Jian, took command, defeated the enemy, but suffered fatal wounds and soon perished.

The Noble Consort fell from grace, demoted to the Cold Palace. Before long, suspecting the Emperor’s role in her family’s deaths, she attempted to assassinate him. She failed, the blade intercepted by the beauty at his side. With no way out, the Consort drew the knife across her own throat. Hot blood splattered the palace steps.

Thereafter, the heroine fully blackened. Thus began her ruthless path of revenge, becoming the ultimate queen of palace intrigue.

Wei Ying thought over the original plot and felt her years of cursing the dog Emperor had been well deserved.

The Emperor in the book was indeed vile. Too vile. Poisoning him had been too merciful.

Yet when she closed her eyes, she couldn’t reconcile that despicable ruler with her little good-luck charm—the pitiful, teary child clinging to her.

Her Majesty was clearly just a little hedgehog, bristling under duress, always tense. But if she loved you, she trusted you completely, rolling onto her back to bare her soft, vulnerable belly.

A girl who grew up amid malice, baring her fangs at the world, sharp and hostile—but when facing only you, her eyes reddened, her gaze clung, her spikes retracted. Like a harmless, gentle creature.

Wei Ying’s chest tightened. She recalled Yue Qinghui’s warning: the Emperor loved to lie. One could not believe everything.

Every word was a possible falsehood, every story an elaborate mask.

One lie after another—some crude, some clever. Early hints dismissed, step by step until the truth was confirmed, and only then revealing everything.

She had deceived the Empress Dowager, deceived the court, deceived the world.

Even Wei Ying herself could not be certain. The Emperor’s ramblings about her past—how much was truth, how much fiction?

She said she had brewed medicine for her teacher—but in Wei Ying’s dream, the girl stood outside in the rain, never daring to enter.

She said she was mischievous and often punished—but beneath the grape arbor, the girl’s eyes glimmered with longing.

She insisted on recounting the past, as if to smother her own guilt.

Wei Ying pictured those misty eyes and sighed.

But her affection was real. Too real. Too deep.

When she loved, she laid her heart bare, offering her burning blood, her beating heart, to prove her devotion—mad and stubborn.

In love, she was both innocent and extreme. She would humble herself, surrender her throne, endure loneliness and pain, cut through thorns—all to place her blazing heart in the hands of the one she adored, the love lost to time.

Like a moth immolating itself for the moon.
Like a mayfly defying fate to chase the wings of a roc.

Such heavy, desperate love pressed down on Wei Ying’s chest, suffocating.

Through so many missions, never had she been shaken by such passion. She thought, if she left this world one day, she would never forget Yunshao.

The mayfly that burned itself had lit her eyes.

Even if only for an instant, even if only a fleeting encounter among countless worlds, she would remember this love, this devotion, forever.

After a long while, Wei Ying pulled her thoughts back to her mission. According to the original plot, the first step was Xiao Qianxue’s death.

She nudged the girl beside her.
“Qianxue, does it hurt?”

Xiao Qianxue blinked.
“Eh? I don’t hurt at all! I’m as strong as a cow!”

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