Reborn Nine Times, the Tyrant Always Wants to Imprison Me - Chapter 12

Zhou Ling’s arm still encircled her—not quite an embrace, yet carrying an undeniable force of control.

His gaze swept over the scene. Li Zuo had swiftly subdued the assassin and directed the accompanying imperial physician to immediately assess the injuries of Zheng Yu and Su Wanqing.

Zheng Yu’s shoulder bore a ghastly wound; he had lost too much blood and fallen unconscious, but the physician confirmed that his life was not in immediate danger.

Su Wanqing’s condition, however, was far more severe. The blade had struck her spine. Though the physician had done his utmost to stanch the bleeding and bandage the wound, his expression was grave as he reported, “Your Majesty, the young lady’s life is spared, but… I fear she will never walk again.”

Fangru felt as if struck by lightning upon hearing this, tears instantly welling in her eyes.

Wanqing had suffered this calamity to save her!

Zhou Ling’s brow furrowed deeply. He glanced at Fangru’s ashen face, then toward Su Wanqing lying unconscious on the bed, and said in a low voice, “Use the finest medicines, assign the best physicians. Ensure her life is preserved, and do everything possible for her recovery.”

In the days that followed, Fangru was utterly exhausted, both physically and emotionally.

She had to muster her strength to handle the aftermath at the Dali Temple while also visiting the severely injured Zheng Yu and the bedridden, paralyzed Su Wanqing daily.

Although the Imperial Medical Institute spared no effort, Su Wanqing’s injuries were extraordinary. The rare medicines required and the resources needed for long-term rehabilitation were beyond what any individual could afford.

Just as Fangru was growing increasingly anxious over this, Zhou Ling summoned her to the palace.

In the Zichen Hall, he did not sit upon the throne but stood with his hands behind his back by the window.

The setting sun cast a golden halo around him, yet it also made his figure appear even more inscrutable and imposing.

“I have inquired with the physicians about Su Wanqing’s injuries,” he began without preamble, his tone betraying no emotion. “She will require years of nurturing with rare and precious medicines, supplemented by acupuncture, for even a slim chance of improvement. However, the cost would be more than even a noble household could bear.”

Fangru’s heart sank. “Your Majesty…”

Zhou Ling slowly turned, his gaze like a tangible weight upon her face, cutting her off. “I can provide her with the finest physicians, supply all the rare medicines under heaven, and ensure she receives the most thorough care until the end of her days.”

A flicker of hope had just ignited in Fangru’s eyes when he continued, his tone calm yet carrying the unique, irresistible pressure of an emperor:

“But I have one condition.”

He stepped closer, until they were close enough to feel each other’s breath.

He raised his hand, his cool fingertips lightly brushing her chin, forcing her pale face upward to meet his deep, all-consuming eyes.

“Enter the palace. Stay by my side.” His voice lowered, imbued with a deadly allure and absolute possession. “Become my Chen Consort.”

Fangru trembled, instinctively wanting to retreat, but his gaze held her firmly in place.

“Don’t you wish to save Gu Zhou?” He leaned in slightly, his warm breath almost scorching her ear, his words sharp as the finest blade. “Don’t you wish to give Su Wanqing a secure life for her remaining years?”

“Agree to this, and I can give you all of it.” His fingertips traced the corner of her lips with a tenderness that bordered on cruelty. “Use yourself, to exchange for it.”

The air in the hall seemed to freeze.

Fangru could clearly hear her own frantic heartbeat and the steady, controlled breathing of the man before her.

Seeing the determination and hidden desire swirling in his eyes, she knew there was no way out.

For Wanqing’s chance at life, for that sliver of faint hope for Gu Zhou… she closed her eyes, her long lashes trembling violently. When she opened them again, only a deep, resolute stillness remained in their depths.

She slowly bent her knees and knelt on the ground, her voice hoarse yet clear: “Your subject… thanks Your Majesty for this grace.”

…

From that day on, Fangru became the most dazzling Consort Chen in the Great Zhou imperial harem.

Rewards flowed like water into her palace, the emperor’s favor was illustrious, and her influence was unmatched—strikingly similar to her circumstances in her first life.

The palace servants all said that Consort Chen held the emperor’s exclusive favor, with His Majesty spending nearly every night in her chambers.

Only Fangru herself knew what treacherous undercurrents lay beneath this dazzling glory.

Every time she received his favor, every seemingly intimate moment of closeness, was a silent contest and exchange.

Beneath him, she responded with practiced grace to his ardent demands, yet her gaze would occasionally drift toward the window, carrying a worry no one else detected.

Zhou Ling would always keenly capture her distraction, followed by more forceful, almost punitive possession, as if determined to brand both her body and soul with his mark.

“What is my beloved consort thinking about?” In the deep of night, he would often grip her waist and ask in a low, husky voice near her ear, his tone suggestive yet laced with hidden barbs.

Fangru would always lower her lashes, concealing all genuine emotion, and respond in a carefully practiced, tenderly seductive tone: “Your subject was thinking… how kind Your Majesty is to me.”

Zhou Ling would chuckle lowly, his laughter ambiguous as his fingers idly twined through her dark hair. He knew she was performing, and she knew he knew.

But this performance had to continue.

Days in the deep palace passed amid surface-level favor and hidden calculations.

One day, in the imperial garden, Fangru leaned against the railing watching the swimming fish in the pond, but her thoughts drifted to Wanqing’s illness outside the palace and Gu Zhou’s predicament in prison.

The gentle chime of jade pendants accompanied unhurried footsteps approaching from behind.

Without turning, Fangru knew who had arrived—the Empress, the principal wife appointed to Zhou Ling by the previous emperor. Though their relationship was distant, she valued power and face above all.

“Consort Chen seems to be in excellent spirits,” the Empress said, her voice not loud but naturally condescending. “With the emperor’s favor at its peak, even the imperial garden’s scenery must appear more beautiful to your eyes than to others.”

Fangru turned and slightly curtseyed according to etiquette: “Your Majesty, may you enjoy peace and prosperity.”

The Empress didn’t permit her to rise immediately, her critical gaze sweeping over Fangru—from the new nine-phoenix pearl hairpin Zhou Ling had recently bestowed in her hair, to the cloud-like silk robes she wore—her tone growing increasingly sour: “You appear even more radiant than when you first entered the palace. But of course, with His Majesty spending every night in Yilan Palace, the dew of his favor naturally makes a difference.” In her previous life, Fangru would have already retaliated, either with clever retorts or secret schemes, determined to make this unfavored empress taste bitterness.

But now, she held no desire to compete for favor, even wishing she could use this opportunity to offend the Empress. If she could be demoted or even expelled from the palace because of it, that would be liberation.

She maintained her curtsey, her voice calm and even: “Your Majesty flatters me. The emperor’s compassion is this subject’s good fortune. All sisters in the palace share the imperial favor—this subject dare not claim exclusive beauty.”

This nearly submissive attitude, instead, angered the Empress, who felt she was putting on a deliberate show, subtly mocking her. “What a fine ‘ dare not claim exclusive beauty!’” the Empress sneered. “I see you are relying on the Emperor’s favor to act arrogantly, with no regard for rank! Today, I shall teach you the palace rules on His Majesty’s behalf!”

Just as the Empress raised her hand and the matron beside her stepped forward to act, a cold, stern voice suddenly rang out:

“I was unaware that the Empress had gained the authority to establish rules on my behalf.”

Zhou Ling had arrived unnoticed, standing with his hands behind his back under a flowering tree not far away. His expression was calm, but his gaze was like sharpened ice, piercing directly toward the Empress.

The consorts and palace maids trembled in fear, hastily kneeling to the ground.

The Empress’s face instantly changed color, and she hurriedly straightened her attire and bowed. “Your Majesty…”

Zhou Ling did not even glance at her, striding directly to Fangru and personally reaching out to help her up.

His fingertips were warm, and the grip on her arm carried an undeniable firmness.

He looked down at her, his tone betraying no emotion. “Were you wronged?”

Fangru lowered her eyelashes and gently shook her head. “This humble consort dare not.”

Only then did Zhou Ling slowly turn to the Empress, his gaze sharp as a blade. “The Empress seems to have much free time lately. Since you have the mind to interfere with how my consorts receive favor, perhaps you should focus on managing the central palace properly. Do not let me see the rear palace thrown into chaos over baseless disputes again.”

These words were a severe reprimand. The Empress turned pale, her lips trembling. “Your Majesty, I only…”

“Only what?” Zhou Ling interrupted her, his voice not loud but filled with authority. “Consort Chen is gentle and yielding, avoiding conflict—this pleases me greatly. But that does not give others the right to bully her at will. By my decree, the Empress has acted improperly and is confined to Fengyi Palace for one month to reflect on her mistakes. Palace affairs shall be temporarily managed by Virtuous Consort Xian.”

At these words, the entire assembly was stunned.

Confining the Empress and stripping her of authority—this punishment was undeniably severe.

The Empress stared at Zhou Ling in disbelief, but under the Emperor’s icy gaze, she finally bowed her head in defeat and was escorted away in disgrace.

Zhou Ling’s gaze then swept over the kneeling consorts and attendants, finally settling on the meek and obedient Fangru beside him.

He had not missed her earlier deliberate refusal to fight back, even her plea for punishment. An inexplicable anger rose within him—was she so eager to leave him?

Suddenly, he reached out and, in full view of everyone, effortlessly swept Fangru into his arms!

Fangru gasped in surprise, instinctively wrapping her arms around his neck.

“My beloved consort has been frightened,” Zhou Ling said, holding her as he strode briskly toward Yilan Palace. His voice was not loud but clear enough for those kneeling behind to hear. “I will escort you back.”

The consorts remained kneeling, their hushed whispers filled with disbelief, astonishment, and envy.

“His Majesty actually punished the Empress severely for Consort Chen!”

“And he carried her back personally… such favor is unprecedented!”

“What kind of charm does Consort Chen possess…”

Fangru leaned against Zhou Ling’s chest, feeling the unsteady beat of his heart and the unyielding strength in his arms.

She knew that this act of his was both protection and a declaration—a nearly domineering way of cutting off any possibility of her maintaining a low profile or withdrawing.

The night was deep, and the candlelight in Yilan Palace flickered, casting entangled shadows on the gauze curtains like a struggle of trapped beasts.

Zhou Ling’s embrace was forceful and scorching, carrying the unyielding will of an emperor.

Fangru’s struggle was as futile as an ant trying to shake a tree in the face of his absolute power.

Finally, she went limp from exhaustion, closed her eyes, and allowed the punitive invasion to wash over her, crushing her dignity and will bit by bit.

Just as she was nearly swallowed by the tidal wave of humiliation and powerlessness, the man atop her suddenly slowed his movements, deepening them with a strange, almost obsessive tenderness.

His heavy breath scorched the side of her neck, and the low murmur escaping his lips carried a barely perceptible vulnerability.

“Fangru…”

Fangru suddenly realized—this was her chance!

Suppressing her physical discomfort and inner revulsion, she lifted trembling arms to cling to his sweat-slicked back, her fingertips seemingly accidentally tracing the scars of old wounds.

Her voice fractured and hoarse with feigned passion, she cautiously probed: “Your Majesty… why… do you always seem so insecure? As if your humble consort might vanish at any moment…”

Zhou Ling’s movements paused for a second before he claimed her with even deeper possession, as if trying to mold her into his very bones.

Burying his face in her neck, he let out a low, raspy laugh that held little joy: “Security? This emperor has never known such a thing since childhood.”

Fangru’s heartbeat accelerated violently. She softened her voice into the gentlest of traps: “Your Majesty rules all under heaven, how could…”

“Ruler of all?” he interrupted, his tone abruptly turning cold with self-mocking bitterness. “This emperor was once an ant who dared not even dream of a full meal or a roof over his head!”

Seemingly triggered by some deeply buried memory, his movements slowed though his restraining hands remained iron-clamped.

Driven by lust and some desperate need for release, he bit her earlobe and spoke in a low, dangerous voice as if trapped in a distant nightmare:

“This emperor’s mother… was an insignificant maid in the late emperor’s palace… forgotten in a detached palace, raising this shameful prince who shouldn’t exist… We lived like rats in the sewers, where survival itself was the greatest blessing.” His breathing grew ragged. “That winter… so cold it pierced the bones… we owed three months’ rent. That dog of a landlord… He beat my mother to death right before my eyes… all for a few copper coins…”

Fangru felt the intense killing intent radiating from him and froze in terror.

Zhou Ling seemed completely consumed by that bloody night, his voice turning icy cold: “…Then, using the scissors that fell when my mother collapsed… I stabbed him to death.”

He suddenly tightened his arms, squeezing Fangru until she could barely breathe, as if drawing some sustenance from her or dragging her down into the abyss with him: “That was the first time I killed… I remember the blood… hot, thick, so nauseatingly metallic… but it taught me one truth…”

He abruptly lifted his head, his deep eyes still clouded with desire but now overflowing with obsessive paranoia and possessiveness, locking onto Fangru’s instantly pale face: “In this world, only power and absolute control can let one survive, obtain everything desired, and… never lose again.”

Fangru felt as if she’d been plunged into an icy abyss, cold permeating her entire being.

She had only intended to probe his weaknesses, but unexpectedly glimpsed the soul—torn apart and reborn in bloodshed and despair—lurking beneath such overwhelming power and intense, doting affection.

So young… yet already a killer…

Overwhelming terror seized her, causing her to tremble uncontrollably beneath him.

Zhou Ling keenly sensed her fear. A complex, indecipherable emotion flickered in his eyes—something akin to regret, yet tinged with deeper madness.

He abruptly sealed her lips in a near-suffocating kiss, swallowing her tremors and muffled sobs. His subsequent possession took on a more predatory edge, as if striving to erase all she had just heard through the most primal means, branding her once again with an indelible mark that belonged solely to him.

That night, Fangru felt as though she had brushed against the edge of an abyss.

Not only had she failed to find a path to safe retreat, but she had also gained a deeper understanding of the dangerously formidable force that held her captive.