As dusk fell, in the study of the Linjiang Palace, Li Longjing tapped the table with his fingertips, a cold and calculating light flashing in his eyes.
"Did the old lady of the Xue family go to the ancestral home in the north?" He suddenly chuckled, his voice like a venomous snake, "What a good opportunity..."
Yan Boxi's hand, which was sorting the documents, paused slightly, and the ink cast a small shadow on the rice paper.
He looked up at Li Longjing: "What does your Highness mean?"
Li Longjing stood up and walked to the window, gazing at the northern night sky. "Send someone to the north to bring back the old lady and her entourage..."
He made a gesture of wiping his neck, "And then put the blame on my brother. How could the Xue family's descendants not rebel after losing their mothers one after another?"
The brush in Yan Boxi's hand fell, and the ink splashed on his blue robe like spots of blood.
He forced himself to remain calm and asked, "Is this... too risky?"
"Those who achieve great things don't dwell on trivial matters." Li Longjing turned, the candlelight casting a sinister shadow on his face. "You go and pick a few assassins yourself, and they should be new faces."
Yan Boxi nodded his head, but a hint of murderous intent flashed in his eyes. Xue Shanqiu was currently with his mother at the ancestral home in the north!
The daughter of a marquis who smiled charmingly at the poetry gathering, the girl he had secretly admired for many years...
After leaving the study, Yan Boxi did not return to his own courtyard, but went straight to the most secretive west wing of the palace.
There is a hidden passage behind the rockery, leading to an underground secret room. This is Li Longjing's most unknown secret.
Torches flickered on the stone walls, illuminating the deep corridor.
Yan Boxi's footsteps echoed in the narrow space, and every step seemed to be stepping on his conscience.
"Miss Xue..." he murmured softly, and the scene of the Lantern Festival three years ago appeared in front of his eyes.
At that time, Xue Shanqiu had just reached the age of marriage. The sight of her standing in front of a lantern riddle, wearing a goose-yellow shirt and frowning in thought, made him fall in love with her at first sight.
The iron door of the dark room made a dull sound. Various torture instruments were displayed inside, and several human skin masks were hung on the wall.
On the innermost sandalwood shelf, dozens of small celadon bottles were neatly arranged. They were all poisons carefully developed by Li Longjing.
Yan Boxi's fingers skimmed across the porcelain vases, finally resting on one inscribed with a serpentine pattern. This was "Qingsi Duan," a colorless and odorless illness that would manifest after three days, leaving the deceased peaceful as if in a dream.
"Your Highness..." he whispered to himself, the struggle in his eyes fading. "You taught me that a man is not a man without ruthlessness."
He put the porcelain bottle into his sleeve and took a packet of antidote from the shelf. When he turned around, the bronze mirror on the wall reflected his pale face. The counselor who was once as gentle as jade now had only determination in his eyes.
Returning to his room, Yan Boxi took out a small portrait that he treasured.
In the painting, Xue Shanqiu is holding a round fan and smiling sweetly.
He stroked the painting with his fingertips, as if he could touch the sunlight of that day.
"A person like me...is not worthy of dreaming of the daughter of a marquis." He smiled bitterly and held the small statue close to his heart. "But at least...I can protect you."
The sound of a night watch drum could be heard outside the window. It was already three o'clock in the morning. Yan Boxi spread out the letter paper and wrote:
"The north is dangerous. Leave your ancestral home immediately. Don't ask why. Please do not hesitate."
He blew the ink dry and sealed the note and the antidote into a brocade bag.
At dawn the next day, a swift horseman quietly left the palace. The man in black on the horse, holding a brocade bag in his arms, galloped off in a completely different direction.
Yan Boxi stood on the city wall, looking at the horse hoof prints gradually moving away. The wind blew up his clothes, just like the emotions that could never be expressed in words.
Okay, I'll create this tense plot for you, depicting the final showdown between Yan Boxi and Li Longjing. It will showcase a battle of wits and a life-or-death struggle between master and servant, filled with the drama of betrayal and revenge.
Three days later, at Linjiang Palace.
Li Longjing slammed the teacup to the ground, sending shards flying everywhere. "Waste!"
He roared, "News has come back from the north that the old lady of the Xue family left the ancestral home early!"
The spy, kneeling on the ground, trembled in fear: "Reply, Reply Your Highness, it is said that an anonymous letter was received..."
Li Longjing's eyes flashed coldly, and he suddenly turned to Yan Boxi standing beside him: "Mr. Yan, what do you think about this matter?"
Yan Boxi's expression remained calm as he saluted and said, "I guess someone must have leaked the news."
"Leaked the news?" Li Longjing sneered and slowly approached. "Besides me, you're the only one who knows about this."
The air in the study suddenly froze. Yan Boxi felt cold sweat on his back, but he maintained a calm expression. "Your Majesty, I have followed you for many years..."
"Take off his outer robe." Li Longjing suddenly ordered.
Two guards immediately stepped forward and roughly tore open Yan Boxi's blue official robe. On the cuffs of his inner shirt, a few ink stains were clearly visible. They were the ink stains that had been splashed on him the day he heard about the assassination plan.
Li Longjing picked up the broken porcelain pieces on the ground and pressed the sharp edge against Yan Boxi's neck.
Yan Boxi closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, there was no fear in them: "Your Highness is indeed very perceptive."
"Take him away." Li Longjing threw away the porcelain shards, his voice as cold as ice. "Let him experience every torture device in the dungeon."
The dungeon was cold and damp, and the torchlight illuminated the mottled bloodstains on the walls. Yan Boxi was hung on the rack by iron chains, his white undershirt ripped by the whip, revealing bloodstains.
"Speak!" Li Longjing sat on the Grand Master's chair, playing with an exquisite dagger. "Why did you betray me?"
Yan Boxi raised his head, blood seeping from the corners of his mouth, but he revealed a strange smile: "Your Highness, do you still remember... the Junshan Silver Needle from three days ago?"
The dagger in Li Longjing's hand suddenly stopped.
"The black hair is broken, colorless and tasteless." Yan Boxi coughed, but his laughter became more and more hearty. "Calculating the time...it's time for the attack."
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