Chapter 90 Locked in the Wutong Tree (Twenty-Three) Phoenix Imprisoned, Locked in the Wutong Tree…
The red candles burned all night long, until dawn.
The melted wax, like blood, piled up in layers on the lampstand, winding and solidifying.
The humiliation continued day after day.
Endless medicinal broth was poured into his mouth and flowed into his stomach.
As day and night gradually blurred, Zhao Luan could no longer remember how long she had been imprisoned in this room.
Perhaps a few days? Or perhaps a few months?
In her daze, she wondered if someone would come to save her. Her brother… was he still angry with her?
The room seemed to have been ventilated for a long time; the smell was murky and stinky, seeping into every pore, hiding in the nasal cavity, hooking at the stomach, and pulling it out little by little, drawing out the sour and bitter medicine that had just been drunk.
She suddenly bent over and vomited uncontrollably.
The imperial physician's exclamation was like a thunderclap, exploding in Zhao Luan's ears, but it only brought a deathly silence and despair.
"Congratulations, Princess! Congratulations, Prince Consort! This is a happy pulse! A happy pulse indeed!"
The entire hall was instantly filled with kneeling figures, and a tidal wave of congratulations and flattery surged forth, engulfing her.
She slowly raised her head, looking into Song Xian's cold, expressionless eyes, and at the relieved yet smug smiles of the maids and servants. Her stomach churned violently, a hundred times more intensely than when she drank that bitter medicine.
After everyone left, the hall returned to silence.
Zhao Luan calmly raised her hand and placed it on her flat stomach.
This was not joy, but a mark of shame branded into her flesh and blood, the bitter fruit of those days and nights of forced pleasure and powerlessness to resist.
She doesn't want this child, she absolutely cannot have it!
She began to consume all kinds of cold and abortifacient foods, including large amounts of hawthorn, chilled fruits, and even secretly chewing safflower, which is known for causing miscarriage.
The bitter, fishy-smelling juice filled my mouth, but it tasted a hundred or a thousand times better than any pregnancy-preserving medicine.
She ran and jumped around the room desperately, trying to shake off the piece of flesh that shouldn't exist with the shock of her body.
However, every time she acted strangely, she was closely watched by those countless eyes hidden in the darkness.
Her resistance was quickly noticed.
The Empress was furious, the Prince Consort was disappointed, and the old nannies who were responsible for serving him were on high alert.
"Your Highness is confused! This is a member of the imperial family, the eldest son of the Imperial Son-in-Law. How can he be lost!"
Thus, the soft silk ribbon turned into a hard shackle.
Zhao Luan's limbs were once again firmly bound to the carved bedposts, leaving her completely unable to move.
"For the sake of the young master, you must take some nourishment."
"Just eat again after you throw up. What mother doesn't go through this?"
The maid who used to feed her bitter medicine now brought her bowls of greasy chicken soup, minced meat, and ginseng and deer antler stew.
The strong smell of meat hit her face, triggering even more severe morning sickness.
"Take it away...take it away!" she pleaded hoarsely, her stomach clenching violently.
But no one paid attention to her pain.
Two strong maids stepped forward, one pinching her nose and the other forcibly prying open her teeth, and the hot, greasy chicken soup was forced down her throat like a torture device.
She could no longer bear it, and suddenly turned her head to the side, vomiting violently.
Because she was tied up, she didn't even have time to turn over. The filth gushed out uncontrollably, some of it splashing onto the brocade quilt on the bed, and much more splashing back onto her face.
Warm, sticky liquid, carrying food scraps and a sour smell, flowed down her cheeks, clung to her neck, and even trickled down her collarbone into her clothes, soaking through her thin nightgown.
Greasy soup stains, undigested meat scraps, and bitter liquid mixed with stomach acid left a disheveled mark on her pale skin.
An indescribable smell instantly filled the air.
The servant woman who was serving soup instinctively took a step back, covering her mouth and nose, a barely perceptible look of disgust flashing in her eyes.
Zhao Luan choked so badly that tears streamed down her face, and she coughed so hard that she could barely breathe.
The cold restraints, the extreme physical discomfort, and the unprecedented humiliation and humiliation completely shattered her last shred of dignity.
She stopped coughing, collapsed in the filth, staring blankly at the elaborate canopy above her head, tears mingling with the grime on her face, silently streaming down her cheeks.
The old nanny merely frowned, expertly directing the nearby servants: "Quickly wipe the princess clean, then fetch a fresh bowl. She needs nourishment after vomiting; we can't let the young mistress suffer."
The cold cloth felt like a torture device scraping against my face.
Zhao Luan closed her eyes, as if her soul had already drifted away from this body filled with pain and filth.
The days flowed by in an almost stagnant silence, and her lower abdomen, like an inflated sac, swelled irresistibly day by day.
She no longer struggled, no longer resisted any medicine or tonics brought to her, and could now swallow the greasy and meaty foods that once made her nauseous without expression.
Sometimes, when the nanny brought her ginseng soup, she would take it and drink it all in one gulp.
The surrounding servants and maids were overjoyed and praised him highly.
"The princess has finally figured it out! That's more like it!"
"After all, she is of royal blood, and the princess understands the importance of things."
“The young master must be very healthy. Look at the princess’s complexion and appetite.”
These words were blurred as if seen through a thick film of water; she simply ate and drank mechanically, fulfilling the duties they had conceived.
She was constantly given medication to prevent miscarriage and chicken soup, which nourished the flesh and blood in her womb, but also gradually eroded her last bit of vitality.
Song Xian would occasionally visit her, and would stroke her swollen belly through her clothes, feeling the strong fetal movements, and speak in a detached tone about his plans for the future heir.
Zhao Luan always kept her eyes closed, as if everything outside of her was irrelevant.
On a stormy night with thunder and lightning, the wind and rain pounded against the glazed tiles like the urging of war drums.
Zhao Luan was moved to the delivery bed. Sweat soaked her hair, and pain tore at her body, but she kept her lips tightly pressed together and did not utter a cry of pain or a plea. Only her heavy, suppressed breathing echoed in the delivery room.
When a faint but clear cry of a newborn finally broke the noise of the rainy night, the midwife announced joyfully, "Congratulations, Your Highness! Congratulations, Princess! It's a beautiful little princess!"
Song Xian strode into the delivery room, which was filled with the smell of blood. He carefully took the swaddled baby from the midwife, stared at it for a moment, and then turned to the exhausted and pale princess on the bed.
“Your Highness, look, this is our daughter.” His voice made her nauseous.
"Born into royalty, she is of unparalleled nobility. May she be as wise and auspicious as the phoenix of Qishan, and may her blessings be long-lasting."
“Let her be called… Qi Ling.”
Zhao Luan lay there quietly, like a shell whose soul had been emptied. Her eyes stared blankly at the intricate patterns on the tent ceiling, showing no reaction to Song Xian's words or the loud cry.
The nanny tried to bring the cleaned baby to her side, but she suddenly closed her eyes and turned her head to the side.
She lay there, silent, with only faint breathing as proof that she was still alive.
Rainwater flowed along the eaves, its pattering sound adding to the deathly silence inside the palace.
She didn't resemble a mother who had just given birth; she was more like a prisoner who had endured torture and was on the verge of death, all her vitality exhausted by long imprisonment and torment.
For her, the child named Song Qiling was neither hope nor auspiciousness, but simply indelible proof of the humiliation and coercion that had been etched into her life forever.
-
"Our marriage was a transaction. Now that you have given birth to my child, I have fulfilled my duty to the Empress. From now on, we are strangers."
Song Xian finally tore off that hypocritical mask, revealing the dirty desires within. "Jiang Yan and I are deeply in love, and I cannot wrong her. If you agree, I will welcome her into my manor tomorrow."
He paused, then added, "Of course, she will enter the household as a concubine and will serve you tea and pay her respects every day. If you refuse... I will have no choice but to place her in the outer residence."
Zhao Luan looked at him silently, and during the long gaze, she caught a fleeting glimpse of panic in his eyes.
How interesting! It turns out that even someone as cold and aloof as Song Xian has someone he cares about deeply.
She pondered for a moment, then slowly nodded: "Bringing her into the manor is fine, but you must promise me one thing."
Song Xian's eyes suddenly lit up, and he almost impatiently replied, "Of course, what do you want me to do? You want to see Zhao Yu? I'll send someone to deliver a visiting card shortly..."
"No." Zhao Luan's chest heaved slightly, and she weakly forced a smile. "I want you to plant a phoenix tree for me with your own hands. Only when the phoenix tree has grown a year later can I welcome your Jiang Yan into my home."
May we, husband and wife, be of one heart and one mind, like the phoenix tree in the sky.
Is this to enhance his reputation for being a devoted lover?
But if he takes on this good reputation, under what pretext should he marry his new love?
As if seeing through his hesitation, Zhao Luan coughed a few times and said in a weak voice, "You can't wait that long? It's only a year. When the phoenix trees are lush and green next summer, you can have your wish fulfilled. At that time, no matter how much you two love each other, I will not say a word."
Upon hearing this, Song Xian readily agreed.
He has already endured it for a year, so what difference would another year make?
The next day, he ordered someone to bring over a two-story-high sycamore tree. Its canopy was like a canopy, and its branches and leaves were lush. When the wind blew through the branches, it made a "rustling" sound.
Song Xian took the shovel and buried the tree roots in the soil. Zhao Luan rested her chin on her hand, looked at the sycamore tree through the window, and smiled broadly, a smile she hadn't shown in a long time.
Phoenixes are meant to perch on parasol trees, and Zhao Luan was born to be a phoenix. She would stand at the highest point of the branches, trample Song Xian underfoot, and ensure that he would never rise again, for all eternity.
Time had never flown by so quickly. Song Xian spent every night in that brothel, entwined with his beloved Jiang Yan, finally no longer in her sight. The servants and nannies in the mansion also treated her kindly, cherishing her like a precious gem.
She still seems to be the same unmarried princess she always was.
Spring goes and autumn comes, the four seasons turn.
Before you know it, the sycamore leaves have thickly covered the branches, green like an umbrella, casting a cool shade on the ground.
Today is Song Xian's birthday. He returned to his residence with great joy, holding hands with the woman named Jiang Yan, and introduced her to Zhao Luan as the most famous courtesan in the southern city.
Zhao Luan smiled and handed Song Xian a glass of wine, watching him drink it all in one gulp. Her heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was about to leap out of her chest.
"On this auspicious day, my husband, please drink more. I will have someone prepare Qiuxiang Courtyard to make room for my sister."
Song Xian was either carried away by his joy or blinded by happiness, and did not realize that this was the first time Zhao Luan had called him "husband".
The liquor is sweet and refreshing, with a gentle taste.
He drank cup after cup, and before he knew it, his head was spinning and his vision was blurry.
With a muffled thud, he suddenly collapsed onto the table.
-
The rain was torrential, the heavy raindrops pounding on the ground with a loud patter, enveloping the whole world in a deafening roar.
Zhao Luan knelt in the mud.
The cold rain had already soaked through her thin clothes, clinging tightly to her skin and outlining her slightly trembling figure due to the cold and her exertion.
Her soaked black hair clung to her cheeks and neck, rainwater dripping from the ends and mixing with the muddy ground, but she seemed oblivious, her entire attention focused on what was in front of her.
She gripped a shovel tightly, her knuckles turning white from the force, and mud filling the gaps between her fingernails.
Each time the shovel is inserted into the mud softened by the rain, it takes a great deal of effort.
The mud was unusually heavy. When shoveled, the sticky clods of soil would reluctantly slip back down, only to be broken up again by the torrential rain.
Insert, step on, pry up, throw.
Mud splattered onto her face and body, mixing with the rain, making her look disheveled, like a puppet soaked in mud.
Beside her, the tall sycamore tree swayed violently in the wind and rain. Its broad leaves, washed smooth by the rain, poured down the accumulated rainwater, soaking Zhao Luan's head and back.
Under the tree, a pit was gradually taking shape.
She stopped moving, breathing heavily, and looked down at the dark, rain-soaked wad of cloth at her feet.
The fabric was rough and haphazardly tied, with a diluted dark red seeping from the edges, spreading in strands in the muddy water before being quickly washed away and wiped away by the heavier rain.
Without hesitation, she dragged the heavy, soft thing with her mud-covered hands. The sensation inside made her stomach churn. She gritted her teeth and carefully placed it at the bottom of the pit.
The wad of cloth fell into the puddle with a soft, muffled "plop," and was immediately submerged in the muddy water.
She stared at the bottom of the pit for a moment, then finally made up her mind and began to use a shovel to push the mud back up.
She buried it very carefully and forcefully, tamping the soil down as if afraid that what was inside might break through the soil again.
Until the pit was completely filled in, becoming indistinguishable from the surrounding muddy land, with only a small mound rising slightly.
When the last shovelful of mud was applied and stomped on, Zhao Luan felt as if all her strength had been drained away, and the shovel in her hand fell to the ground with a clang.
She swayed, and with the momentum, she fell straight backward, her body slamming heavily into the cold mud, splashing up a cloud of muddy water.
Huge raindrops relentlessly pounded her face and eyes, causing a slight stinging sensation, yet she kept her eyes open, gazing at the sky above, fragmented and torn apart by the branches and leaves of the sycamore trees.
His chest heaved violently, each breath carrying a feeling of utter exhaustion.
Then, a smile, slow and clear, bloomed on her pale, wet face.
A near-mad light flickered deep in her eyes as she lay supine in the pouring rain, on the mud that buried her secrets, letting the rain wash over her body, her smile spreading silently between the thunderclaps.
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