Consort Xue stiffened, her eyes darting around, and she stammered, "It was...it was I who carried it in."
Her guilty conscience was evident; she dared not look directly into Ma Lihua's eyes, fearing that her clumsy lie would be exposed, and her hands unconsciously clenched her gauze skirt tightly.
Ma Hehua frowned, her eyes filled with undisguised curiosity, and stared straight at Xue Fei, asking, "You, a concubine, how did you die and become a philandering ghost?"
Her voice echoed through the palace, which was filled with the scent of cosmetics and lingering incense, breaking the momentary silence.
When Xuefei heard this question, she was taken aback, as if someone had suddenly ripped open a long-buried wound.
But soon, her expression returned to calm, a flicker of painful reminiscence in her eyes, before she replied softly, "There are too many concubines in the palace. Within these deep palace walls, I am like a flower imprisoned. I am in the prime of my youth, yet the Emperor's favor is as scarce as rain and dew, utterly unable to nourish my parched heart. The loneliness and emptiness within me are like countless ants gnawing at me, day after day, unbearably painful. Later... later I had an affair with a palace guard. We sought solace in the darkness, thinking no one knew. But secrets can never be kept forever, and the affair was exposed. What awaited me was that cup of poison."
At this point, Consort Xue's voice trembled slightly, "When I died, I was filled with resentment! That endless resentment surged within me, and finally transformed into power, which made me this lonely ghost, wandering in this palace."
"Oh! Unsatisfied! No wonder."
After hearing this, Ma Hehua couldn't help but sigh. She shook her head, her eyes filled with pity for Xue Fei and a sigh at the impermanence of life.
These women! They really can't rely on men. Look, they even have to wait in line for "that" thing, and I doubt they'll even get a turn.
Xuefei's lips twitched, but what Ma Hehua said wasn't entirely unreasonable.
She looked around at the luxurious yet sorrowful palace, as if she could see the figures of countless palace women being tormented by fate. Among these red walls and yellow tiles, some were favored, some were out of favor, and some died young. They could not escape the constraints of men and the rules of the palace.
Just like her, in the end everything was like fleeting smoke, nothing more than pink flowers and withered bones.
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