MTLNOVEL Chapter 164: Ashes of a Fantasy
The moment the curtains fell closed around Princess Yuyan's tent, the porcelain mask shattered.
A silver tea tray flew across the room, crashing into a lacquered vanity with a sharp metallic clang. Ceramics splintered, scattering shards across the embroidered rug like shattered bones. A brush pot toppled, ink bled into the silk floor mats like a spreading wound. One of her maids shrieked and dropped to her knees, frantically trying to clean up the mess with trembling hands.
"Leave it!" Yuyan snapped, spinning around and glaring at the maid on her knees.
Her voice—once honeyed silk—cracked like brittle glass, slicing the silence in two. The girl didn't hesitate. She bowed so low her forehead nearly kissed the ground and scrambled out of the tent without a word.
Silence followed the moment Yuyan was left alone, but she couldn't appreciate it. Instead of soothing her nerves, it only exacerbated her fury.
It wasn't supposed to go like this.
Yuyan stood frozen in the center of her tent, panting softly, silk clinging to her arms, disheveled hair sticking to her cheeks. The sharp scent of tea and crushed porcelain filled the air, making her nauseous. She turned toward the mirror—a wide oval polished to brilliance—and stared at her reflection.
She was a mess.
Her hair was tangled, her face was flushed red with embarrassment. Dirt was smudged across one of her cheeks. Blood, faint but real, staining the cuff of her sleeve. She looked less like the imperial consort of a future emperor and more like a scorned mistress in a countryside opera.
It was no wonder Mingyu never gave her a second look. She wouldn't want to look at herself again, either.
She ripped off her sash, letting the embroidered fabric drop to the floor in a pool of green and gold. Her shoes were next, and she kicked them across the tent. Her outer robe slipped off her shoulders and fell away, revealing a crumpled inner layer clinging to her sweat-slicked skin.
It wasn't fair.
She was the one meant for Mingyu. The one who understood him.
Even before she had transmigrated into the novel, she had studied his life like scripture. She even went so far as to have memorized every line of the book—The Villainous Crown Prince—even the hidden meanings between the lines. She'd mourned his loneliness. His cruelty. His brilliance. She had watched him climb from the shadows, knife in hand, until he stood at the pinnacle of the empire, blood dripping from his fingers.
And she had loved him for it.
So, when she woke in this world—his world—how could it be anything but fate?
She had waited. Watched. Planned. She knew that the country that was hardest for him to take was Baiguang, so when she arrived there, she had made sure to make everything easier for his invasion.
And then she arrived.
Zhao Xinying.
Even now, just thinking the name made Yuyan feel like she'd swallowed poison. It burned her throat, left her stomach twisting.
The plan had been perfect. A calculated scare. A symbolic threat. Enough to shake the court, enough to make Mingyu step forward—not just as Crown Prince, but as her protector. He would come to her side, hold her hands, and the court would see. She would be his choice. His heart. His happily ever after.
But the assassin never came.
She still didn't know why. Had he been intercepted? Paid off? Killed? Perhaps Zhao Xinying's black-clad Shadow Guard had discovered him before he reached his post. Or maybe the man had simply been too afraid. Everyone whispered about the peach trees now. About the black mist. About death that walked in green.
So, in the end, Yuyan had no choice.
She gave the order herself. One of her most loyal guards—Baiguang-born and silent as sin—sliced her sleeve open, just deep enough to leave a convincing cut. He smeared her cheek with dirt. She rehearsed the tears. Practiced the stagger. Her breath hitched perfectly. Her lip trembled with textbook precision.
And for what?
Nothing.
Mingyu didn't move. He didn't speak. He didn't even flinch.
He just… watched.
And worse than him not stepping forward, he was watching Xinying. The oldest daughter of his enemy.
He let her speak.
"If I wanted you dead, you'd already be fertilizer beneath my peach trees."
The words should've sent the court into chaos. But instead?
Laughter.
Some playboy in red chuckled in amusement. The Emperor looked on, entertained. Even Mingyu gave a subtle nod of approval—as if her death threat was charming.
Yuyan's throat tightened. Her nails bit into her palms, drawing blood.
"She's nothing," she whispered, pacing the tent. "She wasn't in the story. She's not real. She doesn't belong here."
But even as the words left her lips, they felt hollow. She knew the truth.
Zhao Xinying wasn't an extra. She was a black hole. Everything—attention, fear, desire—was pulled toward her. Even fate.
Yuyan sank onto the velvet stool before her mirror, staring at her reflection with a sick twist of disgust.
"You read the book," she whispered. "You knew how it ended. You were supposed to win."
But she hadn't won anything.
She'd lost ground, lost dignity, and now the whole court whispered about how calm Xinying had been, how terrifying, how… untouchable. The Crown Prince had stood beside her in silence, and silence said more than words ever could.
The tent flap rustled.
A maid returned, eyes downcast, holding out a scroll with trembling hands.
"Your Highness," the girl said. "An invitation. His Majesty requests your presence at the evening banquet. There will be a presentation of the morning's hunt."
Yuyan took the scroll, broke the seal with her thumb, and let it fall to the floor unread.
A banquet.
Of course.
She stood slowly and crossed to the wardrobe. Her fingers brushed past silks and satins, past muted court colors, and landed on a robe of crimson trimmed in gold. Bold. Regal. Daring.
If they wanted a spectacle, she would give them one.
Let them whisper. Let them wonder how she still smiled. Let Zhao Xinying wear her green dress and her perfect silence. Yuyan would wear fire. She would laugh louder, stand taller, look prettier.
Because she was all of that and more.
She had come from another world to be with the man she loved. She had lived through violence, politics, betrayal—and she was still here.
She would make herself unforgettable.
And Zhao Xinying?
Yuyan's lips curved into something bitter.
If the girl wouldn't burn on her own, then Yuyan would set the forest ablaze just to watch her shadows dance.