Chapter 68: The Dreamweaver Flower Reappears – “Your Highness, You’re So Short…” Part 3

Xue Lao Er even had time to check on the Left Protector, whose treatment was far worse. It was flung from the pillar, rolling several times on the ground, barely dodging several lethal sword intents, one piercing its eye.

He wanted to laugh but didn’t dare.

Demons, after all.

Missing a part was normal; a dip in the Blood Pool would restore it… He wondered how Gu Changhuai was faring in the Soul-Locking Array—missing any limbs?

Meanwhile.

Gu Changhuai had returned to the Gobi peak. Upon landing, he saw countless Dream-Making Flowers vanish like illusions around Rong Ye.

Then he watched Rong Ye raise his hand, letting spiritual energy wrap the dancing pollen in the air, scattering it in all directions. With himself as the boundary, he encompassed the entire Battlefield in a newly forged domain.

Soul-Locking Array, wasteland—all drawn into the domain, isolated from the outside world!

Before he could think.

Gu Changhuai had already touched the pollen.

Before losing consciousness, he seemed to see Rong Ye glance his way.

Then his vision went black.

He knew nothing more.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

In the silence, the dripping water sounded exceptionally clear, all senses infinitely amplified. Gu Changhuai’s mind felt fogged. He hazily opened his eyes.

Then he discovered.

He sat on a branch of a lush tree. The tree was sturdy and tall, holding him securely. Leaning against the trunk, even in unconsciousness, he was steadily supported by the branches and leaves.

“…”

Where was this?

Dead? Or transmigrated again?

Gu Changhuai steadied himself against the tree and stood to survey the outside. Within sight were row upon row of ornate golden-tiled roofs, red walls and glazed windows exuding grandeur.

Towering, opulent, majestic.

Yet carrying a hint of oppression.

Looking around, Gu Changhuai quickly judged his location: the most remote spot in the entire Imperial Palace, another palace hall.

Unlike the rest of the palace, it was desolate. Fallen leaves uncleaned in the courtyard, a mottled door ring at the gate—everywhere showed neglect.

Gu Changhuai jumped down from the tree. A clothesline at waist height hung from it, with several dripping garments.

They seemed wrung out, but the wringer lacked strength, leaving much water behind.

The ground was dampened in a large patch, forming a small puddle, water still dripping sequentially from the clothes’ ends.

The dripping sound he’d heard came from here.

It was annoyingly loud. He reached to wring them dry, but his hands passed right through the clothes.

Gu Changhuai froze, trying several times in disbelief. He couldn’t touch them. He ran to the door and tried the ring—same result, passing through.

He was like a shadow, unable to touch anything.

“…”

Gu Changhuai drew a sharp breath.

Bad! He’d become a ghost!

He ran back. Fortunately, he could still touch that tree—and only that tree.

Gu Changhuai gazed blankly at the sky. Before figuring out where he was, footsteps approached from outside the hall, along with faint, indistinct murmurs.

Two palace servants crossed the main gate and walked up the corridor. As they neared, their conversation became clear.

One sighed, “It’s a pity I don’t have much silver to buy a chance to serve the Empress Dowager. Today is Her birthday; the rewards will surely be richer than usual.”

He complained, “Not getting a good gig is one thing, but being sent to serve the Seventh Prince? Coming here feels unlucky… Do you think the Empress Dowager will show mercy and let the Seventh Prince attend tonight’s banquet? He doesn’t even have a decent set of clothes.”

The other let out a disdainful cold laugh, voice shrill: “Letting an ominous one like him live in the palace is already His Majesty’s benevolence. Not digging out those eerie eyes of his is mercy enough. His life is probably set—who doesn’t know His Majesty named him ‘Yan’ back then? How could the Empress Dowager deliberately associate with him…”

As they spoke, they reached the hall door. This place was deliberately forgotten: drafty window paper, creaky, dilapidated doors.

Gu Changhuai followed. Just as he couldn’t touch objects here, they couldn’t see him.

The hall was empty, a half-broken screen standing in the center, stubbornly poor yet resilient, like the desolate hall—ruined but tenaciously existing.

There were signs of tidying.

The servants entered carelessly, opened a food box, and brought out two dishes and a soup.

A half-eaten braised whole fish, main bone in the middle, only head and tail left. A small greens dish with only a few limp stalks remaining.

A bowl of plain water with a gnawed-clean bone floating in it—originally bone broth, but the soup and meat eaten, leaving the bone diluted in water.

There was a table, but the servants placed the three dishes on the ground. Their faces twisted into malicious grins, making dog-calling “tsks tsk tsk” sounds. “Seventh Prince, time for your meal.”

Palace servants excelled at currying favor and bullying the weak. A forgotten prince in the cold palace, doomed never to rise—an ominous one, yet the son of His Majesty and Consort Zhao.

In their eyes, bullying a prince who should be their master, treating him like a dog, let them taste noble blood.

Just thinking of it sent thrilling shivers through their bones.

The two servants’ eyes gleamed with malice, their grins disgustingly arrogant, watching a three- or four-year-old child emerge from the room. He wore patched old servant clothes, his immature face expressionless and somewhat dazed, one eye covered by a torn cloth strip.

Seeing Qin Yan appear, they repeated their trick with more “tsks tsk tsk,” beckoning him over.

A moldy steamed bun was deliberately tossed into Qin Yan’s arms. “These are Your Highness’s meal for today. Eat it all up.”

The servant laughed, “Getting to eat scraps is already generous for Your Highness. Consort Zhao was merciful back then and didn’t drown you, so be good and don’t run off. A few days ago, you suddenly appeared before Consort Zhao and scared her. The servants attending you got beaten and still can’t get out of bed.”

“That’s right, Your Highness, just stay obediently in the hall. Don’t make things difficult for us servants.” Another palace servant chimed in, their smile somewhat sinister. “If you sneak out again one day and accidentally break a leg or injure your head, harming your noble body, it would be hard for us slaves too.”

After speaking, the two palace servants exchanged a glance, as if thinking of something, and burst into laughter in unison.

Qin Yan lowered his head, picked up the steamed bun, and silently nibbled on it without giving the slightest reaction to the two servants.

With the Empress Dowager’s birthday banquet approaching, the palace servants were busy scavenging for scraps. After delivering the meal and toying with the Seventh Prince like a dog, they issued another warning and left.

Qin Yan sat alone on the ground, eating that steamed bun. Though its size had been adjusted, the clothes he wore were still ill-fitting hand-me-downs from the servants.

Once seated, he looked like he had curled up inside the clothes, a tiny bundle. Gu Changhuai tentatively measured him with his hands and thought the boy seemed as if he could be swatted dead easily.

Gu Changhuai had a clear picture in his mind. Piecing together the previous information, he roughly understood that this was the imperial palace five hundred years ago. He just didn’t know if this was an illusory dream brought by the Dream-Making Flower or if he had truly traveled back to the past.

He sighed and lowered his gaze to the pitiful little figure in front of him, earnestly nibbling bite after bite on the moldy steamed bun.

What a hellish start.

Gu Changhuai casually sat down beside Qin Yan and experimentally waved his hand in front of the child’s eyes, confirming that Qin Yan truly couldn’t see him.

“If only I could touch things, then I could steal some real food for you.” Gu Changhuai said lazily, then chuckled. “At this rate, I really do seem like a wandering ghost.”

Unable to be seen, unable to be heard, unable to touch anything in the mortal world—a spirit drifting around, only able to observe.

Gu Changhuai had tried channeling his demonic energy, but he couldn’t mobilize it at all, nor could he open his spirit pouch to take out some fruits as snacks.

He began to feel bored and stood up to look around.

By chance, he spotted information about Qin Yan’s age in the room and glanced back with complicated feelings—it was hard to imagine that this palm-sized child was actually six years old.

He didn’t look as sturdy as a three- or four-year-old.

Qin Yan stared blankly ahead with empty eyes, not touching the scraps of food at all. He finished the steamed bun clean to the last crumb, then stood up and headed outside.

Gu Changhuai hurriedly followed.

This was the cold palace within the imperial palace, remote and dilapidated, with a gap in one corner of the palace wall. Qin Yan didn’t go through the main gate; to avoid the servants, he squeezed through that narrow breach.

Gu Changhuai didn’t know how such a young child navigated these secluded paths in the vast palace. Relying on his small size and using the ubiquitous flowerbeds and shrubs for cover, he evaded everyone and arrived at the edge of a pond with a pavilion.

He stood amid the flowers, his skinny body almost completely hidden by the branches and leaves, peering through the gaps at the pavilion. Inside sat a young woman in luxurious palace attire, cradling a small infant in her arms.

A dozen or so serving palace servants stood scattered around, along with several close maids by her side.

One of the senior maids stepped forward and whispered something to the woman, making her face light up with joy. She then looked down at the infant, her eyes brimming with overflowing maternal tenderness.

The pavilion presented a warm and harmonious scene.