Merin sits down nonchalantly on a chair, one leg crossed over the other, and looks straight at the Prime Minister.

They are inside the Prime Minister’s private office.

After Merin revealed that he was responsible for Yang Li’s current state, the estate descended into chaos—shouting servants, panicked relatives, and guards nearly drawing weapons.

To contain it, the Prime Minister personally escorted Merin here, sealed the doors, and ordered Commander Di to be summoned at once.

The room is austere but imposing.

A massive piece of calligraphy stretches across the far wall, the strokes sharp and resolute, carrying the weight of authority.

The central desk is immaculate, not a single scroll out of place.

Three walls are lined floor to ceiling with books, their spines worn smooth by years of use.

This is a man who rules with thought as much as power.

The Prime Minister stands behind the desk, hands clasped behind his back.

His voice is controlled, but the strain beneath it is unmistakable.

“Why,” he asks slowly, “did you tell everyone that you killed my son?”

Merin’s gaze does not flicker.

The Prime Minister does not truly believe it.

He already questioned the guards and servants.

When Merin arrived, Yang Li was already unconscious.

Already beyond waking.

Merin answers calmly.

“Because I was responsible for his death.”

The old man’s face tightens.

For a moment, raw fury flashes through his eyes.

Then it vanishes, buried under layers of discipline and political instinct.

“How?” he asks.

Merin leans back slightly.

“Let’s wait for Commander Di,” he says.

“I’ll explain everything once.”

Minutes pass.

The air feels heavy.

Then the door is pushed open.

Commander Di enters briskly.

Merin remains seated.

The Prime Minister straightens and inclines his head.

“Commander.”

“Prime Minister.”

They exchange brief greetings and sit.

Commander Di’s eyes move to Merin immediately.

“I remember telling you to rest,” he says flatly.

Merin opens his palm.

A ripple of distorted light appears, and the Dream Gu phases out, hovering above his skin.

“I wanted to test its power.”

Both men speak at once.

“Gu?” Commander Di says sharply.

“What is that?” the Prime Minister demands.

Merin answers without embellishment.

“A Dream Gu,” he says.

“I used it to enter the mind of a victim and strike the Dream Demon responsible for trapping people’s consciousness inside their dreams.”

Silence follows.

Both men absorb his words carefully.

Then the Prime Minister asks the question that has been burning since the beginning.

“Then why did you say you killed my son?”

Merin meets his eyes.

“Because your son refined the power of the Dream Demon,” he says.

“When my strike landed on the Dream Demon, it transferred the damage to its host and fled.”

He pauses, letting the implication settle.

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“When the Dream Demon reclaimed its power from your son,” Merin continues,

“The backlash scattered his spirit.”

The Prime Minister’s hands tighten on the armrests.

At that moment, a knock sounds at the door.

A Divine Guard enters, bowing quickly.

“Commander,” he reports, “the victims of the sleeping case are stirring awake.”

The room exhales.

Commander Di closes his eyes briefly.

The Prime Minister says nothing, staring at the table as the truth rearranges itself in his mind.

Not an assassination.

Not rebellion.

But collateral damage from something far more dangerous.

Merin stands soon after.

He leaves the estate without further discussion.

—

Merin returns to his estate and enters seclusion.

In the cultivation room, he takes out the dark-gold crystals he harvested from the humanoid spiders.

One by one, he absorbs them.

Divine energy floods his meridians.

His Blood Qi refines again and again, layer by layer, condensing, deepening, and stabilising.

Outside, the estate grows quieter as preparations begin.

Lanterns are rehung.

Silk is measured.

Courtyards are swept.

The wedding is a week away.

Diexin steps out of her room and notices the change immediately.

Red fabric.

Fresh flowers.

Servants moving with purpose.

She pauses, fingers tightening slightly.

A week.

She walks down the corridor and pushes open Merin’s door.

It is empty.

“He didn’t return,” she murmurs.

This morning, she woke late and found no sign of him.

Housekeeper Chen told her Merin went to close a case and would return quickly.

Now the sun is already starting to dip.

She leaves the room and stops a passing maid.

“Has Lord returned?” she asks.

“Yes, Lady,” the maid replies.

“Lord is in the cultivation room. He said he will come out before the wedding.”

Diexin nods slowly.

She feels restless.

Her thoughts drift to Yueqing.

To Shen Yi.

She considers visiting the Pearl House, then dismisses it—Yueqing will return later tonight.

She can ask then.

Before she can decide further, a guard approaches.

“Lady,” he says, “someone outside is asking for you.”

She frowns.

“Who?”

“He says he is an attendant of Qionghua Palace.”

Her eyes widen.

Qionghua Palace.

“Take me to him.”

She follows the guard to the waiting area inside the estate gate.

The attendant bows deeply and explains.

Prince Yuan’s youngest son is ill.

She is formally invited to diagnose him.

Diexin agrees at once.

Shen Li is set to marry Prince Yuan’s daughter.

Anything tied to Prince Yuan matters.

If Shen Li strengthens his position, her revenge becomes harder.

She enters the carriage without hesitation.

The horses move fast, cutting through the inner royal city.

Prince Yuan’s estate looms ahead, grand and imposing.

Inside, she is led toward a secluded room.

Outside the chamber, several doctors already wait.

They exchange polite nods.

In a quiet conversation, Diexin learns the details.

The little prince has a high fever.

His skin has taken on a bluish tint.

The doctors exchange uneasy glances.

“It’s poison,” one of them says with certainty, fingers still on the boy’s wrist.

“But what poison… I can’t tell.”

Another shakes his head.

“The symptoms don’t align with any common toxin.”

They argue in low voices, listing herbs, venoms, rare beasts—none fit.

Diexin steps forward.

“Let me check.”

She sits beside the bed and gently takes the little prince’s wrist.

Her touch is light.

Her Qi slips into the boy’s body like a thread of mist.

The moment it brushes against the strange residue circulating in his meridians, her heart tightens.

Poison.

Not crude.

Not violent.

Subtle, layered, refined.

Inside her dantian, something stirs.

The Nine-Eye Butterfly Gu, still wrapped in its cocoon, trembles faintly.

King of poison.

No toxin escapes its notice.

Diexin recognises it instantly.

But she cannot say its name.

She lowers the boy’s hand and looks up calmly.

“Tell me,” she asks the maid standing nearby, “did the little prince eat monkfish today?”

The maid blinks, startled.

“Yes… Yes, he did.”

“And apple juice?” Diexin continues.

The maid’s eyes widen.

“Yes.”

Diexin nods once, then asks another question.

“Does the estate grow Blue-Eye Flower?”

For a moment, no one speaks.

Then another maid answers hesitantly,

“In the garden… the Blue-Eye Flower blooms there.”

The room falls silent.

The little prince’s mother—the youngest and fourth wife of Prince Yuan—steps forward, her face pale with worry.

“Doctor Wenji,” she asks urgently, “have you found what happened to my son?”

Diexin meets her gaze.

“The little prince consumed monkfish and apple juice,” she says evenly.

“Then he inhaled the scent of Blue-Eye Flower.”

She pauses, letting the information settle.

“Individually, none of these are harmful.”

“But together, they react.”

“They form a slow-acting poison that suppresses the heart meridian and freezes spiritual circulation.”

The woman’s hands tremble.

“Can you… cure him?”

“Can you refine the antidote?” she asks, voice breaking.

Diexin nods.

“Yes.”

Relief crashes through the room.

She is led at once to the estate’s refining room.

The little prince’s mother insists on following, staying close, watching every movement.

The refining room is well supplied.

Rare herbs.

Pure water.

Clean flames.

Diexin works with practised ease.

She measures, grinds, heats, and condenses, her movements fluid and precise.

The little prince’s twin sister watches with shining eyes, as if witnessing something sacred.

Within an hour, the potion is complete.

Diexin feeds it to the boy herself.

Minutes pass.

Colour slowly returns to his face.

The blue tint fades.

His breathing steadies.

Then his fingers twitch.

A soft gasp escapes his lips.

“He’s warm,” the mother whispers in disbelief.

“His skin is warm again.”

Tears spill freely as the little prince opens his eyes.

The room erupts in quiet relief.

When Diexin finally leaves the estate, she is paid a thousand gold coins without hesitation.

She accepts them calmly.

On her way back, she stops at White Lotus Pavilion.

Inside, she selects several pills—blood-cleansing, spirit-nourishing, and stabilising.

As she reaches for her coins, a familiar voice sounds behind her.

“Doctor Wenji.”

She turns.

The Seventh Prince stands there, smiling faintly.

Before she can protest, he places his token on the counter.

“I’ll cover it,” he says.

She tries to refuse.

He insists.

He invites her for tea.

She bows lightly and declines.

“The sun is setting,” she says.

“I should return before night.”

Before he can detain her further, she steps into her carriage and leaves, pills secured.

—

Back in her room at the Duan estate, Diexin sits cross-legged and begins to cultivate.

She swallows one of the pills.

Energy floods her body.

Inside her dantian, the cocoon surrounding the Nine-Eye Butterfly Gu trembles violently.

Cracks spread across its surface.

Then it shatters.

A radiant butterfly emerges, wings patterned with nine distinct, luminous eyes.

Its presence is overwhelming.

Poison authority radiates outward.

The Gu releases a surge of feedback.

Diexin’s Qi refines instantly, breaking through barriers she had pressed against for months.

Third stage of Spiritual Refining.

Energy washes through her meridians, nourishing flesh and bone.

Dark impurities seep from her skin, expelled as foul-smelling residue.

Her body feels lighter.

Sharper.

Stronger.

When she opens her eyes, the butterfly settles quietly within her dantian, fully awakened.

—

The next morning, as sunlight filters into the estate—

A familiar attendant of the Yuan Family arrives once more.

He bows deeply.

“Doctor Wenji,” he says,

“Our master requests your presence again.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep