Thrown Through Time

Chapter Thirty-Six

After what happened in the cell, Meng Yao had been forbidden to enter. he was locked in his room, powerless to act. The helplessness gnawed at him as he continued to perfect the poison and try find a way to help Wen Qing. Days passed, then weeks. It had been a month. His mind simmered with barely-contained fury, and his thoughts spiraled back to Wen Qing. He was suffocated by worry for her. The guards outside had boasted of what Wen Xu was doing to her, their cruel laughter ringing in his ears like a death knell. Every word was a knife twisting in his gut, his heart clenched with rage at his own uselessness.

Distracted and lost in thought, his hand slipped. The journal tumbled from his grasp, hitting the floor with a heavy thud. As he knelt to pick it up, something caught his eye—something he'd never noticed before. The pages were stuck together in an unnatural way.

His confusion turned to urgency. Wen Qing's writings, all in intricate seal script, were never supposed to be haphazard, never meant to be stuck together like this. An unsettling curiosity gripped him. His heart pounded in his chest as his fingers pried the pages apart, his breath growing shallow with each second. What could be hidden here?

His eyes scanned the page, and for a brief moment, the world around him stopped. His hands trembled violently as the words sunk in, their meaning crashing down like a wave. The tears came unbidden, hot and stinging, as his chest tightened with a dizzying mix of emotions. Hope. Terror. Rage.

"Yes... finally," he whispered, his voice breaking as the weight of what he'd uncovered hit him. The window of salvation was there, but time was against him. If he didn't act, this was the end—for her, for him, for everything.

Meng Yao's hands moved with a mechanical precision as he grabbed the extra ingredient from the table. His breath came fast and shallow, heart pounding against his ribs as he added the exact amount needed. His face was slick with sweat, which he wiped away hastily, murmuring thanks to the heavens for the fortunate accident that had revealed this final step to him. The mixture was nearly complete, but it needed time. Time to thicken, time to cool, and time was something he no longer had.

Another week dragged by each passing day an endless torment. The whispers grew more horrific—this time, Wen Xu had nearly killed Wen Qing. The rage inside Meng Yao boiled. His blood seethed at the thought of her suffering, his helplessness cutting into him like shards of glass. Finally, the courage he'd been desperately trying to summon came crashing through his fear, pushing him past the point of no return. He would defy Wen Xu. Whatever the cost.

The secret mixture—his one fragile hope—had been finished the night before. He'd carefully hidden it beneath the loose stone, his hands trembling as he concealed it in the dark. But he couldn't stop there. Returning to his workstation, he tampered with the remaining batch. Each motion felt perilous, his body taut with tension, as if the weight of what he was doing would shatter the world around him.

No one knew about his ally in the kitchen, and that secrecy was his only salvation. As soon as the second batch was completed, Meng Yao knocked on his door, his nerves frayed, and voice strained as he told the guard he had finished. He knew what awaited him—Wen Xu's twisted distrust had always shadowed his every move. But this was his one chance. As he headed to the window, he hid the true mixture along with a note, instructions carefully scrawled out for his friend's contact to find. His breath caught in his throat, knowing how thin a thread he was walking.

An incense stick's worth of time passed before Wen Xu stormed into the room. The air grew thick with dread. Meng Yao's heart raced, but he remained still, suppressing the terror clawing at his insides. His pulse spiked as Wen Xu commanded the guard who had called to him be held down.

Meng Yao's stomach twisted in horror as the guard was forced to swallow the paste. His eyes widened in disbelief, his blood running cold. He hadn't anticipated this—this wasn't supposed to happen. The guard's scream pierced the air, a guttural cry of agony that sent shockwaves through Meng Yao's chest. He clutched his own hands, paralyzed with dread as the man thrashed, clutching his chest before his body went limp.

Wen Xu's gaze was icy as he leaned in, taking the guard's wrist, while Meng Yao held his breath, the room closing in around him. Every second felt like eternity. Had he been found out? Was this the moment his plan unraveled? He stared, frozen between terror and hope, knowing that if Wen Xu saw through the deception, it would be the end.