“Bai Yu mentioned you were injured? Are you alright?”
The man in the flickering candlelight slowly turned, revealing his breathtakingly handsome face. His gaze was icy as he walked toward her and asked.
“It’s just a minor injury. How is the princess consort doing?”
Faced with his cold, furious, and almost accusatory stare, Wanqing found herself inexplicably unable to meet his eyes. After a pause, she spoke softly, instinctively inquiring about his mother.
“No need for your concern, Second Miss Mu. My mother is doing fine.” Leng Mingye replied indifferently before suddenly stepping forward, gripping her wrist with a cold glint in his eyes. “What I want to know is—were you at the Chunxiang Pavilion over a month ago?”
“I…” Wanqing had long anticipated this day. Though she had prepared herself, the guilt of having wronged him weighed on her. Denying it outright was never her style—Mu Wanqing owned up to her actions.
He had never confronted her directly before, and now that he had, she found herself momentarily at a loss for words.
“So it was you.” His gaze sharpened like a blade. “I should have known sooner. I never imagined the first person I truly cared for would deceive me.”
The more he thought about how he had suppressed his suspicions, how she had evaded his probing time and again, the angrier he became.
Leng Mingye had never shown mercy to anyone, yet she had exploited his trust to deceive him.
Back then, despite the accusations from Madam Gui and Liu Changshun, he had foolishly believed she was just as unfortunate as he was.
With each encounter, each moment spent together, his doubts had grown. Yet when he confronted her last time, she had used a disguise to evade the truth. He had even blamed himself for being overly suspicious, convincing himself that someone so helpless and innocent couldn’t possibly lie to him.
The test with the red clay—after smearing it on her arm, he had spent days regretting his actions, fearing he had frightened her unnecessarily.
But then, through Qingfeng’s search for a physician, he had discovered her.
Though she denied it outright and Qingfeng returned uncertain, for his mother’s sake, he personally visited the Niu family’s home—only to confirm it was indeed her.
The realization that she had concealed the truth and deceived him filled him with such rage that he wanted to kill someone—yet he couldn’t bring himself to harm her or confront her directly.
But when he sent someone to beg her to treat his mother, she refused.
At that moment, his fury knew no bounds. He wanted nothing more than to strangle her then and there.
So when Bai Yu returned with news of her injury, he had clung to a sliver of hope—that she would come to his residence, explain herself, admit her deception.
But she never came.
Instead, he waited in vain, forced to watch helplessly as his mother suffered.
“You’re wrong. I never deceived you. You never asked me directly, did you?”
Seeing that he had already uncovered the truth, and piecing together hints from Bai Yu and Qingfeng, Wanqing realized he knew. And since he knew, she saw no point in hiding it.
Summoning her strength, she sat up on the bed and met his gaze.
“So it was you who entered the cold spring that day?” His voice was frigid, his grip tightening as he spoke through clenched teeth.
“At the time, I had been sold to a brothel. When I woke, I realized I’d been drugged—Liu Changshun was on top of me, groping me. I fought him off, smashed a vase over his head, and fled in desperation. I ended up by the pond, and then…”
Her tone was eerily calm, as if recounting someone else’s story.
“So it was you.” His grip on her wrist tightened. “You…”
Her detached demeanor only fueled his anger. The thought of her being drugged in such a place inexplicably softened his rage—but the memory of her deception reignited it.
His hand shifted from her wrist to her throat.
“Yes, it was me. It was a desperate situation—I couldn’t just pick anyone. I admit I was wrong for what I did to you. But does that warrant killing me?”
Faced with the murderous intent in his eyes, Wanqing pressed her lips together and regarded him with weary defiance.
“Wrongdoing deserves punishment. Do you truly believe I won’t kill you?”
Her audacity—admitting her actions so casually, as if she had done nothing wrong—only enraged him further. His fingers tightened around her throat.
“I made a mistake. I took advantage of you without your consent—but I was the one who suffered for it, wasn’t I? Aside from my life, I’m willing to compensate you in any way. But you won’t take my life.”
Her calm words, her delicate hand resting atop his—it only stoked his fury.
“You dare act so righteous after what you did? Do you think the heir of Ji Wangfu is someone you can simply use and discard?”
As the crown prince’s son, even the Emperor treated him with respect. Yet this woman stood before him, proud and unyielding, as if she were the one who had been wronged.
Had she begged for mercy, he might have relented. But her casual dismissal of something so significant—coupled with the betrayal of his rare trust—sent his anger spiraling.
His grip tightened further.
“If you want to kill me out of wounded pride for what happened, I have nothing to say. But accusing me of deception? I won’t accept that. I’ve already apologized—and let’s not forget, women bear the greater burden in such matters. If you keep using this against me, don’t blame me for what comes next…”
Her face flushed from lack of air, her breathing labored, yet she still glared at him defiantly.
“Don’t assume I won’t kill you. With your arrogance and disrespect, death would be too kind—”
Just as he was about to crush her throat, a sharp pain shot through his hand. His entire arm stiffened unnaturally, spreading rapidly through his body.
Shocked, he tried to pull away—only to find himself completely paralyzed.
Wanqing smirked, removing his hand from her throat and stepping back. With a flick of her wrist, she plucked a long silver needle from his shoulder and tucked it into her sleeve.
Leng Mingye’s eyes darkened with fury.
“You—what did you do to me?”
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