“This man trespassed into my private chambers and disrespected me. Throw him out. Brother Zhao, what brings you here?”
Seeing the arrival of Honglian and her maids, Wanqing thought of what this man had done to her. Filled with both anger and frustration, she coldly regarded them before turning to ask Zhao Zhong beside her.
“Young Master, please leave. If you refuse, don’t blame us for being impolite…”
Facing Leng Mingye’s icy glare, Honglian extended her hand in invitation, her expression clear: if he lingered any longer, they would not hesitate to act rudely.
“Mu Wanqing, just you wait. If you don’t come to the prince’s residence tomorrow to treat my mother, I’ll make sure your entire marquisate pays the price. And that money—you’d better return it within three days, or else… Hmph.”
Her cold demeanor and the accusatory looks from the others made Leng Mingye clench his teeth in fury. This girl had humiliated him, yet these maids seemed blind to it.
As a noble young master, being treated like this by her made his blood boil. Though he seethed with anger, he glared at her with a livid expression before turning and storming off in rage.
“My master has improved significantly thanks to your treatment. I came to deliver your reward, only to find someone disrespecting you. Here’s the payment—please accept it. That man you called ‘Young Master’—was he the heir of the Ji Prince’s residence?”
Zhao Zhong, questioned by Wanqing, looked somewhat awkward. After a pause, he gritted his teeth and pulled out a pouch of silver from his robe, handing it to her. Watching as she unceremoniously had her maid take it, he recalled the earlier scene and asked curiously.
“I appreciate your kindness, Brother Zhao. I’ll accept the money. As for your master’s leg, I’ll write another prescription. Follow it to brew the medicine, and it will quickly dispel the toxins. Also, remember—for the next five days, only apply the anti-swelling ointment I previously prepared to his wounds. No other medicine should be used. After five days, I’ll remove the stitches, and within half a month, he’ll gradually recover. Honglian, see Brother Zhao out. It’s been a long night, and I’m exhausted.”
Though surprised that Zhao Zhong had come so late to deliver the silver, Wanqing accepted it. She turned to her desk, wrote another prescription, and handed it to him. After reiterating her instructions, she covered a yawn and instructed Honglian before retreating to her inner chamber.
“Please.”
Honglian, observing her mistress’s fatigue, politely gestured for Zhao Zhong to leave.
“Very well. I thank you once again, miss.”
Clutching the new prescription, Zhao Zhong glanced ruefully at the pouch of silver left on the table before bowing slightly and following Honglian out.
Unbeknownst to him, after his departure, Wanqing returned to her room alone.
“Why was Zhao Zhong asking about Leng Mingye’s identity? Never mind—it’s none of my concern. As for the money… sigh, I’ll have to think of another way.”
Muttering to herself about Zhao Zhong’s curiosity, Wanqing frowned. She dismissed the thought, knowing that man was no longer relevant—perhaps even a future enemy. With a sigh, she pushed aside her wandering thoughts, resigned to finding another solution for the silver flowers and snow awns he had purchased for her. She lay back down, exhausted.
Leng Mingye, fuming on his way back, recalled how she had laughed and chatted easily with Prince Ning, displaying a carefree, girlish demeanor. Yet with him, she was cold and distant. The contrast gnawed at him like a cat’s claws, leaving him restless and irritated.
“Damn that wretched girl…” he growled through clenched teeth, slamming his fist on the table before grabbing a wine jug and drinking heavily.
“Young Master, it’s late. You should drink less.”
Qingfeng stood beside him, watching as his master returned in a stormy mood and began downing wine. Troubled by this uncharacteristic behavior, he guessed the cause of his master’s fury.
Though frustrated by his master’s pride—how he cared for the girl yet acted aloof, even when begging her to treat the princess—Qingfeng sighed and gently took the wine jug from him.
“Get out of my way. Since when do I need your permission to drink?”
Snarling at Qingfeng for seizing the jug, Leng Mingye snatched it back and tipped it directly to his lips, gulping the wine down.
“Young Master, after your last poisoning, Mu Chengfeng of the Medicine Valley warned you to stay calm and avoid alcohol. If you keep this up…”
Qingfeng watched helplessly as his master drained the jug in one go. Baiyu had specifically warned him before leaving: the master’s poison could flare up from emotional turmoil or drinking.
But since Mu Wanqing had insisted on keeping her role in his recovery a secret, Qingfeng could only use Mu Chengfeng as an excuse.
“Mu Chengfeng of the Medicine Valley… Why don’t I remember him? Qingfeng, tell me—where is he? I need to ask him for medicine…”
Slurring slightly, Leng Mingye dropped the empty jug. The elusive healers of the Medicine Valley, with their extraordinary skills, came to mind. Thinking of that girl, who seemed drenched in poison, a strange idea struck him. Staggering to his feet, he grabbed Qingfeng’s collar and pulled him close, reeking of alcohol.
“Young Master, I told you not to drink… Mu Chengfeng happened to be passing by when we found him. After treating you, he left. How would I know where he is? And why do you need medicine anyway?”
Qingfeng sighed, steadying his swaying master as he muttered drunkenly. Helping him sit, he removed his outer robe and eyed him suspiciously.
“I need the deadliest poison… to kill that wretched girl. How dare she humiliate me… I… I…”
A childish yet smug grin twisted Leng Mingye’s lips as he answered Qingfeng’s question, his eyes glazed. Suddenly, his brows furrowed, and he clutched his chest, his face contorting in pain.
“Young Master, look at you—I warned you… Here, take this, quick!”
Seeing him grimace and grip his chest in agony, Qingfeng sighed and pulled out a vial, pressing a pill between his lips. As Leng Mingye swallowed it, his eyes fluttered shut, and he slumped toward the bed. Qingfeng caught him and laid him down, exhaling wearily.
“Young Master… You clearly feel differently about the Second Miss Mu, yet you act like this. What’s going on between you two? You’re both interested, yet you torment each other… Sigh.”
Gazing at his unconscious master, Qingfeng tucked him in before retreating to stand guard by the door.
Leng Mingye, now asleep, remained unaware that despite his resentment, the girl had already found a place in his heart. Yet the mere thought of her attitude toward him ignited an inexplicable fury.
Repeatedly suffering setbacks at her hands was a direct challenge to him, the famed “God of War.” That was why he wished to poison her. Perhaps the saying held true: the deeper the hatred, the stronger the love.
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