“It seems I underestimated you. In that case, let’s see who moves faster… Girl, I told you not to blame me. If you must blame anyone, blame yourself for seeing what you shouldn’t have. I’ll give you one last chance—speak your regrets. If it’s within my power, I’ll fulfill it for you.”
The black-clad man hadn’t expected her to be so cunning. Faced with her provocation and pressure, though uncertain whether her silver needles were poisoned, he frowned, recalling her skill in antidotes. His figure flashed faster, instantly tapping the arm holding her needle before his large hand seized her neck in a cold interrogation.
Wushuang threw the lantern in her other hand at him, but he swatted it aside with his free hand and swiftly grabbed her wrist to restrain her.
“If you want regrets, I’ll repeat what I said earlier. If you have the guts, kill me. But mark my words—if I get the chance, I’ll repay you a thousandfold for what you’ve done to me.”
Unable to break free, Wanqing stared coldly at the black-clad man, lifting her chin with defiant pride.
“…You truly aren’t afraid of death?”
Faced with her stubborn, haughty demeanor, the black-clad man felt reluctant to kill her, yet she had seen him injured in that alley.
Had she begged for mercy, he might have softened and let her go with a warning. But her attitude left him conflicted. His eyes turned sharp, and the hand around her neck tightened slightly as he questioned in a low voice.
“Death? Who isn’t afraid? But for a loser like you, I have nothing to fear. If anything, I blame myself for being blind enough to trust someone who repays kindness with cruelty. Go ahead and kill me—if I so much as flinch, I wasn’t born of a woman.”
Seeing him like this, Wanqing felt a pang of sorrow and disappointment. She had thought her skills were enough to protect herself, but against these ancient martial artists, she was still far outmatched.
Yet groveling was never her style. She’d rather die standing than live kneeling—that was her principle. So she met the black-clad man’s gaze with icy defiance, daring him to act.
“You—” Her unyielding expression and words made the man’s thick brows furrow. Just as he was about to tighten his grip, the lantern light revealed a red silk-threaded jade pendant hanging around her neck.
“Where did you get this pendant?”
Wanqing had expected to provoke him into harming her, at least ensuring she wouldn’t die alone. But instead of pain or suffocation, the grip on her neck loosened. Opening her eyes, she saw the man holding the pendant she’d worn since childhood, his gaze filled with confusion.
“Of course it’s mine. Did you think it was yours? If you don’t have the guts to kill me, then kindly undo my acupoint seal. This is the General’s Manor—if you don’t let me go, I’ll really call for help…”
The pendant, as she’d been told by the late Nanny Liu, was a keepsake from her mother. The man, only a few years older than her, seemed oddly familiar with it. Though unsure of his connection to her mother, Wanqing glared at him with displeasure.
“…” Her mocking tone deepened the furrow between his brows into a deep frown. Just as he was about to speak, Chunhong’s voice called from nearby.
“Miss, what are you doing here? Who was that just now…?”
Chunhong, carrying a basin of water, looked puzzled at Wanqing’s presence. Spotting the black-clad man beside her, she approached cautiously.
“A friend. Finished washing?”
Turning, Wanqing realized the man had vanished. Dismissing his sudden release, she composed herself and asked Chunhong.
“Yes. I just heard from the servants that the master summoned everyone to the front courtyard. We should hurry—he’ll be angry if we’re late.”
Though curious about the stranger, Chunhong didn’t press further, trusting her mistress had her reasons. She relayed the news she’d overheard, urging Wanqing to follow.
“The master? What does he want with us at this hour?”
Hearing it was her barely-remembered father calling the household, Wanqing frowned as she walked with Chunhong.
“I’m not sure. Uncle Zhong said it’s about the Prince of Ji’s heir visiting—something about searching for an assassin. Miss, let’s skip hanging the clothes and go now. If we’re late, the master will scold us.”
Chunhong shared what she’d learned from Zhong Shu, the only elder in the manor who treated them kindly. Without bothering to dry the clothes, she wiped her hands and adjusted her dress, leading Wanqing toward the front courtyard.
“The Prince of Ji’s heir is here hunting an assassin?”
The news reminded Wanqing of her encounter in the brothel after her transmigration—she’d smashed a lecherous nobleman and later tangled with the man in the underwater cave. She’d never heard of this Prince of Ji’s heir.
“Yes. Young Master Leng is known for his cold demeanor and ruthless methods. With the Prince of Ji’s influence at court, he’s not someone to cross. We must hurry—if he suspects us, it could cost our heads.”
Seeing Wanqing’s confusion, Chunhong explained urgently, pulling her toward the courtyard.
“Ruthless methods… Could he be the man from the lake?”
Following Chunhong, Wanqing’s mind raced. The only people she dreaded facing were the lake man and the lecher from the brothel—though the latter hardly concerned her.
Thinking of the formidable figure, she walked in silence, lost in speculation.
“Hurry! If we’re late and mistaken for assassins, we’ll die without knowing why.”
As they reached the courtyard entrance, they saw the eldest sister, third sister, fourth sister, the madam, and even Concubine Xu gathered.
Madam Liu and Concubine Xu stood behind their father, who wore his general’s uniform. The sisters stood with bowed heads, their maids kneeling behind them.
At the head of the room sat a man in luxurious robes, his face as flawless as jade, features so exquisite they rivaled a woman’s beauty.
Pale and composed, his deep, cold eyes narrowed slightly as he observed the arrivals. One finger tapped idly on the armrest of his chair.
Though his gaze was icy, his demeanor exuded the calm before a storm—leisurely, as if watching a play, a faint smile playing on his lips.
Beside him stood two expressionless, intimidating subordinates—one in black, one in white. Nearby were two others:
A middle-aged woman, heavily made-up and gaudily dressed, and a plain-looking young man whose eyes lit up with lecherous appreciation at the sight of the maids and young misses.
Wanqing recognized him—the lecher she’d struck with a kettle in the brothel. And the man at the head? None other than the one she’d forced herself upon in the lake.
Recalling her actions, Wanqing tensed inwardly but maintained her usual timid facade, cautiously stepping forward to stand between her eldest and third sisters, head bowed in feigned fear.
“Everyone is here, Young Master Leng…”
Seeing the assembly, her father, Mu Zhenfeng, cleared his throat and glanced at the group before turning to the prince’s heir seated beside him.
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