“Returning to the master, this girl is indeed the second young lady of the Mu family. Master, how do you and Mr. Wen feel about…”
Under the straw-hatted man’s inquiry, Zhao Zhong looked somewhat surprised. He stepped forward, cupped his hands, and answered, recalling the expressions of him, Mr. Wen, and Xu Liang when they saw Wanqing, and asked in astonishment.
“Don’t you feel this girl bears a striking resemblance to Consort Hui?”
Zhao Zhong’s confusion made the straw-hatted man slightly curl his lips. Despite his horrifically scarred face, his smile was elegant and captivating as he calmly posed the question.
“Consort Hui? Master, now that you mention it, I hadn’t noticed. But she looks no older than sixteen—how could she be the consort? This…”
Zhao Zhong was momentarily stunned by the question. Then, as realization dawned, he spoke with clear disbelief, thinking of all they knew.
“Alike, truly alike. Except for slight differences in her expressions, she’s like a carbon copy. Zhao Zhong, I have a task for you. Within the day, sneak into the Marquis’s residence and find out this girl’s birth date and identity. You may leave now.”
Seeing Zhao Zhong’s dumbfounded expression, the straw-hatted man’s gaze drifted elsewhere, as if lost in endless nostalgia. Muttering to himself, he suddenly looked up and ordered Zhao Zhong, who acknowledged and withdrew at his gesture.
“Master, do you suspect that girl is the reincarnation of Consort Hui?”
After Zhao Zhong left, only Xu Liang and Mr. Wen remained. Observing the straw-hatted man’s deep, contemplative gaze, Mr. Wen couldn’t help but step forward and ask.
“Do ghosts and gods exist in this world? I merely question the girl’s motives—I hope I’m overthinking it. But the resemblance is uncanny…”
At Mr. Wen’s words, the straw-hatted man smiled faintly, his eyes carrying rare pensiveness and chill.
“Master, could it be we’re overthinking? Perhaps Consort Hui’s child didn’t die that day, which is why…”
Xu Liang watched him and offered another reminder.
“Unclear, which is why I sent Zhao Zhong to investigate. With Chen’er’s leg injury now, reclaiming everything falls to me. I cannot afford the slightest misstep—otherwise, not only will I fail to protect Chen’er, but all my years of effort will be wasted.”
Xu Liang’s reminder slightly eased the straw-hatted man’s expression, but he still sighed. Speaking of the present, his eyes grew cold and resolute.
“Honglian, do you think that man with the leg injury might be connected to my mother, Consort Hui?”
Back in her courtyard at the Marquis’s residence, Wanqing still pondered the earlier scene of treating Zhao Zhong. Reflecting on her unusual attire and the reactions of the group, she instinctively turned to her maids and asked.
“Such people—we’ve never heard of them while serving Lady Bai. Miss, should we send someone to investigate them…”
Dongmei, being older, frowned in thought and made the suggestion.
“No need. Tomorrow, I’ll wear the jade pendant my mother gave me openly and observe their reactions. It’s best not to involve Lady Bai and the others. Alright, all of you go to sleep. It’s almost dawn—best to rest a while.”
Wanqing dismissed Dongmei’s proposal. Still puzzled by the strangers’ identities, she reassured her maids, stretched lazily, and urged them to leave before retiring herself.
“Who goes there? A noble heir, yet sneaking into a lady’s chamber at night—what is your purpose?”
Wanqing had barely fallen asleep when she sensed someone outside her window. As the door creaked open and a shadow slipped in, she flung silver needles from her hand.
Though she’d recently learned some martial arts from her maids, her true skill lay in hidden weapons. The needles flew, but the intruder dodged effortlessly, catching them mid-air. Rising, she saw the visitor—Leng Mingye, uninvited—and sat back down coolly.
“Has the noble Miss Mu forgotten her words to me so soon? Have you not heard of my mother’s illness?”
Leng Mingye had sent Qingfeng to tail her all night. Hearing how warmly she’d addressed Prince Ning as “brother” while treating him like a stranger, he smirked and sat across from her.
“What does your mother’s illness have to do with me? I recall telling you we’re through—what are you doing? Release me!”
His arrogant demeanor despite seeking help baffled her. She stood to retreat to bed, but he moved faster—sealing her acupoints with a touch. Trapped, she glared as he stepped closer.
“What am I doing? Little one, your face has grown lovelier since we last met. You’re all sweetness with Prince Ning, yet cold as ice to me, even after I gifted you Silver Blossom Frost?”
Her powerless fury amused him. Delighted by her frustration, he traced her cheek, his handsome face leaning closer.
“Leng Mingye, release me and step back, or you’ll regret it. I repaid my debt—you refused and threatened me. Why should I be courteous?”
His roguish charm and intoxicating nearness made her pulse race despite their past intimacy. She kept her voice low but sharp.
“Oh? And if I insist?”
Her wary tremble intrigued him. Her flawless skin and quivering lips tempted him—what would kissing her feel like? He leaned in.
“Stop! How dare you assault Miss Mu! Are you unharmed?”
Just as Leng Mingye’s lips neared hers, a dagger flashed through the window. Zhao Zhong leapt in, freed Wanqing with a touch, and shielded her.
“Brother Zhao, perfect timing. Thank you. Leng Mingye, leave—now, before I lose my temper. I’ll repay every coin I owe, and I’ll treat your mother’s illness. After that, we’re even.”
Shocked by Zhao Zhong’s sudden appearance, Wanqing thanked him before icily dismissing Leng Mingye.
“Miss, are you alright? What’s—” Her maids rushed in behind Zhao Zhong, surrounding her in concern.
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