“Is that so? Clearly, you took advantage of me first, yet you deny it and call me the rogue. This prince will no longer be polite with you.”
As the scoundrel spoke, the long needle in their hand aimed at themselves. Leng Mingye, who had fallen for their tricks several times before, narrowed his eyes, his thin lips curling slightly. His large hand still gripped their wrist holding the silver needle, his entire body almost pressing down on them.
“Is that so? I’ve also said you could seek compensation from me, but you harmed Brother Qingfeng. Let’s see how you plan to be impolite with me.”
Though Wan Qing instinctively struggled under the weight of the man pressing down on her, she was acutely aware of the disparity in strength between men and women. But to simply yield was never her style, Mu Wanqing’s style. With a flippant retort, she raised another hand, the silver needle in it once again aiming for him.
“Got any more tricks? Ugh, you wretched woman, I—”
The scoundrel’s stubborn defiance and audacity made Leng Mingye react swiftly, seizing their other wrist with his free hand, preventing the needle from getting anywhere near him. But just as he spoke and restrained them, unexpectedly, the scoundrel flicked their ear, and another silver needle shot toward his face.
The sudden flash of white light made Leng Mingye leap back in alarm. Though he dodged quickly, the scoundrel on the bed rolled up with his movement, flicking their wrist to send yet another needle his way, this time piercing his shoulder.
Seeing him struck, she chuckled as she stood up, her face wearing a sly smile that sent an involuntary chill down one’s spine. Leng Mingye gritted his teeth and tried to strike back, only to find his arm completely numb from the needle.
“Originally, I came to you with good intentions, seeing you had a request—consider it repaying a favor. But since you’ve thrown away your dignity, don’t blame me for turning ruthless. This jade pendant was given to me by you—here, take it back. From now on, we have no ties. If you dare vent your anger on my family or anyone connected to me over this matter, don’t blame me for being merciless. Here’s the antidote. Leave now, before I change my mind and cripple you.”
While he was still reeling in shock, the scoundrel stepped closer. With a devilish smirk, they jabbed his shoulder again, leaving him frozen in place. Only then did Wan Qing tilt his chin up, her pretty face inches from his, stopping just short of his lips.
Her eyes brimming with unbridled arrogance and coldness, she suddenly turned away.
Just as Leng Mingye felt his acupoints release and was about to lunge for her throat in fury, the scoundrel—as if with eyes on the back of their head—whirled around. A silver needle gleamed between her fingers, aimed at his throat. Seeing him halt at her movement, his rage deepening, she smiled faintly. Just as he wavered, half-expecting her not to strike, the needle shot toward his shoulder once more.
Leng Mingye felt all his strength drain away in an instant. The scoundrel didn’t even glance at him as he staggered forward, collapsing weakly to the side. She tossed him a porcelain bottle indifferently and called for Honglian outside again.
This time, she ordered Honglian to strip him of his outer robe and dump him in front of the Ji Manor gates.
“Miss…” Though half-asleep, Honglian had caught most of the commotion inside. While she wasn’t entirely clear about what had transpired between the young master and her mistress, she vaguely sensed that her mistress owed him something.
Hearing the order to strip him and abandon him at the manor gates, she hesitated, looking at her mistress with concern.
“Go. There’s nothing left between us. And believe me, Young Master, if you don’t wish to die young, you’d best not trouble my household or lay a hand on me again. Hmph.”
Ignoring Honglian’s confusion and unease, Wan Qing spoke coolly. Her icy gaze fixed on the man she had immobilized with a single touch, she issued a final warning before turning back to the bed.
“Young Master, my apologies.”
Resigned to her mistress’s capriciousness, Honglian sighed and hoisted him up, carrying him out.
“Wait, Honglian, come here.” Just as Leng Mingye, unable to speak or move, glared with enough fury to kill, Honglian paused at the door at her mistress’s call.
“Go. Young Master, my apologies. My mistress’s word is law—there’s nothing more I can do for you. And a word of advice: if you truly need her help, lower your pride. My mistress despises being ordered around.”
Instead of dumping him at the gates as ordered, Honglian took him inside Ji Manor, leaving him in an empty room. Meeting his bewildered, furious gaze, she added calmly before vanishing.
“Who’s there?”
As she left, Qingfeng’s voice rang out.
“Don’t chase her, Qingfeng. Help me back to my room. Take this letter to that girl at the Hou Mansion—let her wait and see. This prince will prove he doesn’t need her to save my mother. Mu Wanqing, just you wait. Wait—ugh, why is the poison acting up now? I—”
As Qingfeng moved to pursue Honglian, Leng Mingye weakly stopped him. Just then, his acupoints unlocked, and he slowly regained movement. Struggling to his feet, he leaned on a nearby desk—this happened to be his study.
He scribbled a letter and handed it to Qingfeng with a cold command. But as Qingfeng took it and turned to leave, Leng Mingye suddenly froze, his face contorting in pain. Clutching his chest, his face flushed, he let out a stifled groan.
“My lord, why has the poison flared up so suddenly? I’ll take you to the cold spring at Chunxiang Tower immediately. Hold on!”
Though baffled by why his lord was here in the dead of night instead of sleeping, Qingfeng connected it to Honglian’s appearance. Seeing his lord’s disheveled, clearly injured state, he wondered who could possibly overpower him. But now wasn’t the time for questions.
Supporting him, Qingfeng half-carried him out. Noticing his lord’s feverish skin, clenched jaw, and pained expression, he panicked, rushing him toward the prepared carriage outside.
Soon, at the back gate of Ji Manor, as dawn approached, two figures—one in black, one in white—darted like lightning, dragging a man into the waiting carriage. The clatter of hooves echoed briefly before vanishing into the night.
At the bottom of the lake, illuminated by night pearls, the cavern glowed as bright as day, the rippling reflections of water dancing on the stone ceiling. Qingfeng and Baiyu sat behind Leng Mingye, their hands pressed to his bare shoulders, channeling energy until his breathing steadied.
As they withdrew, Baiyu quickly draped a robe over him. The two watched anxiously as their lord opened his eyes.
“My lord, do you feel better now?”
“Mu Wanqing, I’ll make sure you suffer a fate worse than death before I end you slowly.”
Finally regaining some composure, the man’s pale, bloodless face twisted with rage as he recalled the events before his collapse—the girl’s defiance and arrogance fueling his fury. Suddenly, he stiffened, coughing up blood.
“My lord! Baiyu, how is he?”
No sooner had Leng Mingye spoken than he collapsed like a lifeless log. Qingfeng barely caught him in time, laying him on a simple bed nearby. Baiyu, clad in white, checked his pulse, his expression grave.
(To be continued.)
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