“Yes, Father. In the afternoon, Xianglan said she would go out to buy embroidery thread for me since I was running low. I didn’t think much of it and gave her money to make the purchase. But when she returned, she was in this state. I have no idea what happened, nor can I get her to reveal who caused her injuries. Young Master, please forgive me—it’s all my fault for failing to recognize her true nature, allowing this wretched girl to tarnish the reputation of our General’s Manor under my name.”
Mu Wanxia, heeding her father’s warning, understood the gravity of the situation all too well. Though her heart ached for Xianglan, who had suffered for her sake, she had to prioritize the safety of the entire General’s Manor and protect her parents and herself from any repercussions. Steeling herself, she turned a cold eye toward Xianglan, treating the matter with detached impartiality.
“Is that so? So, all the blame lies with this maid? General Mu, Madam Mu, is this how you both see it as well?”
Mu Wanxia spoke with dignified composure before lowering her head and stepping back.
Had it not been for the details shared by Matron Kong, Leng Mingye might have truly believed that the eldest daughter of the Mu family was a model of grace, propriety, and virtue. But now, to safeguard their own comfort and the honor of the General’s Manor, she had so easily thrown her own personal maid under the bus. Such a venomous-hearted woman made him reassess his initial impressions.
With a faint, mocking smile, Leng Mingye posed his question lightly, his deep-set eyes scrutinizing Mu Zhenfeng and Lady Liu.
“Y-yes, that’s right.”
Seeing their beloved daughter take this stance, Mu Zhenfeng and Lady Liu exchanged glances before hastily agreeing.
“Very well. If you insist this maid has nothing to do with you, then I shall deal with her accordingly. Guards—drag her away and flay her alive. As for her accomplice, I will investigate thoroughly. If I find any connection to your General’s Manor, be prepared for the entire household to face extermination.”
Their reaction convinced Leng Mingye that further questioning would yield nothing. The thought of being violated by a woman—possibly even a lowly maid of unknown origin—sent waves of fury through him.
With a chilling smile, he issued the command to his subordinates, Heifeng and Baiyu. As the two stepped forward to seize the maid, Leng Mingye’s lips curled into a sinister smirk, watching with amusement as the onlookers paled in terror at his words. Then, with deliberate calm, he turned to leave.
“Young Master, please, calm your anger! We truly know nothing of this matter!”
Mu Zhenfeng, drenched in cold sweat, rushed forward in desperation. The sight of Leng Mingye’s smile terrified him more than any ghost—everyone knew that when this man smiled, disaster was imminent.
“And what? Does the General intend to block my path now?”
Leng Mingye’s icy retort left Mu Zhenfeng frozen in place, awkward and helpless, as the young lord strode away without another glance.
“Foolish girl, where do you live? Might I trouble you to invite me for a cup of tea?”
Ignoring the stunned expressions of the Mu family, Leng Mingye turned to the small figure trailing behind him and spoke casually.
“I live in a side courtyard at the back. The conditions there are quite poor—are you sure you’d still want to come for tea?”
Wanqing’s heart skipped a beat at his question. Had he discovered something? Though inwardly bristling at being called “foolish” (she mentally retorted, *You’re the fool, your whole family’s fools!*), she forced herself to appear eager and flattered, nodding vigorously.
“Hmm.”
Her obedient yet incredulous expression amused him. With a faint smile, he motioned for her to lead the way.
“My lord…”
Baiyu hesitated, watching as his master prepared to leave with Wanqing instead of pursuing the assassin. The fact that Leng Mingye was being so uncharacteristically amiable and unguarded around this seemingly scatterbrained girl unsettled him. Exchanging a glance with Heifeng, who was overseeing Xianglan’s punishment, he stepped forward to whisper a warning.
Outside the hall, Xianglan was being held down on a bench, her flesh flayed with hooked daggers. Unable to scream or hear, she writhed in silent agony, sweat pouring down her face as she mouthed soundless pleas.
Leng Mingye spared the gruesome scene only a passing glance.
But Wanqing, catching sight of Xianglan’s torment, felt her stomach churn. The sight of a living person being skinned alive—especially knowing what she herself had done to him—made her face turn ashen.
This man, who looked like a celestial being, had just ordered such barbaric torture without hesitation. Though she had seen her share of violence, her methods had always been swift and lethal—never this slow, excruciating torment. The brutality of it sent shivers down her spine, and she instinctively pressed closer to Leng Mingye, too horrified to look again.
Though she wasn’t afraid, the visceral sight of blood and torn flesh made her stomach lurch.
Seemingly pleased by her pallid face and terrified eyes, Leng Mingye dismissed Baiyu with a casual wave before turning back to Wanqing with an almost brotherly gentleness, patting her head.
“I—uh, yes! Handsome Brother, Qing’er will take you there right away! Just… please don’t punish me! I didn’t mean to refuse you tea—it’s just that my place is so shabby. Chunhong! Hurry back with me to prepare tea for Handsome Brother! Quickly!”
Snapping back to reality, Wanqing forced herself to tremble, her lips quivering as she feigned fear. She instinctively reached for his sleeve but recoiled, remembering Xianglan’s fate, and instead clasped her hands pleadingly.
When Leng Mingye merely nodded, she exhaled in relief—though her legs still felt weak—and scurried after him, dragging a nearly paralyzed Chunhong along.
“Little fool, so this is where you live. Quite charming—flowers and greenery everywhere. Wait, no… these are vegetables. Did the manor’s servants plant these, or…?”
Upon entering Wanqing’s courtyard, Leng Mingye paused at the sight of the lush greenery, only to realize it was all crops. He arched a brow, glancing between her and Chunhong.
“Yes. Father and Stepmother provide enough rice and flour, but no meat or vegetables. So Chunhong and I grow our own. That way, we never run out. Handsome Brother, please, come inside! Chunhong, go boil water! Handsome Brother, what are you looking at?”
Wanqing answered sweetly, though her expression dimmed slightly. Leading him into the modest three-room dwelling—the middle one serving as a makeshift parlor—she hastily instructed Chunhong before dusting off a stool with her sleeve.
Noticing that Leng Mingye remained standing, his gaze sweeping over the sparse furnishings (her quarters were barely better than a servant’s), Wanqing’s pulse quickened when he suddenly turned to study her face.
Feigning innocence, she blinked up at him. “Is something wrong?”
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