After leaving the general's residence, Jiang Tao's face was dark with fury, nearly cursing aloud.
His companion also wore a troubled expression. "The young mistress has an insatiable appetite. If we don't agree, she threatens to shut down the shops... What should we do? Perhaps you should seek out Lady Jiang the Younger for advice?"
Jiang Tao had the same thought.
Though their indentures weren't in her hands, these shops had been publicly transferred as part of her dowry. If she pressed the matter, they’d be in a difficult position.
He hurried to the Duke of Chu's Mansion and reported the situation to Lady Jiang the Younger, who scoffed, "Such a trivial matter has you in a panic? Why not agree for now and drag it out for a few months?"
Jiang Tao hesitated. "But what if the young mistress closes the shops?"
"Fool! She’s the one desperate for silver. If she shuts them down, where else will she get money? It’s just an empty threat."
Jiang Tao’s eyes lit up with realization. "You’re brilliant, my lady! I’ll go relay the message at once..."
At the Yan Family residence...
Chu Ruoyan was sorting through the deeds of the shops when Yulu rushed in excitedly. "Miss, Manager Jiang and the others have agreed to offer twenty thousand taels as tribute! Now we don’t have to worry about the funds for the wooden furnishings!"
A knowing smile curled at Chu Ruoyan’s lips. "Silly girl, they’re playing the delay tactic."
"Ah? Surely not! Manager Jiang swore on his word..."
"Did they mention when the money would arrive?"
Yulu froze, then fumed after a pause. "I’ll go confront them!"
"Wait." Chu Ruoyan sighed. "What will you argue? They haven’t refused outright. Even if you demand a deadline, they’ll just claim cash flow issues or unpaid debts. Do you, a girl who knows nothing of business, think you can outmaneuver them?"
Yulu hung her head like a defeated rooster. "Then what do we do? Without the silver, how will you explain the promises you made to the second young madam?" Worse, if outsiders discovered the Yan Family was nothing but a paper tiger, creditors would swarm their gates.
Chu Ruoyan remained unhurried, neatly stacking the last deed. "Don’t panic. Make copies of all these, then take two people to the black market and ask what price they’ll fetch."
The black market, as the name suggested, was an underground trading hub, often used by nobility to settle shadowy accounts.
Yulu’s eyes widened in realization. "Miss, you plan to sell them all?"
Chu Ruoyan smiled without answering.
None of these estates or shops had loyalists she could trust. Even if she took them, they’d be useless. Better to sell them outright.
"Don’t approach small buyers. Look for major players. Make it clear these properties are urgent sales but not easily digestible. We’ll take a ten to twenty percent cut, but once sold, no returns."
This was to prevent Lady Jiang the Younger from reneging later. Still, the black market was a tangled web—there would be those unafraid of the Jiang Family.
After Yulu left, Yan Zheng returned.
According to the servants, he’d been busy with funeral arrangements and selecting burial sites these past days, often away from the estate.
Chu Ruoyan was surprised to see him. "My lord, are you finished with your duties? Will you dine at home tonight?"
Yan Zheng had meant to refuse, but the word "home" gave him pause, and he nodded.
Chu Ruoyan instructed the kitchen to prepare dishes.
"Do you have any dietary restrictions, my lord? Do you prefer savory or lighter flavors?"
"Either is fine."
With that, he retreated to his study. Watching his retreating figure, Chu Ruoyan exhaled softly.
Truthfully, this "Lord of Hell" was far easier to handle than she’d imagined.
He was taciturn, preferred quiet, and lacked the vices of other noble scions. If not for her prophetic dreams, even she might have been fooled by his serene detachment.
By evening, after the meal, Yan Zheng returned to his desk.
He seemed endlessly occupied. After some hesitation, Chu Ruoyan brought out the medicine Yulu had purchased earlier.
"My lord..."
The moment she approached, Yan Zheng’s head snapped up, alert. "What is it?"
Chu Ruoyan halted. "Before entering this household, I heard your left shoulder was injured by the old dowager. I had the servants fetch some medicine. Would you like to try it?"
Yan Zheng’s gaze swept over the items—ointment for wounds, revitalizing pills—all suited for his injury.
His eyes narrowed briefly in thought before he gave a slight nod.
Chu Ruoyan set the medicine on the table and turned to leave, only for a cool voice to ask, "Aren’t you going to apply it yourself?"
She froze, glancing back to see the "Lord of Hell" wasn’t joking.
Steeling herself, she stepped forward. "I may be heavy-handed, my lord. Please bear with me..."
From his outer robe to his inner garments, she peeled away each layer.
When the last undergarment slipped off, Chu Ruoyan couldn’t suppress a gasp.
What kind of wound was this?
Flesh torn open, bone nearly visible—proof the old dowager had struck to kill!
Yet more horrifying than the left shoulder’s gash were the countless scars covering his body.
Slash marks, stab wounds, but most of all—lashings!
Varying in depth, crisscrossing mercilessly!
What had he endured?
Her breath quickened, fingers trembling uncontrollably.
She hastily smeared ointment onto his shoulder, but a strong, elegant hand suddenly seized her wrist. A cold, mocking voice asked,
"Afraid?"
Beads of sweat rolled down her forehead.
She forced her voice steady. "N-no... I’m not."
"Really? Then you haven’t seen enough."
With a sharp motion, Yan Zheng ripped off his shirt.
In an instant, twisted, grotesque scars filled her vision.
Chest, abdomen, back, arms—not a single patch of unmarred skin!
Chu Ruoyan was no stranger to hardship, yet the sight churned her stomach.
She bit her tongue hard, fighting the urge to retch.
A flicker of surprise passed through Yan Zheng’s eyes.
It had been years since he’d met someone—let alone a woman—who remained composed at the sight of his scars.
"My lord... your grip hurts..."
Her plea was shaky, her right wrist already reddening under his hold.
Tears welled but didn’t fall, only amplifying her pitiable air...
After a beat, Yan Zheng released her.
"Don’t cry."
His tone was stiff, laced with awkwardness.
Chu Ruoyan meekly complied, though inwardly relieved.
Her aunt was right—when dealing with men, fragility was a woman’s sharpest weapon!
The room fell into heavy silence.
Then Yan Zheng sneezed.
Chu Ruoyan hurriedly said, "My lord, you should dress before you catch cold."
Stiff-faced, he tied his undergarments. Once the medicine was applied, he dismissed her coldly. "Leave."
She obeyed. The moment the door closed, Meng Yang materialized behind him.
"Young master, perhaps you overthought this? The young madam might genuinely admire you, hence her..."
Yan Zheng cut him off with a derisive snort. "How many people stay calm after seeing these scars?"
Meng Yang paused. "Then why didn’t you press her further, force her to confess?"
Yan Zheng rubbed his temples, exasperated.
Why?
Because she’d looked on the verge of tears...
He was no saint, but tormenting the weak wasn’t in his nature—least of all making a woman cry!
