Chu Huaishan staggered back two steps and collapsed into his chair.
Doctor Wen was dead—then Yan'er, Yan'er must be...
He hardly dared to think further, but just then, the gatekeeper came to report: "Lord Duke, the Marquis of Anning is here. He wishes to see the eldest young lady."
Chu Huaishan snatched up a teacup and hurled it to the ground. "Get out! Tell him to get out! If not for the Yan Family, Yan'er wouldn’t be in this state!"
The gatekeeper froze in place, but Lady Jiang the Younger quickly signaled for him to withdraw.
"My lord, don’t despair. Chief Physician Zhang might still have a way..."
Chu Huaishan’s hopeful gaze immediately turned to him, but the physician only gave a bitter smile. "You overestimate me, Duchess. In Miss Chu’s current condition, unless Doctor Wen were to rise from the dead, even gathering every physician in the realm would be futile."
Chu Huaishan stood motionless, stunned.
On the sickbed, Fubao—the dog Chu Ruoyan had adopted—had crept in unnoticed and now lay obediently beside her ear, its dark, luminous eyes fixed unblinkingly on her...
Old folk said dogs had a sixth sense, that they would stay by their masters to see them off at the end.
Did that mean his daughter truly had no hope left?
Chu Huaishan suddenly covered his face with his hands.
Outside the gates, the downpour continued.
Yan Zheng stood drenched from head to toe, yet stubbornly refused to leave.
The gatekeeper emerged, looking uneasy. "Marquis of Anning, our lord says it’s not convenient to receive guests tonight. Please return another time..."
Meng Yang cut in sharply, "Who wants to see him? My master is here for the young madam!"
It took the gatekeeper a moment to realize whom he meant, but with the duke’s reaction earlier, who would dare let him in?
Yan Zheng raised a hand to silence Meng Yang, his voice hoarse. "How... is she?"
The gatekeeper shook his head. "I don’t know. I only overheard the physician saying something about ‘beyond mortal aid.’ The young lady is still unconscious..."
Beyond mortal aid?
Yan Zheng’s pupils constricted violently. Meng Yang gasped, "How could it be so severe? I heard it was only ten strikes!"
And with so many witnesses, the executioner wouldn’t have dared strike too hard—at worst, she’d be bedridden for a couple of months. How could it be fatal?
Yan Zheng seemed to recall something. "Did she have an old illness?"
"Yes. The young lady has been frail since birth, weak and sensitive to cold. She’s been on medicinal tonics all her life."
"What?!" Meng Yang was aghast. The young madam had been in their household for so long, yet none of them had known she was still taking medicine!
Yan Zheng’s eyes darkened like an abyss.
He hadn’t known either.
Not only that—from debt collection to the earthquake, breaking into the imperial prison, the three courts and five gates, pleading in the grand hall—she had dragged her ailing body alongside him every step of the way!
And he had once doubted her, deceived her...
"Young Master, where are you going?"
Meng Yang watched as Yan Zheng turned and vanished into the rain. He hurried after him, only to hear a voice, icy yet resolute.
"To find someone who can save her."
The Hundred Knowledge Pavilion.
Young Master Lang lounged lazily by the window, sipping wine as his subordinate recounted the night’s events in the palace.
When he heard that Chu Ruoyan had willingly taken ten strikes, his fingers tightened slightly around his cup, but a meaningful smile curled his lips. "That little blind girl is truly fascinating. To use herself as bait, driving a wedge between her father and the imperial family’s loyalty..."
The portly manager frowned. "But why would she do that?"
Young Master Lang chuckled. "How should I know? Should I ask her for you tomorrow?"
At this, the manager shook his head. "I’m afraid there’s no chance. After returning home, Miss Chu fell gravely ill. Chief Physician Zhang came and declared her beyond saving."
Crack.
The jade wine cup in Young Master Lang’s hand shattered to pieces.
A voice suddenly called from downstairs, "Third Young Master Yan is here to see the pavilion master!"
The manager brightened. "Master, this is perfect! You’ve tried to meet him multiple times, but he always refused. Now he’s finally—"
"Perfect?" Young Master Lang’s expression darkened instead. "For Yan Zheng, who never asks for help, to come here—just imagine how badly that little blind girl must be hurt..."
It was deep into the night, and the hall stood empty.
Yan Zheng sat calmly in his wheelchair, Meng Yang tense behind him.
The Hundred Knowledge Pavilion was no place of virtue.
When the young master first returned to the capital, they had sent invitations—each word dripping with treasonous intent...
Footsteps echoed from the staircase.
He looked up to see a man in crimson robes and silver hair descending with effortless arrogance.
"Third Young Master Yan, meeting you is harder than scaling the heavens."
The voice was languid, almost seductive. Yan Zheng met his gaze.
"Pavilion Master, a pleasure."
Their eyes locked in silent confrontation.
After a moment, Yan Zheng spoke. "To be brief—save one person, and I’ll agree to your previous terms."
Meng Yang cried out, "Young Master! You can’t!"
The conditions the pavilion had proposed before would doom the entire Yan Family...
But Yan Zheng never looked away, waiting only for an answer.
Young Master Lang smiled faintly. "Normally, I’d have agreed. But today, I think that life is worth more from you."
"Don’t push your luck!" Meng Yang drew his sword, but the manager swiftly raised his abacus, ready to clash.
Tension crackled in the air.
Yan Zheng asked, "What else do you want?"
Young Master Lang nodded approvingly. "That’s more like it. If you’re begging, beg properly. Hmm... Had your legs not been crippled, I might’ve enjoyed a duel to settle this. But as it stands..."
He smirked leisurely. "How about this? Give me a drop of your heart’s blood, and I’ll—"
Before he could finish, Yan Zheng’s blade flashed from his sleeve, plunging straight toward his own chest!
Clang!
A crisp sound—Young Master Lang’s fan intercepted the strike.
But it was a fraction too late. The blade had already pierced flesh, blood trickling down its edge...
"Young Master!" Meng Yang paled in horror.
Yan Zheng remained expressionless, slowly raising the bloodied tip. "Does this mean you’ll save her?"
Young Master Lang studied him for a long moment before sighing. "Yan Zheng, Yan Zheng... Our intelligence says you’re cold-hearted and enduring. But in my eyes, you’re just reckless with your life. Fine. I’ll save her. I’ll even void our prior terms—on one condition."
He enunciated each word. "Once she wakes, you must never see her again."
Yan Zheng’s hand trembled slightly.
Meng Yang fumed, "What nonsense is this? She’s our Third Young Madam!"
"Is she still?" Young Master Lang countered, and Meng Yang fell silent.
Tonight, in the grand hall, the emperor had publicly annulled their marriage. Combined with the letter of separation the young master had given her, they were no longer tied.
But... it shouldn’t have come to this!
Meng Yang turned to his master, only to hear one word:
"Agreed."
