Fang Songhe returned to the Chu Mansion and first went to pay his respects to Master Chu.
Chu Sheng craned his neck to look outside the door. "Why haven’t those two returned yet?"
Fang Songhe replied, "Ninth and the others are traveling by carriage, so they’re moving a bit slower."
Hearing this, Chu Sheng let out a sigh of relief. He had been on edge all this time, and even though he had received a letter from Chu'he, he still couldn’t shake his worry. But if Fang Songhe said they were fine, then they must truly be safe.
"Ah, Hero Fang is back!" Bai Lian glided over with light steps, her face bright with a radiant smile as she eagerly approached.
Fang Songhe took a step back and hastily said, "I should go check on my junior brother first. Excuse me."
Bai Lian had just arrived when Fang Songhe swiftly disappeared like a gust of wind. Stomping her foot in frustration, she called out, "Ah, Hero Fang, why are you in such a hurry to leave?"
Chu Sheng shot her a glance. "Enough. Making such a scene is embarrassing."
Bai Lian twisted her handkerchief in displeasure, pouting, but then quickly put on another smile. Picking up a bowl of warm tonic from a maid, she said sweetly, "Master, I spent two hours brewing this medicinal soup just for you. The physician said it’s excellent for your health. Please, have a sip."
Chu Sheng knew Bai Lian well—if he refused, she would pester him endlessly. He took the bowl, downed a quick sip, and set it back. "Alright, I have accounts to review. Don’t bother me if it’s nothing important, and definitely don’t bother me if it is."
With that, Chu Sheng strode out, hands clasped behind his back, followed by a few guards.
Bai Lian stared at his retreating figure, her lips pressed tightly together.
Just like the last time she had served him an aphrodisiac tonic, this time’s potent restorative soup should have had an immediate effect. The physician had assured her that any man who drank it would feel an overwhelming surge of heat—so powerful that even an eighty-year-old could stand tall and vigorous!
Yet Chu Sheng showed no reaction whatsoever!
Could it be… that he was even weaker than an eighty-year-old man?!
Old He, the steward, coughed twice and tactfully offered, "Master was quite the dashing gentleman in his youth. He’s encountered all sorts of tricks while conducting business abroad. He’s built up a tolerance to such things long ago."
Bai Lian’s eye twitched.
Meanwhile, Song Chunming had been diligently caring for Lan Yingying. His devotion to her was undeniable—he attended to every detail himself.
While her external injuries had healed, her internal wounds still required careful treatment. Worse still, Lan Yingying had spent her entire life under Chi Yan’s control. At best, she was tormented with poisonous insects; at worst, she was thrown into pits of writhing worms to endure unbearable agony. Her body was already riddled with scars.
When Fang Songhe entered the room, Song Chunming was feeding Lan Yingying medicine.
Propped up weakly against the headboard, her face pale and fragile, Lan Yingying looked utterly pitiable. When she saw Fang Songhe, guilt flashed across her expression, and she shifted uncomfortably.
Fang Songhe, too, recalled the incident in Wutong Village—the strange, almost theatrical affection that had briefly arisen between them—and felt a pang of awkwardness.
Sensing the tension, Song Chunming set down the medicine bowl and quickly asked, "Senior Brother, is Chu'he alright?"
Fang Songhe nodded. "With Ninth by her side, she’s safe and sound."
Song Chunming exhaled in relief. "That’s good."
He had carried this guilt for so long. Though he had acted under duress, he had still made a selfish choice. If not for Shangguan Huanxi disguising herself as Chu'he, she would have been taken that day in the woods.
Lan Yingying struggled to sit up, attempting to rise, but her injuries were too severe. She nearly collapsed, saved only by Song Chunming’s quick reflexes.
"Hero Fang," she said, voice trembling, "all of this is my fault. I’m willing to atone with my life—please, don’t blame Chunming."
Song Chunming frowned. "Yingying, we are husband and wife. If there’s a debt to pay, we’ll pay it together."
A bittersweet ache surged in Lan Yingying’s chest. After her family was slaughtered, she had become nothing more than Chi Yan’s plaything.
He forced her to mimic another woman’s mannerisms, punishing her harshly whenever she failed. Over time, she had nearly forgotten who she truly was. It was Song Chunming who showed her that even someone as broken as her could still be loved. For the first time in years, she remembered herself—and found something worth protecting.
Back then, Song Chunming had been investigating supernatural disturbances in Canghaizhou, getting dangerously close to uncovering the truth behind "Miss Lin." So Chi Yan ordered Lan Yingying to kill him.
But for the first time, she rebelled. She hid Song Chunming, married him while he suffered from amnesia, and for a brief, blissful period, she knew happiness.
Perhaps it was her desperation to cling to the man who gave her hope—or perhaps Chi Yan’s ruthless ways had rubbed off on her—but her only thought was to save Song Chunming, no matter the cost.
One of Lan Yingying’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, while the other remained dark and lifeless—a cold, stone-carved reminder of her sins.
"I’m sorry, Hero Fang," she choked out. "All of this is my fault. No punishment could ever be enough."
Once, Chi Yan had sneered that she was nothing but a cheap imitation. Maybe he had been right.
She had spent years copying another woman’s every move, yet she had never learned her noble character.
Song Chunming pleaded on her behalf. "Senior Brother, Yingying’s family was slaughtered by evil spirits fifteen years ago. They spared only her, keeping her captive and torturing her all this time. She’s suffered enough."
Fang Songhe caught the key detail. "Fifteen years ago? Your family was destroyed?"
Lan Yingying nodded. "Yes."
In a single night, her parents were murdered, her loved ones consumed by flames, and her childhood happiness erased.
Fang Songhe pressed further. "What was your relation to the Cang Family, who were also annihilated fifteen years ago?"
Lan Yingying lifted her face. "Master Cang was my uncle. My parents and I lived with the Cang Family—they helped with the family’s business."
Fang Songhe’s expression shifted. "So you’re the cousin of Cang Yan and Miss Shuangshuang."
"You know my cousin and my cousin’s sister?!" Lan Yingying gasped, then coughed violently. Song Chunming hurriedly handed her tea, and after a sip, she steadied herself, clutching her sleeves anxiously. "Are they… are they still alive?"
Fang Songhe nodded. "They are."
Lan Yingying burst into tears. "That’s wonderful… truly wonderful!"
In that moment, memories she had long suppressed resurfaced—especially one from fifteen years ago.
Five-year-old Lan Yingying had accompanied her mother to the market, where she spotted a young man with snow-white hair in a tavern. Curious, she approached.
At the time, the white-haired man was gazing at a portrait in his hands, his fingers gently tracing the face of the woman in the painting with tender longing.
Lan Yingying saw the girl in the painting and let out an innocent gasp of admiration, "What a beautiful sister!"
The young master turned his head and smiled faintly, "You think she's beautiful too?"
She nodded vigorously, "Beautiful!"
The little girl didn’t understand why everyone around her kept their distance from this young master. She only noticed that his hair was white and his eyes were red, which looked quite unusual.
Curious, she asked, "Big brother, is the person in the painting you?"
The young master’s expression softened, "Yes, it’s me."
"Are you and the beautiful sister married?"
Resting his chin on his hand, he replied cheerfully, "Yes, we are husband and wife."
"You and the big sister must be very close, just like my uncle and aunt!"
The corners of the young master’s eyes crinkled gently as he asked kindly, "What about your parents? Are they not as close?"
"My father always spends money recklessly outside, and my mother often argues with him. They don’t seem as happy as my uncle and aunt." The girl gazed at the woman in the painting, her eyes filled with longing. "If only I could grow up to be as beautiful as the big sister."
The young master blinked. "You want to be as beautiful as my wife?"
The girl nodded eagerly, "Mhm!"
With a faint smile, the young master reached out and patted her head. "I have a way to make you as beautiful as my wife."
Puzzled, the girl couldn’t fathom what he meant. Just then, her mother called for her from outside the tavern. She hurried out and went home with her.
That very night, an uninvited guest arrived at the Cang Family.
A young master with white hair and dressed in black stood atop the tiled roof, the wind howling around him, his robes fluttering, making his slender frame appear even more striking. He looked down at the wary crowd below as if they were mere ants.
"I’ve heard that Master Cang and his wife share a bond as deep as mine with my beloved. I came today to see if the rumors hold true." He chuckled lightly. "No need to be tense, Master Cang. Your wife is ill—she doesn’t have much time left. You should focus your attention on her."
Master Cang shielded his wife and their two children behind him, his brow furrowing in anger. "My wife is in perfect health! Don’t spout nonsense!"
The young master’s eyes curved into crescents. "Oh?"
With a snap of his fingers, Madam Cang suddenly collapsed in front of the children.
His gaze then shifted to the little girl hiding behind her parents. Smiling, he silently mouthed three words: "Next time."
Five-year-old Lan Yingying trembled, a chill running down her spine.
And then, he vanished without a trace.
