Ye Min slowly furrowed his brows, examining this unfamiliar version of Qingge. This had never happened before. She had always possessed her own kind of pride and stubbornness—something resembling an innate dignity. She had never been a person who feared punishment and would rather die than bow easily.
And yet, here she was, kneeling at his feet, tugging at his robe, gazing up at him with such pleading. Her meaning couldn’t have been clearer.
Ye Min’s jaw tensed, his fingers slowly curling into fists until his knuckles turned white. He pulled his lips into a sneer and said mockingly, “Qingge, don’t do this. I might misunderstand your intention.”
She hadn’t answered the question about Baizhi, and now she was pleading with him in this way.
Qingge looked up at Ye Min, her gaze steady and bright. “Pavilion Master, I’m injured. If Ning Wang punishes me again, my condition will worsen, potentially with fatal consequences. I don’t want to gamble with my future, and I certainly don’t want to lose my life for nothing. Please help me. Only you can plead on my behalf and help me escape this disaster.”
The dim lamplight flickered, casting shadows on Ye Min’s eyes. His gaze was unreadable as he stared at the kneeling Qingge. A long silence passed, and he finally spoke in a cold, flat voice: “Why do you think you should escape this punishment? Don’t you deserve it? I can’t protect you from the consequences of your mistake.”
But Qingge said again, “His Highness already punished me with a hundred lashes before—wasn’t that unjust? He knew it was just a way to vent his anger. If he was wrong to punish me in a fit of rage back then, why can’t those hundred lashes count toward this now?”
Ye Min raised an eyebrow mockingly. “You want to reason with your master?”
Qingge’s voice softened, helpless and innocent. “Pavilion Master, I’m not trying to reason with him. I just—you could persuade him, couldn’t you?”
Ye Min slowly bent down. That proud, slender figure lowered, bringing him nearly eye-to-eye with Qingge.
The oil lamp flickered in the breeze, casting hazy shadows that danced across the man’s face. Because they were so close, his faint, cool breath lightly brushed against Qingge’s skin.
In the narrow, cramped room, their breaths mingled. An ambiguous intimacy slowly filled the space, as if it would break past all boundaries at any moment.
To Qingge, the man before her was the unsurpassable master of the Qianying Pavilion—a powerful, unfathomable man, the one who had trained countless secret guards and held their lives in his hands.
She was merely one of the insignificant many. Now, she was attempting a path she had never imagined before, hoping this man would soften for her, make an exception for her.
She tilted her face upward, trembling as she lowered her eyelids amid his faint scent of camphor tree, wondering—would it work?
She thought it might. His breathing seemed to have grown slightly rushed.
But just then, suddenly, she felt a void before her.
She opened her eyes and saw Ye Min had already stood up. His thin, tall figure now loomed above her like a solitary mountain peak in the dark night.
Her heart sank. She knew she had failed. Ye Min wasn’t swayed by such things—he was a man of pride, too proud, especially when it came to matters between men and women, where he maintained a strict sense of restraint. She, with no real skill in such games, never stood a chance… or perhaps she had simply overestimated herself.
Ye Min had already turned his back to her. With cold indifference, he said, “Leave.”
Qingge no longer resisted. She gathered every shred of emotion, slowly stood, and answered respectfully, “Yes, Pavilion Master.”
…
Night draped over the mountains. Under the moonless sky, distant peaks and trees turned into grotesque shadows. The usual forest sounds had vanished, and even the wind seemed to hold its breath as a grim and murderous atmosphere blanketed the valley.
Beneath the jagged silhouettes of rocks, a large troop had already gathered—local soldiers rapidly dispatched to reinforce Ning Wang’s procession. All were fully armed, long spears at their waists, forming a gigantic circle.
Ning Wang’s personal guards stood sternly to the side, fierce and expressionless. In the middle of the circle, over a dozen Yellow Sect rebels in coarse clothing had been bound and hung from hastily erected execution racks.
The air was thick with the scent of blood. Now and then came sounds like faint wails—perhaps dying birds… or perhaps dying men.
The bloodbath in the afternoon had now given way to the heavy silence. The flickering fire from bamboo torches illuminated the withered leaves and branches, casting a crimson glow on the execution racks, reflected in the crowd’s pupils.
Suddenly, the sharp sound of a sword being drawn shattered the silence. The blade, sharp and merciless, gleamed coldly in the glittering firelight. Ning Wang’s expression remained indifferent as he stared at the captives, and his thin lips parted to utter a single word: “Kill.”
With that command, the slaughter began. Blades slashed through the night, and in the rain of arrows and flash of spears, blood splattered, and screams echoed—turning the once-silent forest into a hellish scene.
Ning Wang watched without a flicker of emotion, his eyes frosty and expressionless.
Then he cast a glance at Qingge and said coldly, “Come here.”
Qingge followed him silently.
Baizhi, watching all this, moved a step forward, intending to follow. But someone suddenly gripped his arm, stopping him.
He turned and saw Wanzhong, gesturing for him to look ahead.
Baizhi followed his gaze and saw a figure in dark robes beneath the pines beside the rugged mountain path.
It was Ye Min.
Baizhi understood immediately. Ye Min had no reason to appear here. According to his usual routine, he should have already retired for the night. His presence here could mean only one thing—he had come for Qingge.
Baizhi’s grip tightened on his sword. His lips pressed into a thin line, and after a long silence, he finally lowered his eyes.
…
Qingge silently followed behind Ning Wang, her gaze fixed on his tall, imposing figure. His jet-black hair and ornate dark robes fluttered in the wind, which carried with it the sharp, metallic tang of blood.
Her gaze moved slightly at the sword on his waist, the very one she had seen him polish in the break of the dawn that day. The scabbard was wrapped in black leather, with the hilt adorned with translucent colored jade, glowing faintly blue.
When they reached a tree, Ning Wang suddenly stopped. He slowly turned, a cold aura spread outward as his eyes, sharp as frost, locked onto her.
Qingge knelt in silence.
When he spoke, Ning Wang’s voice was devoid of any emotions: “Qingge.”
“Yes, Master.”
Like a blade grinding against stone, his next words fell mercilessly. “Do you know, the Xiahou clan have entrenched themselves in Ganliang for a thousand years? Their library holds volumes on every subject. When the previous emperor’s historians compiled records, they even had to borrow books from the Xiahous’ collection.”
“Yes, Master, this subordinate is aware of this.”
Ning Wang continued, “And do you know that six years ago, during the northern waterworks project, when a cliff prevented the canal’s construction, this prince’s imperial brother—the very crown prince himself—personally went to the Tuyong Wen clan to seek their expertise?”
Qingge clenched her teeth. “Yes, Master.”
Ning Wang lifted his hand and raised the hem of his robe, then crouched slightly.
The tall figure before her suddenly lowered, and in that instant, Qingge fell into the depths of a dark and profound gaze. She had never experienced this before.
She saw his exquisitely handsome face—and deep within those ink-black eyes, the scorn and disdain.
Qingge’s fingers tightened around the dagger until her knuckles turned white. She hated that look. She hated it to death—but she had nowhere to escape. She thought he would take her life, but instead, he was here to destroy her heart.
Ning Wang looked at Qingge, his voice soft yet chilling to the bone: “Then you should understand even better why this prince had to marry into the Xiahou clan, why I had to hold my nose and wed one of their daughters—”
Qingge spoke hoarsely, “Yes, Master, this subordinate is aware of this.”
Ning Wang stood up abruptly, towering over her. “Since you understand, why defy orders? You’ve been trained for thirteen years, and yet you’re this arrogant? Who do you think you are, to disobey this prince’s commands! You were ordered to protect the Wangfei. Protect her! If anything had happened to her, do you know the consequences? Do you know how many eyes across the realm are looking forward to seeing this marriage alliance crumble?”
His contemptuous words cut through her like blades. Qingge couldn’t control the trembling of her hands.
But Ning Wang still wasn’t finished: “You won’t be punished heavily today because the hundred lashes given you before were indeed unjust. So this prince will let you off this time. But remember this—you are no longer worthy to remain in the Qianying Pavilion!”
‘Not worthy…’
The word echoed in Qingge’s mind like a specter, wrapping around her, choking her.
“Qianying Pavilion has spent more than ten years cultivating you—what a waste.”
Qingge clutched the dagger in her hand, staring straight at the man before her.
The night was pitch black, casting a deep, eerie shadow upon the distant forest, which loomed like ghostly figures. The man, with his gold-trimmed robe hem stained with blood, looked down on her as if she were no more than a stray dog.
Her voice was hoarse: “This subordinate’s life has always belonged to Your Highness. If Your Highness believes this subordinate is in the wrong, is unworthy, then I am willing to atone with my death—”
With that, she raised the dagger and thrust it toward her heart. The thin blade cut swiftly through the night, its edge reflected in her ice-cold eyes.
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