Song Yan thought this was probably the most costly gamble of his entire life. He spread open his palms—they were clean and bare, with nothing but palm lines. But if anything went wrong today, these hands would be the indirect murderer of his sister. If not for his naivety and overconfidence, sister wouldn’t have fallen into such a passive position. In fact, he had never seen his sister encounter anything more perilous than this.

Lose and they’d pay with their lives. Eyes reddening, he stepped forward to stand before Song Chuyi, looking ready to face death: “If we must gamble, then gamble with my life.”

Given Han Zhi’s utter ruthlessness, if she lost, both her and Song Yan’s lives would be forfeit here.

Han Zhi’s lips curved into a malicious smile: “You died quite unjustly in your previous life. In this life… you’re a scapegoat again. If Song Chuning had a brother like you, perhaps she wouldn’t have died so miserably.”

This person was so dark throughout that he was frightening and disgusting. Though Song Yan couldn’t understand what nonsense he was spouting, he knew these words were certainly nothing good. He rebuked in a low voice: “Shut up!”

Song Chuyi pulled Song Yan back, ignoring everyone else as she straightened his slightly askew cloak, re-tied the cloak’s strings for him, then turned to look at Han Zhi with a meaningful smile: “Why does the Heir Apparent nag endlessly like a woman? We came to Tongzhou not just to see the Heir Apparent—we have very important matters to attend to. This evening we’ll be staying at the Prefect’s residence.”

The smile on Han Zhi’s face hadn’t yet faded before it transformed into ferocious fury: “You dare threaten me?”

At a time like this, when they were already like pigs awaiting slaughter, Song Chuyi still dared speak so presumptuously—so what if the Tongzhou Prefect came? This gambling den operating in Tongzhou had the Prefect’s wife’s contribution behind it. What could he dare do, what could he do? Even if he killed Song Chuyi and Song Yan here, he could later pin it on Tongzhou’s wealthy Zhang Family—after all, they were the ones who usually ran the gambling den.

Song Chuyi seemed to know what he was thinking. Before he could sneer aloud, she preemptively smiled and interrupted: “If we’re gambling, let’s gamble. Spouting threats beforehand is useless.”

Guan Shan kept shaking his head, finding this Sixth Miss Song both annoyingly arrogant and pitifully naive. His own Heir Apparent could be called a master at dog fighting and cockfighting—saying he was unrivaled under heaven wasn’t an exaggeration. She was a young lady raised in the inner chambers—no matter how clever, could she possibly have innate talent for such lowly pursuits as cockfighting and dog fighting? Even those gamblers Song Yan had hired at high prices were completely useless, let alone her.

Han Zhi had already turned his head toward Guan Shan, his voice cold and devoid of human emotion: “Take her to select a dog.”

He’d changed his mind. Originally, he’d planned to humiliate her thoroughly then give her both Song Yan’s leverage and the child, on the condition that she also take on the trouble of eliminating Prince Dongping’s future concerns.

But she insisted on rejecting the path to life and choosing this road to death.

He wasn’t afraid of death, wasn’t afraid of making things big. His mother wanted him dead anyway, and even his aunt who’d always treated him like her own son didn’t seem to care that much about him. If before dying he could drag more people down to accompany him in death, he felt his emotions boiling over—especially dragging down someone like Song Chuyi, who had already died once and possessed memories of past and present lives. What a fun thing that would be!

Song Chuyi quickly selected a dog. Looking at the wrinkled, shabby creature, everyone couldn’t help but widen their eyes. Qing Ying worriedly drew near to ask her: “Miss, perhaps you should choose another…”

This dog looked so stupidly dull, walking with an unsteady gait as if lacking strength—what use could it possibly serve?

Guan Shan coughed several times to clear his throat, barely suppressing his schadenfreude as he informed Han Zhi: “No one has ever chosen this dog. Usually it’s fed sporadically, sometimes not at all. Who would have thought Sixth Miss Song’s eye would be so unique, selecting precisely this one.”

The most useless, most certain-to-die one.

Song Chuyi had always loved being unconventional, highlighting how she differed from others. Han Zhi laughed disdainfully and mockingly to himself—this was probably a universal ailment among women in the world, all naively believing themselves to be the most special one.

But reality often slapped them hard in the face, beating them black and blue.

“Let her be.” He ordered Guan Shan to lead his massive wolf-dog to the front courtyard, watching that listless dog with its drooping tail and raised an eyebrow at Song Chuyi: “Ready?”

“Not yet.” Song Chuyi unexpectedly shook her head, looking at Han Zhi as she seriously laid out conditions: “You said if we lose, you want our lives. Right now both my brother and I are standing here, but the things you promised us—”

Han Zhi waved his hand. Guan Shan clapped, and a docile-looking maid came forward holding items. Song Yan carefully examined everything before nodding to Song Chuyi: “It’s my jade sachet, A’Heng’s IOU, and Jiang Yuan’s… indenture contract.”

Jiang Yuan—so that child was called Jiang Yuan.

Song Chuyi looked again at Han Zhi: “How do I know the Heir Apparent won’t go back on his word if he loses, refuse to honor the debt, and end up giving us nothing?”

Guan Shan couldn’t help wanting to laugh aloud. Wasn’t this little girl supposed to be so clever she was frightening? How could she lack even a shred of self-awareness? With her capabilities, she still fantasized about beating the Heir Apparent who was battle-tested in gambling dens? Moreover, she’d chosen a mongrel dog that no one had ever wanted.

Han Zhi also found Song Chuyi at this moment particularly laughable. He casually beckoned for paper and brush, wrote out even a contract document with bold strokes, signed it, and tossed it to Song Chuyi: “Surely you’re satisfied now?”

For someone who was about to die anyway, what use was caring about these small details?

Song Chuyi patted the head-drooping, tongue-lolling, extremely ugly-looking dog, and personally opened the dog fighting arena’s fence.

Han Zhi’s wolf-dog had sharp eyes, its fur gleaming brilliantly all over. Compared to Song Chuyi’s black-spotted, unsteady-walking dog, it was imposingly superior by countless times.

Someone in the rings of people surrounding the fence outside said something, and the entire arena erupted in laughter.

With these two dogs placed here, anyone could already tell who would win and who would lose—what was there to compete about? Anyone who would choose that ugly dog—wasn’t their brain damaged?