In the dead of night, with everything silent and still, a shadowy figure slipped soundlessly across the rooftops of the Chen residence. Before long, the entire estate had been searched from end to end—yet nothing had been found.
Could it be that such a frail, sickly figure of a man had actually spent the night away from home, out chasing some romantic escapade elsewhere?
The shadow dropped down into the back courtyard—it was Ziqing, clad in night-travel garb, her long hair pinned up, as sharp and capable as ever.
Someone of truly noble status wasn’t the sort of person Han Xi’er could simply buy off, especially given that this matter was bound to stir up a citywide scandal—no one would willingly wade into such murky waters. But someone like Young Master Chen, Han Xi’er could certainly manipulate with ease. Which meant Han Xi’er would have had no reason to later seek out someone else to impersonate the culprit!
Which meant even Han Xi’er herself had been deceived by Young Master Chen—there had absolutely been someone else involved that night!
Just as Ziqing was mulling this over, she suddenly caught the sound of movement in the woods not far away. Could it be that man had returned?
She slipped soundlessly over the wall, but before she could even draw close, she was already on high alert. That metallic scent of blood was one she knew all too well—there were quite a few people ahead!
The killing had only just ended; the air was thick with the smell of blood. She saw the assassin’s figure, tall and lean, one hand clasped behind his back, the other still gripping an unsheathed sword. Backlit by the moon, only his silhouette was visible—his face remained hidden in shadow.
Young Master Chen’s servants and attendants lay nearly all dead; only he remained, trembling as he knelt before the assassin.
“You agreed to keep your mouth shut. Why court death?” the man spoke, his voice cold as ice, drifting eerily through the darkness, enough to make anyone listening shudder involuntarily.
What exactly did this mean?
Ziqing, hidden nearby, watched with cold, sharp eyes, a faint suspicion stirring within her—could this be him?
Young Master Chen was so terrified he’d wet himself, stammering, “Y-yes, someone from the palace came, to interrogate, to ask questions. This humble one… didn’t, didn’t, didn’t say your name… this humble one only…”
But before he could finish speaking, the sword rose and blood fell—the motion so swift that no one could have clearly seen it happen.
“So it really is him!”
Ziqing’s fists clenched at once, fury coursing through her, and in that same instant the man in black turned a sharp, piercing gaze toward her. “Who’s there?”
“Han Ziqing, Second Miss of the Prime Minister’s residence!” Ziqing rose to her feet and coldly announced her identity.
“You actually came?” A flicker of surprise crossed the man’s sharp eyes.
“It was you, last night?” Ziqing said coldly, advancing step by step. She had no weapon in hand—all she had was proximity, and a fight to the death.
“Yes,” the man admitted readily.
“Who are you?” Ziqing asked again.
“You have no need to know that.”
The moment he spoke, he immediately retreated into a defensive stance—the first time in his life he had ever taken a step back the instant he faced an opponent. This woman carried a killing intent far too heavy for comfort!
The instant he retreated, Ziqing dropped low and swept her leg out, striking hard against his leg. It hurt—a bone-deep pain—yet he didn’t move an inch, because in that same instant, he thrust his sword downward with both hands.
Ziqing dodged nimbly, darting up right in front of him, seizing the front of his robe and driving her knee hard toward the man’s most vulnerable point—a series of crisp, decisive movements, executed without hesitation even against his guard!
A flicker of amusement passed unbidden through his cold eyes. His large hand shot down, catching her knee, a cold smile curling at his lips as he added pressure, very nearly crushing her kneecap entirely!
The kneecap was one of the body’s hardest yet most vulnerable points—once injured, an entire leg could be rendered useless.
She endured the pain without flinching, still gripping the front of his robe, and smiled. “Let go now, or you’ll regret it.”
“I still find you rather interesting. If your leg were ruined, I’d lose all interest entirely.”
He smiled too. The forest was too dark, and with the moon at his back, she truly couldn’t make out his features clearly—only the curve of his lips, cold yet tinged with amusement.
“And what about this—would this interest you a little more?”
She sneered coldly, her five fingers suddenly curling into claws, thrusting straight toward his chest, coming within a hair’s breadth of tearing his heart clean out.
“Very good—very interesting indeed!”
He caught her arm with unerring precision, right at her old wound, forcing her strength to drain away sharply.
Just then, a commotion suddenly rose in the distance—night-patrol guards approaching with torches in hand.
He immediately clamped a hand over her eyes; she wrenched it away forcefully, but by then he had already retreated deep into the dense forest.
“Are you someone from the palace?” she pressed, chasing after him, demanding an answer.
“Heh, heh—if you’re capable enough, find out for yourself!” Even his laughter carried that same coldness. His figure had vanished into the night, only his voice still echoing all around her.