How could someone die for no reason? Qing Ying glanced at Song Chuyi, and seeing her nod, lifted the carriage curtain to go out and inquire with Qin Chuan. Song Yan, however, looked at Song Chuyi with burning eyes: “These past days at the gambling den, I’ve seen many such incidents. So many people lose everything to gambling—their homes destroyed, their families ruined.”
Song Yan seemed to have aged several years overnight. Anxiously twisting the corner of his robe, he lowered his head in remorse: “I nearly became one of them.”
If not for the Song family’s vigilance, if not for Song Chuyi’s early preparations, if not for her wake-up call yesterday, he would still be immersed in his hero’s dream even now, trapped in others’ snares without realizing it, until he became like those gamblers in the gambling dens—losing his senses, unable to distinguish right from wrong.
Song Chuyi didn’t console him with gentle words. Following Song Yan’s train of thought, she nodded: “That’s why, regardless of how others behave, you must control yourself. No matter what, you should never touch such things. You think you can pull away, but in the end, how many actually can?”
Before she finished speaking, Qing Ying entered the carriage with a grim expression, her tone heavy as she informed Song Chuyi: “She was thrown out from the gambling den. Her father borrowed from loan sharks and had nowhere to turn. The gambling den seized his wife and sold her to a brothel to settle the debt. Now the children were about to be sold too, so he ran away. The elder sister threw herself to death at the gambling den and was tossed out.”
Song Chuyi looked meaningfully at the shocked Song Yan and sighed with significance: “Behind vermilion gates, wine and meat rot while on the roads lie frozen bones. A’Yan, when you thought the Ninth Princess treating me as a marriage attendant showed how the imperial nobility looked down on me as less than human, look now—Han Zhi and his kind similarly don’t regard these people as human, and the husband who fled didn’t regard his wife as human either. The human heart is the most unfathomable thing in this world.”
Song Yan finally understood why his teacher always said he still had much to learn, that he was still far from ready. Pressing his lips together, he asked Song Chuyi: “Sister, can we help them? At least we should find a place to bury that young girl.”
This was Han Zhi’s greeting gift to them, and also a show of power, telling them that today they might very well end up the same way. Song Chuyi gently nodded to Qing Ying, who understood and went out.
After the carriage traveled a bit further, they were stopped. Qin Chuan’s voice, barely suppressing anger, came through: “Sixth Miss, they want us to change carriages.”
He wanted to prevent them from being followed by others—people like Ma Changjiang—so he guarded against them like thieves, even requiring them to change carriages, fearing Song Chuyi would fearlessly bring people to cause trouble.
Song Yan also realized this. His face turned ashen as he clenched his fists—forcing a proper young lady to change to someone else’s carriage of unknown origin midway was yet another piece of leverage. Han Zhi was clearly doing this deliberately.
Song Chuyi didn’t mind. She looked at Song Yan and gently shook her head: “A great man can bend and stretch, and never fights over momentary pride.”
After changing carriages and traveling for about half a shichen more, with the sky approaching evening, Song Chuyi and Song Yan finally entered a three-courtyard residence. Qin Chuan secretly caught up to tell them: “This is Dougezhuang, very close to our own estate.”
Just after entering the second courtyard gate and turning through the side door, they heard roaring cheers and shouts. Song Yan, his expression unchanged, explained the situation to Song Chuyi: “The loudest shouting should be from the dog fighting. Han Zhi never watches anything else—he only likes watching dog fights. I’ve seen him twice in total, and both times he was at the dog fighting arena. He doesn’t even glance at other gambling games.”
For someone whose heart had hardened to this extent, only scenes as bloody as dog fighting could occasionally stimulate his nerves and make him feel excitement. Nothing else could capture his interest.
Guan Shan came out from inside, his face wearing an appropriately measured smile: “Our Heir Apparent has been awaiting Sixth Miss Song and Fourth Young Master Song for quite some time. Please, come in.”
The great hall was empty of people, all tables and chairs neatly arranged. Han Zhi sat insincerely high up in a private box by the window on the second floor. From afar he raised his cup to her, revealing a contemptuous smile from his commanding position: “Since childhood I’ve loved hearing an old saying—what was it again? ‘Stealing a chicken but losing the rice.’ Now Sixth Miss Song’s younger brother has fallen into my hands for me to slaughter at will, and Sixth Miss Song herself has become fish on my chopping block. I wonder if this is the karmic retribution for failing to steal the chicken?”
“The Heir Apparent summoned me here surely not just to let me hear some sarcastic remarks.” Song Chuyi leisurely sat down in the nearest chair, watching as Qing Ying and Ziyun methodically took out tea utensils and pastries from their portable case and arranged them. Only then did she look up toward Han Zhi: “I have no patience to waste words with the Heir Apparent either. We’re all sensible people—why not speak plainly? My brother’s jade sachet—what will it take for you to return it to me?”
Song Yan sat properly beside Song Chuyi, his gaze also falling on Han Zhi upon hearing this.
Han Zhi suddenly laughed. He turned the wine cup in his hand, his eyes fixed on the swaying liquid inside, but his mouth didn’t stay idle either, immediately picking up Song Chuyi’s words: “Didn’t I already say? As long as Fourth Young Master Song gambles once with me, if he wins, I’ll return his junior martial brother’s entire family to him.”
His excessively dark eyes appeared somewhat eerie in the reflection of the setting sun, the smile at the corners of his mouth also darkly frightening. After a pause, he added: “Not just his junior martial brother and the sachet—I can also return your belongings to you together, Sixth Miss Song.”
Song Chuyi’s right eyelid jumped violently. She immediately realized what Han Zhi meant—that child who looked exactly like Ran’ge from her previous life. Han Zhi was talking about him.
Not receiving the expected reaction, Han Zhi was visibly disappointed. He leaned on the windowsill with both hands and looked down at Song Chuyi with a mocking laugh: “Three years ago when you saw him, you were desperate to live or die, scared out of your wits. You’ve forgotten so quickly? Women truly are—”
Before he could finish, Song Chuyi had already abruptly stood up, looking at him no differently than she would look at a snake or a scorpion: “If I win, you return them all to me. But what if I lose?”
“If you lose…” Han Zhi lazily lifted his eyelids: “Then you pay with your life or your brother’s.”
He looked at Song Chuyi at his leisure, desperately wanting to find even a trace of fear and unease in her eyes. After all, he now held Song Yan’s future in his hands, held Song Chuyi’s own future, and this was his territory. As long as he wished it, these two siblings could vanish here without a trace right now—he wasn’t afraid of the Song family coming to his door. At most he’d find another scapegoat.