The night had deepened. Changchun Street was cold and deserted, with only the red lanterns hanging beneath the eaves of some shops emitting faint glows of firelight, adding a touch of warmth to the snow piled on rooftops and roadsides.

Dressed entirely in black, Wen Hao walked lightly upon the unmelted snow covering the bluestone path, stopping and starting, cautiously surveying her surroundings before entering a small alley beside a cosmetics shop.

The alley was narrow, deep, and so quiet it made one’s heart tremble.

Wen Hao stopped before a residential dwelling and gently knocked on the door.

The door was pulled open the moment her knocking sounded.

The woman inside looked urgent, grabbing Wen Hao’s wrist and pulling her inside.

As soon as they entered the house, the woman fell to her knees against Wen Hao, sobbing uncontrollably: “Second Miss, this servant never imagined you were still alive!”

Wen Hao’s eyelashes trembled lightly. She gently patted the woman’s shoulder and drew out a folded paper note from her sleeve, handing it over.

The woman stood up, receiving the paper note with trembling hands. She opened it and read the words on the paper by candlelight: Lian Xiang, how did my elder sister die?

Seeing this question, tears welled up in Lian Xiang’s eyes again: “Second Miss, our young mistress, she—”

Wen Hao bit her lip, suppressing the urgency in her heart, her slender fingers forcefully pointing at that question.

Everyone in that circle of the capital knew that the second miss of Chamberlain Wen’s household was born mute.

Lian Xiang hurriedly wiped her tears and began to speak.

“That day, the young master took the young mistress out. They didn’t return until evening. After the young mistress entered her inner chamber, she never stepped out of her room again. In the middle of the night, Xiao He got up to relieve herself and discovered that the young mistress had hanged herself… It was Xiao He who accompanied the young mistress out during the day. This servant pressed her about what happened, and Xiao He said—”

Wen Hao stared intently at Lian Xiang, waiting for her to continue.

Lian Xiang’s face turned snow-white. She took a deep breath and struggled to voice the rest: “Xiao He said… the young mistress may have been violated by another man…”

Wen Hao braced her hands against the table surface. After quite a while, she finally suppressed the overwhelming fury and pointed at the paper, then at her own mouth.

Lian Xiang understood, but alas, there was no paper or brush in the house. Having a sudden inspiration, she fetched a box of lip rouge.

Wen Hao dipped her fingertip in the lip rouge and wrote directly on the table: “Who?”

Lian Xiang shook her head, her voice choked with emotion: “Xiao He didn’t know who it was. She also didn’t see that person’s face. She only sensed from the young master’s words and behavior that the person’s status was unusual… Afterward, when news of the young mistress’s suicide spread, before dawn even broke, Xiao He followed her mistress in death. This servant knew that Xiao He had been silenced. Taking advantage of the chaos, I escaped from the Earl’s Mansion and have since hidden my identity and made my living on Changchun Street…”

Wen Hao’s chest heaved, fury burning within.

Three years ago, she had fled Wen Mansion, that tiger’s den, precisely because she had detected her father and stepmother’s filthy schemes. She never expected that her elder sister, who had already married out, would encounter such similar circumstances.

“By the way, Second Miss, three years ago when Wen Mansion sent word, didn’t they say you had died of illness? How did you—”

Wen Hao dipped into the lip rouge and continued writing: “Someone tried to harm me. I escaped…”

Lian Xiang covered her face and wept: “The young mistress was pregnant at the time. After receiving the news, she couldn’t return. Later, in her grief, she suffered a miscarriage. At first, the young master was still considerate, but as time passed, he grew cold toward the young mistress…”

Wen Hao sat motionless, listening to Lian Xiang speak until the candlestick on the table had accumulated a full coating of candle tears.

“Second Miss, where are you going? Why not stay and live with this servant? From now on, let this servant serve you.” Lian Xiang followed her to the courtyard gate.

Wen Hao shook her head. Because she could not speak, she offered no explanation. She gently pushed the door open and walked out.

The cold wind struck her face, carrying scattered grains of snow.

It had begun snowing again.

She turned back and waved her hand, signaling Lian Xiang to close the door and return inside, then quickly left the alley.

Outside the alley, the wind was even stronger, beating against her cheeks with knife-like pain. Wen Hao felt nothing, walking rapidly in one direction.

The wind roared in her ears. The extreme cold numbed one’s senses. When she desperately tried to dodge to one side, the flying blade had already buried itself in her back.

Wen Hao hastily turned her head for a glance.

Through the wind and snow, a figure with indistinct features gradually closed in.

Wen Hao had no time to look carefully. She staggered forward, running.

She had fled back to the capital. There were still too many things she needed to do. She absolutely could not die here.

But then, Wen Hao suddenly stopped in her tracks.

A man with his face covered by a black cloth came toward her. Under the snow’s light, the long blade in his hand gleamed with cold light.

A wolf before her, a tiger behind.

Wen Hao retreated one step, then stopped. She raised her dagger and thrust it toward the masked man.

Since she couldn’t escape anyway, taking one with her would be worth it.

The smell of blood surrounded her as she fell into an embrace.

The masked man clutched Wen Hao tightly as they crashed to the ground, a flying blade buried deep in his back.

Wen Hao’s mouth opened. Her thoughts froze for an instant.

The people who had been attacking her from front and back—why would he block the blade for her?

But she had no time to understand.

When the masked man struggled to pull her up, the person from behind had already reached them.

The longsword fell, piercing through the masked man’s heart, then stabbing into Wen Hao’s chest.

Hot blood spread across the snowy ground like large blossoms of red plum flowers blooming. It was impossible to tell whose blood was whose.

Wen Hao used all her strength to open her eyes wide, wanting to see clearly the person collapsed on top of her.

He wore a black cloth mask, revealing only a pair of eyes.

They were a very beautiful pair of eyes.

Who are you…

Before sinking into darkness, Wen Hao’s lips moved, silently forming this question.

From somewhere unknown, clamorous voices could be heard, drawing closer and closer.

The snowflakes grew larger, quickly covering the two people lying quietly in the pool of blood on the snowy ground.