"She escaped?" Shen Langhun was startled. Escaping from the heavily guarded Wangting Manor was as difficult as scaling the heavens—how had Xue Tao managed it? Guan'er nodded quietly and whispered, "The master was furious. He... struck Miss Xue across the face and accidentally injured her cheek." She pointed to her chin. "Here."
Shen Langhun coughed lightly. "Yu Konghou truly is deranged from start to finish. And then?" Guan'er lowered her voice further. "Then a piece of skin was torn off here on the chin. After it healed, it looked terribly disfigured. Miss Xue ignored the master completely, which enraged him even more. One day, he ordered the Revered Master to graft a piece of his own skin onto Miss Xue and then took the scarred skin from her face and placed it on his own." Her voice darkened. "The master... truly loved Miss Xue, which is why he did such a thing. Strangely enough, Miss Xue's skin fused perfectly with the master's, and the scar faded quickly. But Miss Xue threw the skin the master had given her into the furnace and burned it."
The candle on the floor gradually melted, leaving behind a pool of wax as the flame slowly dimmed, plunging everything back into darkness. A Shui listened silently—this tragic, insane, chaotic tale... When had she become so numb to sorrow? Only... only when disappointed by Tang Lici did she feel heartache, and only then did she realize her heart still existed? Like now—she didn’t even know where her heart had gone... Her chest felt hollow, as though her soul had departed long, long ago.
"So that's the secret of Wangting Manor." Shen Langhun's voice wasn't pleasant or distinctive, but it carried a reassuring steadiness. "Does this passage not lead to the surface?" Guan'er whispered, "It originally led to the garden, but the Dong Princess ordered the door sealed with stones." She clenched her teeth and suddenly spoke fiercely, "But I know another way—another way out! I just can’t open it alone." She grabbed A Shui's hand. "Come with me!"
The dim tunnel, the flickering flame like a lone bean.
Cold, damp brick walls—what did it matter if there were luxurious furniture, exquisite dresses, polished mirrors, or fine cosmetics?
A gaunt silhouette stretched long under the lamplight, with black hair cascading down to the bed, uncut for who knew how long. The brown garment, neither distinctly masculine nor feminine, concealed twisted, deformed legs. She sat on the bed, her back to the door. Though Zhu Yan had stormed into Wangting Manor to find her, she didn’t seem particularly happy.
A muffled explosion sounded in the distance, growing closer as footsteps approached. Xue Tao sat in the darkness, quietly staring at the green bricks on the wall.
The Dissolute Shop offered little resistance to Zhu Yan. The clashing of weapons along the way was the sound of Zhu Yan’s halberd smashing through traps and walls. Xue Tao listened in silence, two glistening tear trails on her ruined face shimmering faintly in the candlelight.Amid the eerie silence and the ferocious sounds of explosions, a distant song drifted through the air—Yu Konghou’s voice, though the words were unclear. With a thunderous crash, a violent gust of wind erupted at Xue Tao’s door. Inside the room, tables and chairs trembled under the assault of scorching Inner Energy, cracking with sharp splinters. Xue Tao turned her head to see a figure standing at the doorway—tall, broad-shouldered, a long halberd pointed at the ground, his presence so overwhelming it seemed capable of overturning rivers and splitting the heavens. She noticed his missing arm, but before she could utter a word, his powerful arm swept her up, and like a whirlwind, they were gone.
The room was instantly emptied. The opulent, dazzling furniture and bed lay overturned to one side, the wardrobe doors flung open by the gale, revealing delicate, elegant dresses in vibrant colors. As the fierce wind receded, the flickering oil lamp in the room swayed slightly before extinguishing on its own.
No one intervened. Zhu Yan had taken Xue Tao away just like that.
From the other end of the tunnel, a figure slowly approached, holding a candlestick.
A red candle was fixed atop it, dripping wax like tears with every step.
Yu Konghou was still clad in that Xifang Tao-style peach-colored dress, his hair loose, as he quietly walked to Xue Tao’s room. He stared at the wreckage for a long time before crouching down to pick up a woman’s garment scattered on the floor.
He had not ordered anyone to stop or pursue Zhu Yan.
His fingers brushed his wounded cheek. Truthfully, he hadn’t expected Zhu Yan to abandon his mission to kill Wan Yu Yuedan and instead turn back to rescue Xue Tao. Had Zhu Yan not come, had he truly brought Wan Yu Yuedan’s head, Yu Konghou would have indeed killed Xue Tao—delivering to Zhu Yan the corpse he had longed for. But Zhu Yan had barged in. By Yu Konghou’s nature, he should have killed Xue Tao before Zhu Yan could reach her—if he couldn’t have her, no one would. Yet that wasn’t what happened.
Zhu Yan had risked his life to break in. Xue Tao’s tears had spilled over, but Yu Konghou felt no jealousy or resentment—only an odd calm. She must have fantasized about this moment for years, dreaming of her beloved hero coming to save her, to whisk her away from this hell… He couldn’t bring himself to shatter that illusion, though it would have been easy.
It had been so long… since he had seen his cousin’s happy expression. Though he hadn’t actually witnessed Xue Tao’s joy this time, he imagined it. And because of that imagination, he hesitated—just for the briefest moment—long enough for Zhu Yan to break through the traps and reach Xue Tao’s door. So he simply let Zhu Yan take her away.
She must be overjoyed—alive, reunited with the one she loved. As Yu Konghou pictured Xue Tao’s happiness, his heart felt weightless, as if carried by the wind. It wasn’t such a bad feeling. He had imprisoned her for ten years. If he kept her any longer, she would die… and he would follow.
But even with all his shifting thoughts, Yu Konghou could never have imagined that the moment Zhu Yan took Xue Tao away, she did not smile—she wept in silence.
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