To say she wasn’t afraid would be a lie.

In the presence of a man so much more dangerous, alert, and cautious than ordinary people—a man as unfathomable as he was notorious—Chi Ying was so tense she could barely breathe. She felt utterly lost.

Fortunately, Prince Zhao did not trouble her further. He only said warmly, “The Princess Consort has had a fright today. Return and rest early.”

Chi Ying felt an immediate sense of relief. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

Yet, Prince Zhao clearly heard the slight, easily identifiable lilt of ease in her final word.

Chi Ying bowed and took her leave, heading into the estate. Throughout the walk, she felt as if needles were pricking her back, as if a physical gaze were locked onto her, weighing heavily on her spine and forcing her to quicken her pace.

Back at the Shuyu Pavilion, the maids turned pale with fright when they saw her covered in blood.

Auntie Fangchun, hearing that she and Prince Zhao had been ambushed, was even more horrified. She hurriedly brought out gold-sore ointment to treat and dress the wound.

Chi Ying’s injury was on her neck. Even if it wasn’t deep, it was a terrifying sight. “The Princess’s earring is broken.”

Chi Ying instinctively touched her earlobe. She remembered the slight, brittle clink as the arrow grazed beneath her ear. It must have shattered then.

Fangchun removed the remaining half of the earring and placed it in the jewelry box.

Besides her distress, she couldn’t hide her astonishment. “Is the Princess saying that His Highness is not only unharmed, but personally shot the lead assassin? And that he was the one who shot off this earring?”

Chi Ying omitted the true danger of the moment and gave a brief account of the day. To Fangchun’s ears, it sounded like a classic tale of a hero saving a beauty: the Princess was taken hostage, the Prince remained unswayed by threats, and he saved her.

“Then His Highness’s injuries must be fully healed.”

Chi Ying was thoughtful. “Since His Highness can move so freely, he is likely no longer in danger.”

Fangchun froze. Fearing the Princess had misunderstood something, she hurried to explain, “His Highness truly was heavily injured. Otherwise, he would not have been absent from the wedding. Please, do not overthink it, Princess…”

She found herself in a difficult position. The Princess had only been married in for three days; telling her the whole truth might scare her. But if she didn’t speak, it would be hard to explain why the Prince couldn’t attend his own wedding or why they still lived apart.

After much deliberation, Fangchun told the truth. “That day… Her Ladyship’s mind was not clear. She mistook the Prince for the villain who murdered Prince Ding. In a moment of lost control, she… she stabbed His Highness.”

Chi Ying was stunned. She hadn’t expected it to be Consort Zhuang.

Had the Consort’s hysteria reached such a severe state that she couldn’t even recognize her own son?

What Fangchun didn’t dare mention was that if the candlestick in Her Ladyship’s hand had been even half an inch off, piercing his heart, Prince Zhao would have been beyond saving even by the gods.

The rumors that the Prince was dying were not entirely wrong.

Yet, whenever Her Ladyship’s episodes flared, Prince Zhao allowed her to strike. He accepted her violence with a smile even when covered in blood, forbidding anyone from intervening.

If the injury hadn’t been so severe this time, the servants would have found a way to persuade the Prince to complete the wedding. Perhaps seeing a harmonious couple would have improved Her Ladyship’s condition.

Watching her expression, Chi Ying guessed that Prince Zhao’s wound must have been significant. But she had seen him today with her own eyes. That man did not look like someone whose days were numbered.

Perhaps it was as the saying goes: The wicked live for a millennium.

Thinking of that breathtaking arrow on Chengxian Street and the man’s leisurely expression inside the carriage, Chi Ying’s face turned pale. Her fingers curled instinctively.

If Prince Zhao didn’t die, how was she supposed to escape unscathed?

Xiangqin and Baoshan were both too shaken today, so Chi Ying sent them to rest and let Auntie Fangchun help her bathe.

Seeing her somber face, Fangchun assumed she was afraid of the Consort’s illness. She comforted her, “Do not fear, Princess. Her Ladyship is occasionally unstable, but there are many guards. Even if an episode occurs, they won’t let her harm you.”

Chi Ying thought to herself: But wasn’t Prince Zhao harmed by her?

Was it because he was blind and couldn’t dodge in time?

She kept the thought to herself, only saying, “I did not mean that. I am simply worried about Mother and His Highness.”

Auntie Fangchun smiled, feeling deeply relieved.

The Princess was not only beautiful but also exceptionally gentle and kind. The Zhao estate had failed in its etiquette during the wedding, yet the Princess never complained. She was always soft-spoken. Even after suffering this undeserved disaster because of the Prince, she showed no sign of resentment.

Beyond her guilt, Fangchun felt a growing sense of pity for her.

Applying floral dew to the Princess’s dark hair, Fangchun studied her stunning features and natural, alluring figure. Snowy skin, crimson lips, jade arms, and a slender waist—she was graceful in every way.

It was a pity the Prince was blind and couldn’t see her beauty.

However, the Princess’s voice was also lovely—soft and tender, like pear blossom wine warming on a stove. The clear fragrance wrapped in the softness of petals was enough to make one’s ears tingle.

Just by hearing her voice, one knew she was a beauty.

As she combed her hair, Fangchun asked with a smile, “How did the Princess feel after seeing His Highness today?”

Chi Ying’s cheeks were flushed from the mist of the bath, making her look truly bashful.

“His Highness is… noble and refined, peerlessly handsome.”

She picked out some pretty words to say. As expected, Auntie Fangchun was overjoyed. “Indeed! The monarchs of Great Jin have always possessed the grace of dragons and the elegance of phoenixes. Consort Zhuang was a legendary beauty in her youth. Both Prince Ding and our Prince inherited that beauty. Even with his eyes injured, His Highness remains as handsome as carved jade, elegant and transcendental. Moreover, His Highness is kind-hearted; he is a true gentleman of grace…”

Chi Ying lowered her head in silence.

She accepted that he was handsome. As for “kind-hearted”… that was a bit of a stretch.

If she hadn’t seen him pierce an assassin’s throat with an arrow or seen the corpses littering Chengxian Street, she might have been fooled by his refined exterior.

Seeing the Princess dazed, Fangchun hurried to explain, “The rumors outside cannot be trusted. Those killed by His Highness are all wicked and treacherous men.”

Though a servant shouldn’t discuss the struggle for the throne, Fangchun didn’t want the Princess to misunderstand her master. She lowered her voice. “The current Emperor has many sons, so internal strife is inevitable. Our Prince lost his eyes because of this, and Prince Ding lost his…”

Saddened by the memory, Fangchun sighed. “Rumors can destroy a person without shedding blood. His Highness has not had an easy life, and Her Ladyship has been ill for a long time. Fortunately, you are here now. The Prince finally has a companion.”

Chi Ying bit her lip and lowered her head in guilt.

Fangchun only thought she was shy. She decided it was time to invite the Prince back to Shuyu Pavilion. The Princess was so gentle; she was more than willing to help the match along.

* * *

Beneath Yangui Tower, the Estate Dungeon.

The thick scent of blood mixed with the cold smell of rust blanketed the dark, damp interrogation room.

The three assassins on the racks were already a bloody mess. Bits of flesh clung to the cold, wet walls. Screams rose and fell in succession, and the jagged shadows cast on the blue bricks twisted and shook like demons struggling in hell.

Yan Xuecuī removed the green jade ring from his thumb and set it aside. He selected a razor-sharp boning knife from the rack and followed the sounds to the assassins.

The boning knife looked like a work of art in his hands. The blade moved slowly and deliberately along the bloody flesh, finding specific acupoints. Amidst the prisoner’s violent tremors, the tip of the knife pierced in, moving from shallow to deep, turning slowly.

A heart-wrenching wail instantly filled the air. Chains rattled violently, and blood flowed across the floor tiles.

Prince Zhao’s palms were stained with blood, yet he looked perfectly composed. He even seemed to find a certain interest in the screams, a faint curve appearing on his lips.

Before long, the assassin couldn’t endure the torture and revealed the mastermind—a sect from the jianghu.

Many of the imperial relatives in Great Jin secretly kept assassins, and now even jianghu organizations were involved in court disputes. It seemed his brothers were stopping at nothing.

Prince Zhao listened to the confession calmly, knowing he wouldn’t get more.

As if only just realizing the boning knife was still inside the assassin’s body, he smiled, though his pupils remained cold and lifeless. “My apologies. I am blind and did not know if I found the right spot. I had to try it inch by inch.”

The assassin’s entire body shook and convulsed in pain. He thought confessing would bring relief, but Prince Zhao had no intention of letting him go.

The sharp blade continued to carve through his flesh. He could clearly hear the sound of the metal scraping against his bone. His wails turned from pain to something shrill, raspy, and distorted until he could no longer make a sound.

Even the estate guards, used to such bloody scenes, felt a chill down their spines.

These trusted subordinates knew that since Prince Ding’s death and Consort Zhuang’s illness, their master’s temperament had changed.

In public, the Prince was gentle and polite. In private, he was gloomy and ruthless. They used interrogation to find masterminds, but for the Prince, it seemed more like… a form of self-entertainment.

Especially after losing his sight, he preferred to handle the torture himself. He enjoyed the game of slaughter, methodically controlling the life and death of others.

At times like this, they didn’t even dare look at the Prince’s eyes.

Some, out of curiosity or by accident, had seen them. Those grey-cold, lifeless eyes would flash with a light of extreme pleasure when he killed. The corners of his eyes would flush with a sickly beauty, like a mandrake blooming in hell—bloodthirsty and enchanting.

Tonight, the Prince seemed even more intense than usual.

The other two died the same way.

Once the three were completely dead, the pleasure in Yan Xuecuī’s eyes faded. He used a handkerchief to repeatedly wipe the sticky blood from between his fingers, stopping only when his knuckles turned red.

However, tonight’s interrogation could not fully dissipate the suppressed irritability in his body.

The loss of vision required the absolute satisfaction of other senses to fill the void. Killing or self-harm was the most effective way. Only through the dual stimulation of screams and the scent of blood—the friction of a blade against flesh and bone—could he soothe the unknown craving within him.

He had killed many people tonight, but it was still not enough. The desire surging within him seeped into his bones and blood, making it difficult to restrain.

His fingertips brushed over the silk handkerchief. In his mind, he remembered the touch of the girl’s fingers in the carriage—warm, soft, and delicate.

He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he touched another person. Even though his blindness made his sense of touch more desperate, he never allowed anyone to serve him closely or help him walk. Even when killing or torturing, he never touched another’s body with his hands. He used a knife.

Because they filled him with absolute loathing.

But the woman he touched today gave him a strange sensation.

True, the heavy scent of cosmetics and floral dew on her was unpleasant. But through that vulgar scent, he had smelled her own natural fragrance—something like neroli. It was elegant and pure, with a faint, lingering sweetness.

And when that equally soft and delicate voice drifted into his ears, the sudden bloom of sensory input surpassed everything he had felt before.

The candlelight in the dungeon danced in his cold, lifeless pupils, like a flicker of crimson flame rising from the abyss.

Even now, his fingertips could feel a stir of unfamiliar trembling.

Footnotes:

Great Jin (大晋): A fictionalized dynasty common in Chinese webnovels, often modeled after the Jin or Song periods.

Neroli (橙花): Often used in webnovels to represent purity or a “calming” influence on a violent ML.

Mandrake (曼陀罗): In this context, it refers to the “hell flower” (often Manjusaka or Datura), symbolizing death and beauty.

Translator’s Note: Things are about to get very “proactive” if Auntie Fangchun has her way. 

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