Zhao Min dismissed her maids and took out a blank sheet of paper, writing down the names of Princess Gebi, Lady Taohua, and Wanyan Chongjie. She immediately crossed out Lady Taohua—based on prior analysis, Song Qingshu was clearly not allied with the Prince Changsheng, and since Lady Taohua was Prince Changsheng’s consort, she was naturally the first to be ruled out.
After hesitating for a moment, she also crossed out Gebi’s name. Over the years, Princess Gebi and her consort, Tang Kuo Bian, had shared a deep affection, making it unlikely that Song Qingshu could have inserted himself between them.
Staring at the last remaining name on the paper, Zhao Min fell into deep thought. After a long silence, she called out to the door, “Summon the Xuanming Elders.”
“Reporting to the Princess, the Xuanming Elders are currently recuperating from their injuries. Would it be wise to summon them now?” came the hesitant voice of a subordinate from outside.
Zhao Min was momentarily taken aback before recalling their injuries during the incident at the Laundry Courtyard. She curled her lips slightly and muttered under her breath, “Useless fools.”
After another moment of hesitation, she ordered the person outside, “Then select a few highly skilled panions and kidnap Grand Preceptor Wanyan’s granddaughter, Wanyan Chongjie. Ensure absolute secrecy.”
“As you mand, Princess!”
Listening to the fading footsteps outside, Zhao Min’s lips curled into a faint smirk. If Song Qingshu truly has a connection with Wanyan Chongjie, he’ll surely try to rescue her once he learns of her kidnapping—and that will expose his whereabouts…
But as she pondered, her expression suddenly darkened.
‘That d*mned Song Qingshu! Everywhere he goes, he flirts with women, and Zhou Zhiruo doesn’t even bother to rein him in. How infuriating!’
*****
“Achoo!”
Song Qingshu, who had been chatting with Gebi, suddenly sneezed and rubbed his nose.
“Did you catch a chill? I’ll have the servants prepare ginger soup for you,” Gebi said with concern.
“No need, my health is excellent—you know that,” Song Qingshu replied, thumping his chest confidently.
“You shameless rogue!” Gebi spat out, her face flushing red before she hurried back into the inner chambers, leaving Song Qingshu standing there dumbfounded.
‘How am I a rogue?’
Just as he was lamenting the injustice, a servant rushed over. “There’s a letter for you, my lord.”
“A letter? Who sent it?” Song Qingshu took it suspiciously. The envelope bore only a few words: To be opened by Tang Kuo Bian.
“I don’t know, my lord. I didn’t see clearly.”
“Understood. You may leave.”
Song Qingshu tested the envelope—no hidden mechanisms. Given his current cultivation, ordinary poisons wouldn’t affect him. He opened it and found a brief message: e to Cool Breeze Pavilion at once.
Cool Breeze Pavilion was a well-known restaurant in the capital. After a moment’s hesitation, Song Qingshu examined the letter again but found no clues from the handwriting. Deciding to go, he reasoned that he was curious about the sender and confident enough to handle any potential ambush.
After instructing the servants, Song Qingshu hurried out. The handwriting was unfamiliar—likely not from someone he knew. The strokes were delicate, possibly a woman’s hand, though he couldn’t be sure. His knowledge of calligraphy was rudimentary, and it might just be a specialized script.
Lost in thought, he passed through a secluded alley—a necessary shortcut from the Tang Kuo Residence to Cool Breeze Pavilion. The alley was usually deserted, adding to its eerie quietness.
Suddenly, his instincts flared. He sidestepped just as a cold glint sliced through where he had stood. The attacker, anticipating his evasion, didn’t hesitate—the dagger in their hand twisted like a shadow, pursuing him relentlessly.
Song Qingshu finally got a clear look: a figure clad entirely in black. Before he could react further, the assailant’s blade pressed forward without pause.
From the perspective of a grandmaster, the black-clad figure’s swordsmanship had flaws, but their attacks carried a uniquely sharp ferocity. An ordinary expert caught in this storm of strikes would be lucky to escape with their life.
After dodging three steps, Song Qingshu seized an opening and pinched the blade’s tip between his fingers. The attacker gasped, trying to push forward and sever his fingers. But Song Qingshu’s fingers slid down the blade, sending a shock through their wrist and forcing them to release their grip. Seizing the moment, he closed the distance, driving an elbow toward their chest.
Given the assassin’s lethal intent, Song Qingshu held no mercy. A direct hit would shatter ribs, if not kill outright—but he held back, wanting answers.
“Aiya—!”
A soft, delicate cry of pain rang out.
The sensation against his elbow made him pause.
In that split second, he shifted from a strike to a tap, sealing the attacker’s acupoints before pressing the captured blade to their throat.
“Who are you?” he demanded coldly.
Now aware they were a woman, his innate chivalry softened his tone—despite having suffered at a woman’s hands before, his nature was hard to change.
The black-clad figure turned away, refusing to answer.
Unfazed, Song Qingshu yanked off the veil—revealing a youthful yet breathtakingly beautiful face.
“It’s you?” The girl was none other than Wanyan Chongjie, whom he had encountered several times before.
“Why not me?” she retorted with a huff.
Song Qingshu suddenly understood. “No wonder your eyes looked familiar. You were the assassin who tried to kill Wanyan Liang.”
“And whose fault is that?” she snapped, her temper flaring. “If you hadn’t interfered, I would’ve killed Wanyan Liang long ago!”
“You have a grudge against Wanyan Liang?” Song Qingshu frowned. If true, she might not be an enemy—after all, the enemy of his enemy could be an ally.
“None of your business!” She pouted defiantly.
Song Qingshu couldn’t help but laugh. “Your skills are decent, but Wanyan Liang is surrounded by experts. If not for me, you’d have been captured—or worse. And need I remind you? You’re my prisoner now. Show some respect.”
“Prisoner or not,” Wanyan Chongjie said airily, “just undo my acupoints already.”
Song Qingshu smirked. “Why should I?”
“Because you’re my aunt Gebi’s husband. What kind of uncle-in-law gr0pes his niece like this?” Her eyes flicked pointedly to his elbow, still pressed against her mounds.
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