“Is Heroine Qingyan visiting late at night for a secret rendezvous?” Ji Yanqing chuckled, his delicate peach-blossom eyes fixed on the black-clad girl gripping a dagger. He appeared calm, but his sword-holding palm was drenched in sweat.
Scenes from the original novel flashed through his mind like a carousel—most showed the villainous Heir’s body soaked in blood, his death gruesome. In others, not even his corpse remained.
Silence hung heavy, the room’s atmosphere eerily desolate.
Ji Qingyan’s dark eyes glinted with dangerous killing intent, sharp as a blade, capable of slicing his throat from afar.
A Transformation Realm expert could cleave through hundreds of cavalry with one swing. To her, a mere Gathering Spirit cultivator like him was an ant to crush.
Yet, she didn’t strike immediately.
She was waiting for a reasonable explanation.
Caw—
A cold crow’s cry echoed from the courtyard, mixed with the howling winter wind, its hoarse screech grating.
“I gave you a chance,” Ji Qingyan said through gritted teeth, the bleak night framing her tight black outfit and neatly tied ponytail.
Faint moonlight illuminated her icy, snow-like face, adding a chill.
“What do you mean, Heroine Ji?” Ji Yanqing asked, feigning confusion. He had a hunch about her intent but asked to stall, a tactic to buy time.
The Wei King’s Mansion was heavily guarded. If not for most guards drinking during New Year’s Eve, Ji Qingyan couldn’t have breached his chambers.
Even so, sentries watching her courtyard hadn’t rested, lured by tenfold holiday pay.
If he delayed long enough, help would come.
“Thief Ji, die!” she spat, her dagger flashing with hatred like lightning toward him. Ji Yanqing activated the Soul Condensing Art, sharpening his senses.
Every movement within a few yards was crystal clear.
His palace boots tapped the jade floor, and he barely dodged the lethal strike, inwardly sweating.
Her casual strike had pushed him to his limit.
The gap between Transformation and Gathering Spirit was three realms. Even the novel’s protagonist could only bridge one.
For Ji Yanqing, recently out of the “dog-shaking-head” novice stage, facing a Transformation Realm heroine was like an egg hitting a rock—suicidal.
“Heroine Ji, let’s talk. Put the knife down?” he said, sweat beading on his forehead. His spiritual energy, barely recovered, could dodge maybe twice more.
“Scoundrel, you ruined my purity! I, Ji Qingyan, will never forgive you!” she roared, her wrist flicking, the dagger aiming for his vitals.
Swish—
The blade grazed past, a strand of hair falling. A fraction closer, it would’ve slit his throat.
Taking a deep breath, Ji Yanqing suppressed his fear, saying calmly, “Qingyan, when did I ruin your purity?”
Stunned, she hadn’t expected such shamelessness. ‘Beast! Worse than a beast!’
After detoxification, Ji Qingyan had gradually regained clarity. Still reeling from the Bewitching Powder, she hadn’t grasped the gravity until resting under maids’ care.
Then, memories of her drunken state flooded back. Her stunning face flushed, paled, then burned red…
‘It must be a dream…’
Ji Yanqing, that vile beast, had…
Her purity, her sect’s honor…
Her body trembled, lips pursed. All was shattered by his wicked smile. Worse, she’d sunk into it, even responding eagerly.
Unavenged, she’d be unworthy as a heroine.
Glaring at the feigning beast, her anger surged, itching to hurl her dagger through his brow. But since he asked, she’d let him die knowing why.
“You took advantage of my drunken state in the pavilion, pulling off my skirt…” She faltered, too ashamed to continue, her face flushed, teeth biting her lip.
“Qingyan, I was detoxifying you,” he said.
“Nonsense! That’s not how…” she started.
“First, Bewitching Powder is a brothel drug, so its antidote is unconventional. You neither bled nor lost your chastity mark—how did I ruin your purity?” Ji Yanqing spread his hands, feigning helplessness.
Her brows furrowed, ready to retort, but his logic held. At worst, it was severe teasing.
“You’re unrepentant! Is it my fault?” she snapped, turning aside, furious.
“Qingyan, poisoned as you were, should I have tossed you a cucumber and watched?” he said. “If your will faltered and you ravished me, losing your chastity, you’d regret it forever.”
“Couldn’t you use another method? You saw that place and used your hands…” She stopped, too mortified to continue.
“It was urgent, and my method was crude. I wronged you. Shall we make it right? I’ll marry you as my consort,” he suggested sincerely.
She’d never agree, but he had to offer fully, for conscience and survival.
“Dream on!” she rejected instantly, without hesitation.
“Only heaven, earth, you, and I know. No one else saw. Let’s forget it,” he proposed.
“Forget that?” Her eyes reddened, glaring resentfully, her pale cheeks tinged peach, pitiable.
Ji Yanqing couldn’t bear a beauty’s tears, especially hers. Stepping forward to wipe them, his fingers brushed her cheek.
The drunken sensation triggered her resistance. Her arm swung, the dagger arcing like a full moon.
“Don’t come near!”
Blood dripped down his sleeve.
His keen senses had sensed danger, or it wouldn’t be just a scratched arm.
“Hiss—” Ji Yanqing winced, pain in his eyes.
“Are you okay?” Ji Qingyan tossed the dagger aside, rushing to check his wound, frantic.
She hadn’t meant to hurt him, only to keep distance. But memories drove her instinctive strike, leaving no time to think.
“It’s fine, just a flesh wound,” he said softly.
“I’m sorry, I was scared and didn’t control it,” she said, guilt easing her hatred. Without that wine, none of this would’ve happened.
She stood to bandage him, but Ji Yanqing suddenly pushed her down, pinning her without hesitation.
Before she could break his legs, a deep, aged voice came from outside. “Your Highness, are you unharmed?”
The terrifying pressure could only belong to Mo Pang, the mid-Transformation Realm steward of the Wei King’s Mansion.