Bang—
The chamber’s door was blasted open, cold moonlight illuminating Mo Pang’s gaunt, aged face, his expression tinged with grim ruthlessness.
If His Highness was harmed even slightly, he’d have no face to meet the General.
But the sight before Mo Pang far exceeded his expectations. Ji Yanqing pinned a graceful, stunning girl, a wicked smile on his lips. Heroine Ji’s legs flailed like a carp, her fists pounding his chest—a clear act of feigned resistance.
At the loud noise, Ji Yanqing and Ji Qingyan froze mid-action, looking toward the door.
“Uncle Mo, what’s urgent at this hour?” Ji Yanqing asked, slightly annoyed.
Ji Qingyan’s face flushed scarlet, cheeks burning, her hands covering her face, radiating girlish shyness.
Mo Pang quickly averted his gaze from the intimate scene, apologized awkwardly, and shut the door.
He’d thought Ji Qingyan, in her assassin’s garb, came to kill the Heir. Instead, she was the one “assassinated.” But it made sense—young, attractive, and smitten.
Daytime propriety gave way to nighttime trysts.
‘Old age dulls the mind’, Mo Pang thought, missing the obvious.
The girl’s identity was sensitive. The Earl of Qiucheng’s massacre involved too many forces—Prime Minister Liu, the new emperor, the General, and Qi King’s old vassals.
Any one could stir a storm in Yanxia, and all were tangled in that political vortex, with Ji Qingyan at its heart…
No matter. If the Heir liked her, so be it.
Mo Pang, hunched, walked into the cold wind alone.
…
As Mo Pang’s figure faded, Ji Yanqing scrambled off Ji Qingyan, fearing another stab.
Her dark hair was disheveled, her tight black outfit accentuating her curves. Her flushed cheeks and wistful phoenix eyes held a trace of loss.
“The floor’s cold, Heroine Ji. Get up to avoid catching a chill,” Ji Yanqing said softly, his captivating peach-blossom eyes holding her gaze.
Realizing her lapse, Ji Qingyan stood, head lowered, tucking hair behind her ear. “Thanks… for covering for me.”
“A small gesture, no need for thanks. Especially since I wronged you first, this is just meager amends,” Ji Yanqing replied gracefully, hiding his bloodied sleeve.
The obvious move didn’t escape her sharp eyes. Perhaps he hid the injury to draw her attention.
“I’ll bandage your wound!” Guilt-ridden, Ji Qingyan bent her graceful waist to stop his bleeding, only to realize she had no bandages.
She’d come to kill him, not heal him. Things had veered far from her goal.
Frozen, she watched his blood flow, heart aching.
Biting her lip, she tore strips from her sleeve, gently lifting his blood-soaked arm. Using wine from the table, she sprayed it to disinfect, then wrapped the wound, leaving air holes.
Though not pretty, the bandage was practical, far surpassing noble ladies’ skills.
“Better?” she asked softly.
“Bandaged by you, how could it not be?” Ji Yanqing’s lips curved into a faint smile.
“Smooth talker~” she muttered, her full lips and shy demeanor tempting a kiss.
Suddenly, she sensed something off…
Wasn’t she here to kill him?
What was she doing now—flirting?
Snapping awake, she stood to keep distance. Their closeness wasn’t that of a villainous Heir and a righteous heroine bent on his death.
More like newlyweds…
Her deer-skin boots tapped, retreating five steps, her snowy face pink, lashes trembling.
“If you’re fine, I… I’ll go,” she said, turning to flee.
But two steps in, a pleasant voice stopped her.
“Qingyan, wait.”
Against her better judgment, she halted, drawn by his voice, glancing back.
“Anything else?” she asked, arms crossed, feigning coldness, though her creamy hands trembled.
Though it was only the first day, far from Lantern Festival, she felt the pang of impending departure.
Three months felt like a dream.
Truthfully, she’d miss Ye City’s bustling fireworks, the tavern storytellers’ tales, the mansion’s delicious food… and his captivating peach-blossom eyes.
“No matter what, I wronged you today. Spotting the wine’s issue or finding another detox method doesn’t change that I compromised you,” he said.
“So…”
He bent, pulling a dark wooden sword case from under the bed, presenting it respectfully to her and opening it.
“This sword, Xiaolian, is three feet two inches, red as dawn, with cloud patterns on the hilt. I saw it at the Bronze Sparrow auction and thought it suited you.”
Before parting with Su Ningyue, Ji Yanqing hadn’t rushed back but bought calming jade for Xie and this sword for Ji Qingyan. The jade was heartfelt for Xie; the sword fulfilled Ji Qingyan’s destiny. In the novel, Xiaolian was hers, only falling to him by chance.
A strange bond between heroine and villain.
Ji Qingyan took the case, eyes misty. Since joining the Rakshasa Sect, this was her second gift—and another famed sword.
“Xiaolian, ranked 93rd on the Sword List, a low-tier Heavenly weapon. You’d give this to me?” she asked, puzzled, trying to return it.
He didn’t take it, saying softly, “I’m no swordsman. Such a blade is wasted on me. Better it graces your waist, fighting evil.”
“But I have Chengying…”
“I know Rakshasa Sect’s ultimate sword art requires two blades for full power,” he said calmly.
Her lips pursed, unable to speak.
Already indebted to him, accepting Xiaolian left her unsure how to repay.
Her flushed face met his captivating eyes, hesitating to push the case away.
Sensing her conflict, he said, “This is my thanks to you.”
“For what?” she asked, tilting her head, confused.
“For gifting me the cursed sword Xieyan. My gift pales in comparison.”
“Thanks…” she murmured, accepting the “thanks.”
But she knew Xieyan wasn’t truly her gift. She’d owe him, sooner or later.
Either servitude in the next life or…
As she pondered, Ji Yanqing gently took her hand, whispering, “Happy New Year, Qingyan.”
“Happy… New Year…” she replied shyly.