The cold wind wailed through the cracks of the broken window, unable to bring in even a trace of warmth. It carried only a biting chill and the overwhelming stench of blood.
Floating Cloud lay face down on the icy wooden bed, her face buried deep in the worn pillow. Her breathing was so faint that she resembled the last flicker of a candle struggling against the wind.
The gruesome whip wounds across her back had finally stopped gushing blood after Qin Shu had nearly brutally cleaned them with a rusty pair of scissors and coarse strips of cloth.
However, the torn flesh remained exposed to the filthy air. The edges had already turned an ominous bluish-gray, and every shallow breath pulled at the wounds, drawing broken gasps from her lips.
Qin Shu sat on the battered wooden chair beside the bed.
Her back was unnaturally straight, like a fully drawn bow.
The front and sleeves of her faded gray-blue padded jacket were soaked with dark-red bloodstains that had long dried into stiff patches, like hatred that had solidified forever.
She had not lit a lamp.
Her entire figure was swallowed by the dense darkness, with only the pale moonlight filtering through the broken window faintly outlining her silhouette.
There were no tears in her deep brown eyes.
There was no fear.
Only a deathly silence and an icy flame burning to its very limit.
No light was reflected within those eyes. They reflected only the scars carved across Floating Cloud’s back—the unmistakable symbols of Xu Feng’s brutality and Qin Yan’s vicious cruelty.
Time crawled slowly through the suffocating silence and Floating Cloud’s ragged breathing.
Every second felt like a blade slicing across Qin Shu’s taut nerves.
Knock… knock-knock… knock…
A series of knocks echoed against the broken wooden lattice of the rear window.
The rhythm carried a precise pattern, like a secret code whispered through the darkness.
Qin Shu’s body tensed almost imperceptibly.
The icy flame hidden within her deep eyes flickered once.
She did not move.
Her gaze remained fixed on Floating Cloud.
The window lattice was carefully pushed open from outside.
A nimble shadow slipped silently into the room, bringing with it the bitter chill of winter.
The figure landed without making a sound and immediately closed the window behind him, shutting out most of the freezing wind.
It was Jiang Chen.
The familiar rattan medicine case hung over his shoulder.
Normally gentle and refined, his face was unusually grave beneath the darkness.
His clear eyes immediately swept toward Floating Cloud on the bed.
The instant he saw the horrifying wounds covering her back, his pupils contracted violently.
A terrifying storm surged through his gentle eyes, mixed with unbearable heartache.
“A-Shu!”
He lowered his voice, unable to hide his urgency.
He rushed to the bedside in a few strides, too anxious even to put down the medicine case before reaching for Floating Cloud’s icy wrist.
Her pulse was so weak it was nearly impossible to detect.
He leaned down and carefully examined her wounds under the faint moonlight.
When he saw the several whip marks that reached the bone, their edges already blackening, his breathing stopped.
His face instantly turned ashen.
The fingers resting on Floating Cloud’s wrist trembled ever so slightly.
He suddenly raised his head toward Qin Shu.
His voice remained low, yet every word carried heavy anger and anguish.
“Who did this?!”
Qin Shu remained seated in the darkness.
She did not answer.
Slowly, she lifted her eyes to meet Jiang Chen’s anxious, heartbroken gaze.
Her eyes no longer held numbness…
No despair…
No restrained anger…
Instead, they held a sharpness and composure tempered by ice itself—something Jiang Chen had never seen before.
Cold.
Unyielding.
As though every illusion had already been pierced, leaving behind only naked determination.
Those eyes were like two invisible ice spikes that stabbed straight into Jiang Chen’s heart.
Every question caught in his throat.
He looked at the dried blood on Qin Shu’s face…
At the large patches of dark crimson staining her faded jacket…
At the icy fire burning inside her eyes…
A wave of coldness, mixed with overwhelming shock, seized him instantly.
The Qin Shu before him was like a piece of cold iron forged over and over through blazing fire and endless frost.
Every trace of softness…
Every ounce of fragility…
Had been stripped away.
Only cold hardness and the scent of destruction remained.
He understood.
He asked nothing more.
Taking a deep breath to suppress the turmoil inside him, he quickly opened the medicine case.
His movements were swift and precise, carrying the steady confidence unique to a physician.
He took out a sharp willow-leaf scalpel, catgut sutures, clean gauze, strong liquor, and several medicine bottles labeled with foreign writing.
He lit the windproof lantern he had brought.
Its dim yellow glow immediately pushed back a small pocket of darkness around the bed, revealing the hellish condition of Floating Cloud’s back.
“Hold her shoulders. Don’t let her move.”
Jiang Chen’s voice was calm and low, leaving no room for argument.
Qin Shu rose immediately.
Both hands firmly pressed against Floating Cloud’s thin, icy shoulders.
Jiang Chen soaked a piece of cotton cloth with liquor and carefully cleaned away the blood and the rough cloth fibers left behind by Qin Shu’s hasty bandaging.
The alcohol stung the torn flesh.
Even unconscious, Floating Cloud’s body convulsed violently.
Broken whimpers escaped her throat.
Qin Shu’s grip tightened instinctively.
Her knuckles turned white from the force.
The icy flame within her deep brown eyes flared violently before being buried beneath an even colder frost.
Sweat beaded across Jiang Chen’s forehead.
His hands never hesitated.
With ruthless precision, he used the willow-leaf scalpel to remove the dead flesh and filth from the edges of the wounds.
His movements were so efficient they bordered on cruelty.
He picked up the curved needle already threaded with catgut.
Its tip glinted coldly beneath the lantern light.
Lowering himself once more, he began stitching the horrific wounds one stitch after another.
The needle pierced flesh.
The thread tightened.
Every puncture…
Every pull…
Was accompanied by Floating Cloud’s violent trembling and muffled groans of unbearable agony.
Qin Shu continued holding her shoulders tightly.
She could clearly feel every convulsion caused by the searing pain beneath her palms.
She watched the cold needle weave through Floating Cloud’s flesh.
She watched Jiang Chen’s focused, solemn profile.
She watched Floating Cloud’s paper-white face covered with cold sweat.
The icy fire inside Qin Shu’s chest burned even more fiercely.
It nearly reduced every organ inside her body to ashes.
Every stitch…
Felt as though it pierced her own heart.
Every wound that was sewn shut…
Became another vow of vengeance carved into her soul.
Time slipped away amid the muffled sounds of suturing.
At last…
The final wound was stitched, medicated, and wrapped carefully.
Jiang Chen straightened slowly.
He let out a long breath as sweat rolled down his forehead.
He fed Floating Cloud several anti-inflammatory and pain-relieving pills before carefully tucking the blanket around her.
Only then did he lean wearily against the table.
Looking at Floating Cloud—whose breathing remained weak but had at least become steadier—his eyes were filled with heavy concern.
He turned toward Qin Shu, who had remained silent like a statue throughout the entire process.
The dim lantern light outlined her rigid back and the bloodstained side of her face.
Her deep brown eyes shone brilliantly within the shadows.
Like poisonous stars forged from ice.
“The wounds are too deep. She lost too much blood.”
Jiang Chen’s voice was hoarse with exhaustion.
Every word felt unbearably heavy.
“I’ve done everything I could. Whether she’ll survive…”
He paused.
His complicated gaze rested upon Qin Shu’s face.
“…depends on her own will.”
“And…”
“…on fate.”
“Fate?”
Qin Shu finally spoke.
Her voice was dry and hoarse, like sandpaper scraping across rusted iron.
There was not the slightest trace of warmth within it.
She slowly raised her eyes.
Her gaze pierced through the lantern’s dim glow and drove straight into Jiang Chen’s eyes.
There was no plea for fate.
No uncertainty about tomorrow.
Only an icy determination so calm that it made one’s heart tremble.
And naked killing intent.
“Jiang Chen.”
Her voice was quiet.
Yet it struck the ground like an ice spear.
Every syllable carried absolute resolve.
“Tell me…”
“How can I destroy him?”
Jiang Chen’s body stiffened violently.
It was as though an invisible bolt of lightning had struck him.
His usually gentle eyes widened in utter disbelief.
He stared at Qin Shu.
At those eyes burning with icy flames, stripped forever of hesitation and weakness.
A chill shot from the soles of his feet straight to the top of his head.
This was no longer the Qin Shu he knew.
Not the patient…
Timid…
Despairing woman he had always worried about.
This…
Was a avenger who had crawled out from a living hell of blood and fire.
She was not asking how to leave.
She was not asking how to retaliate.
She was asking…
How to destroy him.
The overwhelming shock left Jiang Chen speechless.
His unconscious movement knocked over a glass medicine bottle beside the medicine case.
It rolled across the tabletop with a soft clink.
He stared fixedly into Qin Shu’s eyes, searching for even the slightest hesitation.
Instead…
He found only bottomless hatred.
And a determination to perish together with her enemy if necessary.
Silence spread throughout the tiny room.
Only Floating Cloud’s weak, painful breathing and the faint crackling of the lantern wick remained.
After a long while…
Jiang Chen took a deep breath.
It was as though he had finally made up his mind.
The shock slowly faded from his eyes.
In its place emerged an equally heavy and razor-sharp solemnity.
He stepped closer.
His voice dropped until it was barely more than a whisper.
Yet it carried the weight of a thousand pounds.
“Xu Feng’s foundation is in Linjiang, but his claws have already reached into other provinces…”
“…and even the Eastern foreigners.”
When he uttered the words “Eastern foreigners,” they were filled with bone-deep disgust.
“He commands a powerful army. He smuggles weapons, colludes with foreign enemies, traffics opium, and squeezes the common people dry through excessive taxes.”
“Every single crime…”
“…is punishable by death.”
Jiang Chen’s gaze was as sharp as a blade.
Each word burned itself into Qin Shu’s memory like red-hot iron.
“The abandoned Warehouse No. 3 at the docks is one of the places where he hides his ‘special cargo.'”
“The shipment Wang Zhenbiao mentioned last night—the ‘complete set of hard goods’—was the newly arrived weapons.”
“They came directly from the Eastern foreigners.”
“The key…”
“…is hidden inside the secret compartment in his study.”
Jiang Chen’s words matched perfectly with the fragments Qin Shu had risked her life to overhear.
The icy flames inside her eyes erupted wildly.
“But that’s only the tip of the iceberg.”
Jiang Chen’s voice grew even heavier.
“His real lifeline…”
“…is the secret agreement he signed with the Eastern foreigners.”
“And a ledger.”
“It records every dirty transaction over the years.”
“The dates.”
“The locations.”
“The people involved.”
“The goods.”
“The exact amounts of money.”
“The evidence is undeniable.”
“The ledger and a copy of that agreement are hidden inside the secret compartment behind the painting ‘Tiger Descending the Mountain’ in his study.”
“Only by obtaining them…”
“…can he truly be nailed to the wall.”
“Only then…”
“…can he be condemned beyond redemption.”
Every word struck Qin Shu’s frozen heart like a massive hammer.
Her breathing quickened.
Her chest rose and fell violently.
Within her deep brown eyes…
The icy fire finally burned to its absolute limit.
It exploded into a terrifying brilliance born from finally seeing her target clearly.
Jiang Chen watched her expression.
A complicated emotion flashed through his eyes.
Heartache.
Worry.
And the determination to stake everything.
“But it’s far too dangerous.”
“The study is heavily guarded.”
“The secret compartment is protected by numerous mechanisms.”
“Xu Feng is extremely suspicious by nature—”
Before he could finish…
Qin Shu suddenly stood up.
The wind created by her movement made the lantern flame sway wildly.
Light and shadow danced across her bloodstained face.
Bright.
Dark.
Bright again.
She walked to the bedside.
Looking down, she gazed at Floating Cloud’s paper-white face…
At the wounds across her back wrapped in white bandages…
Where threads of dark-red blood still slowly seeped through.
She slowly raised her left hand.
It was stained with both the dried and fresh blood that belonged to Floating Cloud.
Dark red.
Sticky.
Like paint taken straight from hell.
She did not look at Jiang Chen.
Her gaze remained fixed upon her blood-covered fingertips.
Then…
She extended one finger.
Dipping it into the still-warm blood that had not yet completely coagulated in her palm…
The blood that belonged to Floating Cloud…
She pressed it firmly onto the open copy of Illustrated Elementary Thousand Character Classic lying on the table.
The blood upon her fingertip glowed beneath the dim lantern light like the brightest vermilion ink.
Stroke by deliberate stroke…
She smeared it across the rough page.
Covering one boldly written black character.
The character was—
“Hatred.”