After arranging the newly harvested century-old Lingzhi in the storage room cabinet, Shen Qinghuan ran her fingers over the smooth grain of the rosewood table, her eyes softening. This small suite was the first true home she had ever known in this life—the bedrock of security for both herself and the child growing within her.
She took a deep, steadying breath to quell the excitement in her heart, and with a flicker of her intent, she dissolved from the space like thin mist.
When she opened her eyes again, the beams of the dilapidated straw hut greeted her. The damp, moldy air, mixed with the raw, fishy scent of earth from outside, rushed in to greet her—a world of difference from the crisp, fragrant air of her secret sanctuary.
Shen Qinghuan instinctively reached down to touch her abdomen. The warmth she felt there was the most real thing in her life. She was just about to sit up when two hushed, malicious voices drifted toward her from ten zhang away. Under normal circumstances, with her blood and vitality depleted by pregnancy, she would never have heard them. But after absorbing the spiritual energy of the century-old Lingzhi and being nourished by the spiritual spring water, her senses were no longer what they had been.
The poisoned words pierced her eardrums like needles.
“Brother Hongwei, can we really do this? That Shen Qinghuan looks weak, but yesterday I saw her eyes—they were cold enough to freeze you. She doesn’t seem like someone who’s easy to bully.”
The speaker was Zhao Er, a servant from the Zhao family. His voice was laced with timid hesitation, his foot scuffing against the gravel. The man he called “Brother Hongwei” was Wang Hongwei, Mother Wang’s only son.
Wang Hongwei spat a glob of thick phlegm, his eyes glinting with a sinister light, and slapped the back of Zhao Er’s head. “What are you afraid of? She’s just a little bitch who lost her protector, and she’s carrying a brat—she’s not going to flip the sky. My mother still hasn’t found her footing, so I’m going to settle this score with interest.”
Zhao Er shrank his neck, stealing a glance toward the thatched hut, his voice dropping to a whisper. “But she’s pregnant. What if—what if we go too far and kill her? The Madam told us to keep an eye on her, but if she actually dies, it’s going to be hard to explain to the local officials.”
Wang Hongwei let out a lewd, grating chuckle, the malice in his voice making Shen Qinghuan’s blood run cold. “The Madam said this little bitch was meant to die anyway. Her mother used her looks to seduce the Master and ruined my cousin’s chance to be the Princess. Now that she’s in our hands, it’s only fair she pays the price. So what if she dies? We’ll just drag her to the back mountain to feed the wolves. No one will care about a discarded pawn.”
He rubbed his hands together, a lecherous glint in his eyes, and licked his dry, cracked lips. “Besides, pregnant women are more fun to play with. Once I slip that drug into her brown rice porridge, she’ll be soft as wax. I’ll enjoy myself first, and then send her on her way—at least she’ll die knowing who it was.”
“But… if there’s no problem, won’t someone find out?” Zhao Er was still anxious. After all, this was murder.
“Relax, I bought this ‘soft-bone powder’ on the black market. It’s colorless and tasteless. Half an hour after drinking it, she’ll be paralyzed on the floor, unable to move even if she were an immortal.” Wang Hongwei patted the cloth bag at his waist, his grin turning more savage. “Besides, once it’s done, the Madam promised us ten taels of silver each. That’s enough for you to live it up at the Zui Chun Lou for days.”
Ten taels of silver? Zhao Er’s eyes lit up, his greed instantly devouring his hesitation. He rubbed his hands together and nodded repeatedly. “Fine, fine. I’ll listen to you, Brother Hongwei. I’ll keep watch—I won’t let anyone get near.”
“That’s more like it! Now go, bring the porridge over. I’ll slip the powder in. Remember, be quick—don’t mess this up.”
Every word of their conversation drilled into Shen Qinghuan’s mind. Her fingers clenched so tightly that her nails bit into her palms, drawing blood, though she felt nothing but the surge of cold, murderous rage.
Mother Wang, Wang Hongwei, and that wicked Madam hiding in the shadows… how much more must I endure?
Shen Qinghuan’s eyes sharpened with a ruthless chill. She was no longer the soft, timid girl; she was a spirit who had crawled back from the gates of hell. Whoever dared to touch her child would pay with their life.
She listened as their footsteps drew closer, a cold arc forming on her lips.
The spiritual spring water had not only nourished her body, but had heightened her senses to an extraordinary degree. Even through the cracks in the decrepit door, every movement they made was perfectly clear to her. She moved silently behind the door, her back pressed against the cold dirt wall, and reached into her robe, her fingers brushing against a silver needle she had brought from the space.
It was a tool she had frequently used in her past life as a miracle doctor. It was coated in a special, fast-acting paralyzing agent—a single scratch would freeze the target’s entire body in an instant.
Creak.
The ragged wooden door was pushed open just enough for a sliver of light to enter. Zhao Er poked his head in, holding a bowl of foul-smelling brown rice porridge. “Little bitch, get up and eat.”
Shen Qinghuan suppressed her killing intent. She slowed her breathing, leaning heavily against the wall to feign weakness, and stumbled out. Her face was deathly pale, her lips parched, and her slightly swollen abdomen was visible beneath her tattered rags. She looked exactly like a pitiful, easy target.
Wang Hongwei followed close behind Zhao Er, a small paper packet of white powder clutched in his hand. Seeing her appear, the lecherous glint in his eyes intensified. “Oh, Miss Shen, you’ve suffered these past few days. I asked the kitchen to set this aside just for you. Drink it while it’s hot.”
As he spoke, he reached out to take the bowl from Zhao Er, planning to slip the powder in while she wasn’t looking.
Shen Qinghuan sneered inwardly but kept her expression fearful and grateful. “Thank you, Brother Wang… but I’m too heavy and weak to stand steady. Could you… could you bring it to me?”
Seeing she was well within his grasp, Wang Hongwei grew cocky. He shot a smug look at Zhao Er, took the bowl, and turned his back slightly to pour in the powder. But the moment his fingers brushed the edge of the packet, Shen Qinghuan moved.
She lunged forward like an arrow released from a bow. She was so fast that all signs of weakness had vanished. Before Wang Hongwei could even react, his wrist was seized in a cold, iron-like grip. The pressure was so immense that he grimaced in agony, and the bowl clattered to the ground, splashing the hot, rancid porridge all over his legs.
“What—what are you doing?!” Wang Hongwei shouted, panicked and furious. He tried to break free, but his wrist felt locked in a vice.
Zhao Er, caught off guard, instinctively moved to help, but Shen Qinghuan swung her leg and kicked him square in the stomach.