Zhao Er let out a strangled cry, vomiting acid as his body flew backward like a sack of broken grain. He slammed into the courtyard wall and slid to the ground, curling into a fetal position, shivering too violently to even speak.
“You bitch! You actually dared to strike us? You’ve got a death wish!” Wang Hongwei roared in shock and fury, his free hand scrambling frantically toward his waist, searching for the packet of “soft-bone” powder.
A chilling light exploded in Shen Qinghuan’s eyes. She twisted her grip on his wrist with a sudden, savage force. With a crisp crack, bone gave way, and Wang Hongwei let out a shrill, piercing scream that tore through the quiet of the estate. The packet of powder slipped from his trembling fingers, spilling white dust all over the dirt.
“Ugh—my hand! My hand is broken!” Wang Hongwei’s face turned corpse-pale, cold sweat cascading down his forehead like rain. His eyes were wide with terror and seething hatred. “You toxic wretch! My mother won’t let you go, and neither will the Madam!”
“Your mother? Hah!” Shen Qinghuan let out a cold, sharp laugh. She lifted her foot and brought it down hard, grinding it into his shattered wrist. “Mother Wang has used the Madam’s authority to torment me every single day, stealing my food and water. If I weren’t resilient, I would have starved to death in this shack months ago.”
She leaned in, her voice dropping to a low, lethal whisper. “You said you’d kill me and feed me to the wolves? It seems your wish has finally come true, only it’s you who’s walking into the jaws of death.”
The agonizing pain sent Wang Hongwei into spasms. Looking into Shen Qinghuan’s icy, bottomless eyes, he felt a primal fear seep into his very marrow. He finally realized that the woman before him was no longer the soft, easily manipulated target she had once been.
“What—what are you doing? I’m warning you, if you touch me, the Madam won’t let you leave this place alive!”
“The Madam?” Shen Qinghuan chuckled again. She stooped down, picked up the spilled packet of powder, and rubbed a bit of the dust between her fingertips, her gaze darkening. “Your Madam wants me dead. Do you really think I’m just going to sit here and wait for the end?”
She slammed her hand against Wang Hongwei’s chin, forcing his jaw open, and poured the remaining powder directly down his throat. Wang Hongwei fought desperately, but Shen Qinghuan’s grip was like iron; he couldn’t move a muscle. The bitter powder choked him, triggering a violent coughing fit as tears and snot streamed down his face.
“This is the powder you wanted me to drink, isn’t it? Go on, taste it yourself!” Shen Qinghuan’s voice was as cold as winter ice, every word laced with venom.
She let go, and Wang Hongwei collapsed to the ground, his strength draining away as if he were being hollowed out from within. He couldn’t even lift a finger. He looked up at her, emitting desperate, guttural gurgles, his eyes swimming with despair.
Shen Qinghuan slowly turned her back on him and looked at Zhao Er, who was huddled in the corner.
Zhao Er was terrified out of his mind. He scrambled backward, his mind shattered by panic, mumbling incoherently. “Spare me, Miss Shen! Spare me! It was Wang Hongwei who forced me—I didn’t do anything! I was just the errand boy!”
“Just the errand boy?”
Shen Qinghuan walked toward him, her footsteps on the dirt floor sounding like muffled drums beating against his heart. She squatted down and looked at his deathly pale face, a mocking curl at the corner of her lips. “Just now, who was it that said they would keep watch for him? Who was it that was so blinded by ten taels of silver?”
The color drained from Zhao Er’s face entirely. His lips trembled, and he couldn’t get a single word out.
Shen Qinghuan stood up. Her gaze swept over the two men paralyzed on the ground, devoid of even a shred of pity. She pulled the silver needle—the one laced with her potent anesthetic—from her robes. It glittered coldly in the pale light.
The original owner had been too soft-hearted and was therefore played for a fool. She was not the original owner, and she would not repeat the same mistakes. To be merciful to the enemy was to be cruel to herself and her child.
She walked back to Wang Hongwei and looked into his resentful, hate-filled eyes. “You wanted to throw me to the beasts?”
Wang Hongwei shuddered. Shen Qinghuan didn’t say another word. With lightning speed, she drove the silver needle precisely into the center of his forehead. Wang Hongwei’s pupils dilated instantly, a short, choked whimper escaped his throat, and then—silence. His body went limp, his eyes wide open, still fixed in a gaze of disbelief and terror.
Seeing this, Zhao Er lost all control; his bladder gave way, leaving a pungent, sharp stench in the air. He began to slam his head against the frozen earth until blood dripped down his face, desperate to appease her. “Spare me, Miss Shen! I’ll never do it again! I’m willing to be your servant for the rest of my life!”
Shen Qinghuan turned slowly. Her expression remained eerily calm. Zhao Er’s pleas grew weaker as he watched her approach. He knew he wasn’t leaving this yard alive.
She squatted down, looking at his shaking form. “You said just now that because I’m pregnant, killing me would be hard to explain to the officials.”
Zhao Er stiffened, not daring to make a sound.
Shen Qinghuan’s voice was light, yet it carried an bone-chilling coldness. “What a shame. You shouldn’t have chosen to be his accomplice.”
Before the sound had even faded, the silver needle struck again, swift as a ghost, piercing Zhao Er’s neck. He convulsed once, then went completely still.
The courtyard fell into a profound silence, broken only by the mournful whistling of the wind over the thatched roof. Shen Qinghuan looked at the two corpses without a ripple of emotion in her eyes. She wiped a stray drop of blood from her face, her fingertips icy.
This was the second time she had killed since transmigrating. There was no panic, no fear—only the satisfying chill of vengeance.
She looked down and gently stroked her abdomen, her voice as soft as a lullaby. “Don’t be afraid, little one. Mother will protect you. No one will ever hurt us again.”
As if responding to her resolve, the baby shifted slightly within her. A trace of warmth flickered in Shen Qinghuan’s eyes before being replaced by cold, sharp steel.
Wang Hongwei and Zhao Er are dead. That Madam will never let this rest.
I have to get rid of these bodies immediately. No traces left behind.
Her gaze landed on the dry well in the corner of the yard. She focused her intent, pulling a sturdy iron shovel from her space—a relic of the previous owner left in the warehouse. She took a deep breath and began to dig.
Nourished by the spiritual energy, her strength had vastly improved. The iron shovel bit into the earth, throwing up soil. Within a short time, she had dug a deep pit beside the well. She dragged the bodies in, filled the hole, and packed the dirt down until it was perfectly level and undetectable.
Once the work was done, she took some spiritual spring water from her space and splashed it across the courtyard, washing away the blood and the stench. The water had a purifying effect; within moments, the vile smell vanished, replaced by the faint, fresh scent of herbs.
Shen Qinghuan stood in the center of the yard, looking at the transformed space. Her killing intent faded, replaced by unshakable determination.
Shen Cong’an, Shen Chuchu, Madam Wang… just wait. Every single debt, I will collect, slowly and with interest.
She looked up at the horizon. The rising sun pierced through the clouds, spilling golden light onto her, wrapping her in a brilliant, gilded aura. Shen Qinghuan tightened her fist, a bold, triumphant smile spreading across her lips.