Wang Jie’s fury boiled over at her unflinching demeanor. He waved his hand sharply and shouted, “Move! All of you, move faster!”
The group was roughly pushed into a larger convoy.
Unlike the Shen family, this crowd consisted of dozens of other households implicated in the “Prince An Case.” The air was filled with wailing, and a sense of despair spread like a plague.
“My lord! Look at me!”
“Waaah… my child! Only three years old, and yet you’re dragged along to that cursed land…”
Even more suffocating than the cries were the servants, bound together and forced to follow their masters. Their faces were devoid of tears, pale and lifeless.
The Shen family had been fortunate—the servants had been dismissed with severance pay. But these others weren’t so lucky. Once their masters fell, these bound household slaves faced only one fate: to be sent to the border as government slaves, laboring in mines or military camps until death.
Among the crowd, a senior servant of the Ministry of Revenue’s Wang family stared at his tied hands, then at his sobbing mistress and child. The despair in his eyes morphed into madness.
Why them? Why could the Shen servants survive with silver while they were dragged to die?
Unfair! This is not fair!
A surge of resentment erupted from his chest, scorching the last remnants of reason.
“Why!”
He let out a bestial roar, breaking free from the officer holding him. Frenzied, he charged at his master—the normally overbearing Minister Wang!
“You useless piece of trash! You can’t protect us, yet you drag us to die with you! I’ll fight you!”
The roar was like a spark, igniting the repressed fury of every servant nearby.
“Fight! We’ll die together if we must!”
“Kill these bloated, spoiled brats!”
The scene exploded into chaos.
Dozens of desperate servants, freed from restraint, lunged like wild beasts at their masters. The pampered officials and wives, unprepared for such ferocity, screamed and scrambled in terror.
Clang—!
Finally, Wang Jie and his men reacted.
“You mutts! Dare rebel?!” Wang Jie’s scar twisted with delight, drawing his brocade sword and striking down.
Fshh!
A headless body flew, blood spraying high.
The first servant to act fell heavily into a pool of his own blood, eyes wide in disbelief and refusal to submit.
The blood splattered onto Minister Wang. Stunned, he felt a rush in his pants.
“Anyone else tries anything, this will be your fate!” Wang Jie licked the blood from his blade, eyes cruel and wild.
The riot was forcibly suppressed by this blood-soaked display.
Yet the beaten officials did not dare vent their hatred on the Jinyiwei wielding the slaughtering blades. Instead, they turned their venomous gaze toward the quiet Shen family, who had done nothing.
“It’s all your fault, Shen family!” one bruised official shouted, clutching his blackened eye.
“Yes! If you hadn’t pretended to be generous and dismissed your servants, ours wouldn’t have rebelled!”
“Hypocrites! Reputation-mongers! Now look, all of us suffer because of you!”
The malicious glances and words pierced the Shen family like arrows.
Lady Lin and Shen Qingyao’s faces went even paler, bodies trembling. Shen Qingyao’s unborn child seemed to sense her unease, kicking sharply. She gasped in pain, nearly collapsing.
“Sister!”
Shen Qingzhu reacted instantly, catching her.
The official who had provoked her stepped closer, pointing at Shen Qingyao’s belly. “What a curse! A child already, dragging everyone down! I say, you should just be sent far away now!”
He reached out to shove the pregnant woman.
At that moment, a cold flash streaked through the air.
“Ah—!”
A shriek tore through the crowd.
The official’s right hand was pinned to the wooden frame of the prison cart by a short dagger, just three inches long. The blade slipped precisely between his finger bones, avoiding tendons but fixing his hand in place.
Blood trickled down the wood grain.
The crowd fell silent.
All eyes focused on the bleeding hand, then slowly, incredulously, on the dagger’s owner.
Shen Qingzhu.
She had released her sister and stood silently, dagger poised. Her face was calm, expressionless.
She lifted her gaze, meeting the horrified, terrified, and stunned eyes.
The calm hid a murderous intent, as if staring at corpses.
“You… you…” the pinned official stammered, sweating profusely, unable to speak.
Shen Qingzhu stepped forward slowly. In front of him, she held the dagger by its handle with two slender fingers—without looking at him.
“Ugh…” The official shivered, expecting her to twist the blade.
She merely spoke, her voice light as wind but cutting into everyone’s ears.
“First, the Shen family’s affairs are none of your concern.”
She paused, eyes sweeping the other cowering officials.
“Second, misfortune does not touch family, especially my sister. If she suffers the slightest harm…” Her voice softened, but the chill beneath it was bone-deep. “I guarantee your fate will be far more… interesting than that servant’s.”
“Third,” she said, a trace of mockery at the official’s trembling, “and most important: remember, some people… you simply cannot provoke.”
With that, her wrist flicked sharply.
Fshhh—!
The dagger was drawn cleanly, spraying a splash of blood.
“Ahhh—!” The official screamed, collapsing to the ground, clutching his bleeding hand like a slaughtered pig.
Shen Qingzhu didn’t even glance back. She methodically wiped the blade clean with a cloth and slid it back into her sleeve—movement fluid, graceful.
The world, at last, felt quiet.
The once-shouting officials were now pale as death, instinctively stepping back, wishing to put as much distance as possible between themselves and this seemingly delicate yet ruthlessly lethal figure.
Wang Jie watched with morbid amusement. That scarred mouth twisted wider. Interesting… very interesting. The Shen family’s “young master” was no pushover. This exile journey would not be dull.
Shen Qingzhu returned her attention to her sister, whispering, “Sister, how’s your body? Can you hold on?”
Shen Qingyao, still shaken, saw her sister’s calm profile. Miraculously, the fear in her heart eased. She shook her head, forcing a pale smile. “I’m fine, Qingzhu. Don’t worry.”
Shen Qingzhu’s fingers lightly brushed her wrist. Pulse weak, breath unstable.
There was no time to wait.
Once they left the capital, away from prying eyes, she would immediately take her family away!
She gently patted her niece’s back. “Don’t be afraid, Miaomiao. Your uncle is here.”
Qian Miaomiao looked up, meeting her uncle’s calm profile. Her wildly beating heart finally steadied.
From the west gate of the capital came the creaking sound of heavy city gates opening.
The exile convoy began its long journey.
Unnoticed among the outgoing carriages was an unremarkable carriage. At the reins sat Shen Zhong, waiting on the young master’s instructions. Inside, Ling Yu and Ling Yin peered nervously through the curtain.
Suddenly, hurried footsteps approached, voices calling, “Uncle Zhong! Uncle Zhong! It’s us!”
Shen Zhong tightened the reins. Two brothers, Shen Ping and Shen An, sweaty and breathless, clung to the carriage shafts. Shen Ping gasped, eyes resolute. “Uncle Zhong, please take us with you! The young master gave us silver, but our lives were saved by the Shen family. We cannot watch our masters suffer!”
Shen Zhong looked at the two, old eyes misted. These were truly grateful, loyal men. He said nothing, merely turning slightly. “Climb aboard!”
Grateful, the brothers scrambled into the carriage.
The curtain fell. Four eyes inside the carriage watched the convoy of shackled travelers through the slits, determined and unwavering.
Shen Zhong raised the whip, speaking softly—half to them, half to himself: “The young master said, the road is long. The more hands, the better. Together, we’ll reach the masters.”