Shen Qingzhu felt a jolt in her mind and body. Her dantian instinctively circulated internal energy, barely keeping the creeping cold at bay from her meridians.
Her brow twitched ever so slightly, then relaxed.
Zhao Jingzhan, however, felt warmth the instant he touched her hand.
He allowed her to pull him up from the floor.
Perhaps it was the severity of his injuries, perhaps it was that warmth—his defenses momentarily lowered. His movements faltered, and his entire weight instinctively leaned toward Shen Qingzhu.
Shen Qingzhu supported his arm effortlessly. Through the thin fabric of his prison garb, the icy chill was unmistakable.
Her other hand discreetly rested on his wrist.
The pulse was slow and fine, like a drifting thread, yet concealed an extremely sinister, frigid force, tangling and colliding with his once-mighty internal power.
A gu poison.
And a domineering Ice Gu at that.
No wonder he had been trapped all these years, no wonder his complexion was so pale. Surviving this gu poison to this day was nothing short of miraculous.
“You…” Zhao Jingzhan steadied himself, trying to step back and create distance, yet Shen Qingzhu held him firmly.
“Don’t move,” she said softly, her voice carrying an unquestionable authority. “Your internal injuries are severe, and if you exert your internal power recklessly, the cold gu will backfire. Even a deity couldn’t save you.”
Her calm tone sounded like thunder in his ears.
The fact that this boy could discern his secret affliction—known only to the highest echelons of the An Wang Mansion—was impossible.
Before he could ask, Shen Qingzhu released him and reached into her sleeve.
A moment later, she turned back, holding a palm-sized cloth pouch.
She kneaded it gently, and in Zhao Jingzhan’s astonished gaze, placed the now-warm pouch directly against his chest.
“Keep it warm,” she said simply.
The gentle heat flowed through his prison garb, pressing against his icy chest, dispelling a fraction of the cold that had seeped to his bones.
Zhao Jingzhan looked down at the slight bulge over his chest, bewildered.
What was this?
No fire needed, yet it generated its own warmth?
Shen Qingzhu ignored his shock, moving toward the dungeon holding her family.
Once again, she inserted the two seemingly ordinary metal rods into the lock under the watchful eyes of her family and Zhao Jingzhan.
Click.
She swung open the heavy bars. “Out, and keep quiet,” she instructed, her voice calm.
Lin Shi and Shen Laofuren cradled Qian Miaomiao, while Shen Qingdai immediately supported their weakest sister, Shen Qingyao.
“Bamboo…” Lin Shi grabbed her sleeve, voice trembling.
“Don’t be afraid, mother,” Shen Qingzhu said, patting her hand reassuringly. “It’s over. Now we leave.”
She produced a small drone from her spatial pocket.
Whir…
A sound as faint as a mosquito’s wings.
A sleek black mechanical bird lifted from her palm, skillfully weaving through the iron bars, disappearing into the night.
Zhao Jingzhan’s pupils contracted again.
His gaze followed the “bird,” then shifted back to Shen Qingzhu.
How many secrets did this boy conceal?
She said nothing, raising the remote—a dimly glowing “mirror”—and focused on its screen.
“Follow me.”
Moments later, she stored the device, whispering orders.
Like ghosts, they navigated past slumbering prisoners and drunken guards, stepping carefully toward the stairway to the first floor.
In the second-floor guest room, the door quietly opened from within, revealing Shen Zhong’s anxious face.
“Young master!”
Seeing Shen Qingzhu lead her entire family out unharmed—and with a stranger in white of commanding presence—Shen Zhong, Lingyu, Lingyin, and the brothers Shen Ping nearly wept with relief.
“Shh,” Shen Qingzhu gestured, quickly guiding everyone inside and shutting the door.
“How is my eldest sister?” she asked, first turning to Shen Qingdai.
“Not good,” Shen Qingdai’s expression was grave. “I just checked her pulse—fetal movement is intense. There’s already blood… she could give birth at any moment!”
The fragile joy in the room was instantly shattered.
Then, the silent Zhao Jingzhan spoke.
“We can’t stay here long,” his voice hoarse. “There’s an ambush outside the station.”
He looked at Shen Qingzhu with determination. “They’re after me. If I go out, I can draw their attention. You take the chance to leave. It’s the only way.”
“No,” Shen Qingzhu rejected immediately.
She approached the window, cautiously prying it open to peer into the night.
Then she returned to Zhao Jingzhan, placing the glowing “mirror” before his eyes.
“See for yourself.”
Zhao Jingzhan lowered his gaze.
The instant he understood the screen, his normally impassive face was overtaken by sheer shock.
On the black “mirror,” the entire station was mapped clearly.
Around the station—among trees, roads, rooftops—human-shaped outlines glowed red or yellow, hidden like phantoms, encircling the station completely.
Even at the station entrance, three disguised figures crouched in corners. Further along the official road, dozens of mounted soldiers lay in wait, ready to strike.
A perfect net.
“What… is this?” His voice trembled in a way even he hadn’t realized.
“Thermal imaging,” Shen Qingzhu explained calmly. “You can see all living beings. As you said, it’s full of people. One false step and you’ll walk into the trap.”
Zhao Jingzhan stared at the dense red dots, chills running down his back.
Even his legendary cunning seemed laughable against this unseen technology.
“My eldest sister… she can’t hold on!” Shen Qingdai cried again, tears mixing with desperation as she supported the curled-up, sweating Shen Qingyao. “Bamboo, we have no time! If we don’t act, it’s… two lives lost!”
Everyone’s hearts plummeted.
Pursuers outside. A sister about to give birth.
Zhao Jingzhan took a deep breath, suppressing his shock. He turned to Shen Qingzhu, eyes resolute.
“Even so, I must draw them away,” he said. “Most of their attention is on me. I go out—they follow me. You take… your sister through the back. That’s the only way to break this.”
“I said no,” Shen Qingzhu’s voice was ice-cold. “Your life and my family’s life are equal to me. In my dictionary, abandoning a comrade does not exist.”
She met his gaze steadily, articulating every word.
“Besides, who says this is a dead end?”
A faint, almost arrogant curve appeared on her lips.
“I have a way to get all of us out safely. But…”
Her gaze locked onto his.
“You must follow my instructions completely.”
Shen Qingdai realized the gravity, stepping forward to look Zhao Jingzhan in the eyes for the first time.
“Your Highness… please trust my brother!” Her voice carried faith. “He always finds a way!”
Zhao Jingzhan fell silent.
He looked at this unnaturally calm boy, at the trusting eyes behind him, recalling the miraculous lockpicking, the unheard-of hidden weapons, the “mirror” that could see in darkness, and… the still-warm, miraculous pouch against his chest.
Everything he knew was shattered tonight.
After a long pause, he nodded solemnly.
“All right.”
He looked at Shen Qingzhu, summoning his remaining strength to ask the question that would decide everyone’s fate.
“What is your plan?”