“I’ll spare your life tonight.”
Chu Xiao’s thin lips parted, his tone still as icy as if it had been quenched in snow, yet the content of his words sounded like heavenly music.
As soon as he spoke, an invisible gust of wind seemed to sweep through the quiet wedding chamber. The shadow guards, lurking in the rafters and ready to descend at any moment to haul away a corpse, stumbled in shock, nearly plummeting from the beams.
What did the master say? Spare her life?
The living Yama King—that cold, decisive man who showed no mercy to any woman who approached him—was actually letting go of a substitute bride who was reeking with suspicious motives? The guards exchanged glances, each seeing a look of ghost-like disbelief in the other’s eyes.
Shen Yu, standing at the center of the storm, froze for a full three seconds. When her sluggish brain finally processed the meaning, her clear, large eyes lit up with startling brilliance. She scrambled up from the table, nodding her head as frantically as a chicken pecking at grain.
“Thank you, Your Highness! Your Highness is brilliant and mighty! May Your Highness live for a hundred years!”
Shen Yu was on the verge of kowtowing to him on the spot. While she poured out meaningless flattery, her inner “commentary stream” was setting off fireworks of joy.
(Woo-hoo! My life is saved! I don’t have to be dog food!)(Even if this Yama King is a bit short-tempered and looks fierce, he’s actually a reasonable and grounded guy!) (I ate his red bean cake, and he actually stopped trying to kill me. How is this a tyrant? He’s clearly a saint!)
A saint?
Hearing this bizarre description, the corner of Chu Xiao’s mouth twitched uncontrollably. As the dignified Ninth Prince of the Great Chu, a man whose hands were stained with blood and whose very name could stop a child from crying, he had just been given a “Good Guy” card by a fool?
Chu Xiao felt that if he stayed with this woman and her peculiar train of thought any longer, he would eventually suffer internal injuries from pure frustration. With a cold face, he didn’t spare her another glance. His slender fingers rested on the armrests of his wheelchair, a trace of almost imperceptible tension remaining on the back of his knobby hands.
With the dull sound of wooden wheels rolling over blue-stone tiles, Chu Xiao drove his chair straight to the daybed on the side. He braced himself on the armrest with one hand, climbed onto the bed with a quick, slightly irritated motion, and turned his back on the luxurious carved wedding bed. He pulled a thin blanket over himself and closed his eyes, deciding that what he couldn’t see couldn’t bother him.
Shen Yu stood in place, blinking at Chu Xiao’s back. Once she confirmed that this God of Slaughter truly intended to sleep and would no longer trouble her, her tight nerves finally relaxed completely.
Once the “foodie crisis” was resolved, the instinct of a “salted fish” (someone who just wants to lounge) took over: drowsiness. Shen Yu turned her head, her gaze locking onto the massive bed in the center of the room.
It was an extremely wide yellow pear-wood bed with carved floral patterns. Large red silk curtains draped around it, embroidered with exquisite dragon and phoenix motifs, exuding an air of luxury and opulence. Shen Yu swallowed, crept over, and cautiously poked the red brocade quilt with her still-reddened fingers.
Soft! It’s so soft! It felt like touching a cloud. In the Marquis’s estate, the original owner had been neglected and had slept on a hard, wooden board bed with thin, drafty blankets. Looking at this luxurious bed now, Shen Yu felt her bones melting.
She snuck a peek at Chu Xiao on the daybed and saw that his breathing was steady; he appeared to be asleep. Without further hesitation, Shen Yu kicked off her cumbersome embroidered shoes and slid into the soft, comfortable red wedding quilt like a slippery little eel.
The quilt was scattered with peanuts, longans, and red dates, symbolizing a wish for many descendants. Shen Yu grabbed two red dates and popped them into her mouth, chewing with great enjoyment.
(As expected of royal supplies; even the dates are this sweet.) (Forget about whether I’ll be beheaded tomorrow; I’ll get my sleep’s worth tonight. This mattress is so comfortable—it was practically tailor-made for a salted fish like me!)
She rolled around in the wide bed twice, found the most comfortable position, and wrapped herself into a tight silkworm cocoon, leaving only her fluffy head poking out. Fed and satisfied, with the crisis averted, Shen Yu’s eyelids began to fight a losing battle.
Not even a stick of incense later, a very steady, defenseless snoring sound began to echo through the previously silent room.
“Huff… puff…”
The sound wasn’t loud, and it even had a bit of a soft, girlish lilt, but it was exceptionally clear in the quiet of the night.
On the daybed, Chu Xiao—who was supposed to be “resting his eyes”—suddenly snapped open those hawk-like, sharp eyes in the darkness.
How could he sleep? Years of military life and countless assassination attempts had left his sleep extremely light, and he remained instinctively vigilant of his surroundings. Moreover, there was a “spy” in the room whose true motives were unknown and who might strike at any moment.
Chu Xiao had been feigning sleep, waiting for Shen Yu’s next move. He was waiting for her to show her fox tail, to sneak around looking for the Prince’s mansion secrets, or to pull out a hidden weapon to assassinate him. If she had dared to move an inch, the flying dagger hidden in his sleeve would have pierced her throat without hesitation.
But he hadn’t received a flash of blades; he had received… snoring?!
Chu Xiao turned his head stiffly and, by the dim candlelight, looked toward the bed that should have belonged to him. The red curtains swayed slightly, and that foolish woman was sprawled out in a mess, with one leg even hanging ungracefully out of the covers.
She really had fallen asleep. Her breathing was long and steady, her heartbeat calm—there wasn’t a trace of faked internal energy.
Chu Xiao had lived twenty-two years, and this was the first time he had encountered a situation like this. He felt his understanding of the world was being severely challenged. He, the dignified God of War of Great Chu, the living Yama King that made people tremble with fear, had actually had his bed stolen by a woman on his wedding night?
And he, meanwhile, was forced to curl up on this narrow daybed where he couldn’t even stretch his legs?
The most ridiculous part was that, facing an “enemy” covered in flaws and completely off-guard, he didn’t have the slightest impulse to go over and snap her neck. Chu Xiao raised a hand and rubbed his temples, which were throbbing with a dull ache. He realized that the nerve he kept taut at all times had actually slackened without him noticing.
He had actually let his guard down completely in front of an unknown spy. Listening to her rhythmic breathing, Chu Xiao even thought that in a Prince’s mansion filled with calculations and murderous intent, having such a heartless, dim-witted fool nearby didn’t seem so bad after all.
The scene shifts to the courtyard outside the wedding chamber, where a completely different sight was unfolding.
The autumn wind carried a bone-chilling cold, howling as it scraped against the bare branches. Jifeng, the Prince’s top shadow guard, was standing on a thick, old locust tree, his eyes locked on the tightly shut door of the bridal chamber. In the bushes below, several shivering servants were crouching, each holding a tattered sack. Beside their feet were buckets and rags used to clean up blood—the standard procedure for disposing of “trash” in the Prince’s mansion.
“A-choo!” One of the servants couldn’t help but sneeze, quickly covering his mouth and asking in a low voice, “It’s been an hour. Why hasn’t the new Princess been thrown out yet?”
An old maid next to him rubbed her frozen hands and muttered, “Who knows? The last beauty the Emperor gifted us didn’t even last half an hour before the master snapped her neck and threw her in the courtyard.”
“This one is from the Marquis of Dingguo’s estate. The Marquis is our master’s sworn enemy. The master definitely isn’t going to let her die that easily.”
“I bet the master is inside, slowly torturing her. I’ll bet ten copper coins that in another half-hour, we’ll hear screams!”
“I’ll bet a tael of silver; she definitely won’t last past the Hour of the Ox (1:00 AM – 3:00 AM)!”
The servants stomped their feet in the cold wind, using gambling to distract themselves from their fear and the chill. Even Jifeng, high in the tree, was filled with doubt. He knew his master’s temper best; for anyone with ill intent, he was always swift and ruthless, never leaving a survivor. Could it be that the Second Miss of the Marquis’s estate has exceptionally strong bones, and the master is using some new form of torture to interrogate her?
Time slipped away, minute by minute, amid everyone’s guesses and long waiting. The watchman beat his bronze gong—it was the third watch (midnight). The wedding chamber was silent; not even the sound of a shattered cup.
The fourth watch. The night wind was colder; a thin layer of white frost had even formed on the blades of grass. The servants’ lips were turning purple from the cold, and they could barely hold their sacks. The bridal chamber remained deathly silent—no piercing screams, no bloodied corpse kicked out the window.
The fifth watch. A faint white light appeared on the horizon. The servants under the tree were numb, and two were even leaning against each other, dozing off.
Jifeng leaped down from the tree, his brows locked, his face grim. This is too abnormal! Could something have happened to the master? But he hadn’t felt the presence of any assassins!
Daylight broke, and the sun rose high. The early autumn sunlight spilled into the courtyard, dispelling the cold from the night-watchers. The servants looked at each other in confusion, their empty sacks in their hands, feeling lost.
A young servant responsible for sweeping the courtyard gathered his courage, grabbed his broom, and crept toward the outside of the wedding chamber door. He pressed his ear against the gap in the door for a long time, but there wasn’t even a whisper of sound inside.
The servant’s face turned pale with fear. He retreated to the steps and whispered a report to Jifeng.
“Lord Jifeng, there’s no sound at all! It’s as quiet as a graveyard in there!”
“Did the Princess get strangled to death by the master in silence last night? Is her body cold and stiff by now?”
“Should we push the door open and clear out the corpse, so we don’t dirty the master’s room?”
Jifeng gripped the hilt of his sword and pondered for a moment. Master hadn’t given any orders, so naturally, they shouldn’t barge in. But to have absolutely no movement all night was truly eerie. For the sake of the master’s safety, he had to go in and check.
Just as Jifeng raised his hand, preparing to bite the bullet and knock on the door, the heavy, carved wooden door before him made a dull sound.
Creak…
The door was slowly pulled open from the inside.