As soon as Gu Yuan issued that swift and decisive order, the sky over Guogongfu changed.
The once-lax security was tripled overnight. Patrol routes and shift schedules were completely reorganized, turning the estate into a fortress as tight as a military camp.
Especially around the Qingzhi Courtyard where Wen Yan resided—it was now guarded layer upon layer. Not even an assassin, let alone a fly, could enter without first being questioned about its gender.
In the main hall, the Dragon’s Gall Silver Spear, which had been gathering dust for twenty years, now hung high. The cold gleam of its tip reflected the candlelight, sharp and chilling—a silent declaration of war from the Gu family.
But Wen Yan knew all too well that these were merely shields in plain sight.
The real battlefield was in her mind, within that fragmented chain of evidence.
Wang Fu had been burned to charcoal, leaving no witness to testify.
The manager of Jishi Tang had died suddenly in court, severing the trail.
Now, the only living person who could pry open the dark secrets of Prince Jing’s mansion was Qiu Chan.
With the ten-day deadline looming, Wen Yan decided to wait no longer. She would take the initiative.
…
That night, instead of reading or organizing case files as usual, Wen Yan had Chun’er summon Qiu Chan to her bedroom.
No incense burned in the room, only two flickering candles casting wavering shadows.
No tea was set on the table, just a faded little rattle drum sitting alone.
It was the first toy Qiu Chan had given to Gu Xiewei ten years ago, when she first entered the estate and Xiewei was just six years old.
When Qiu Chan entered, her expression was as deferential as ever, tinged with a hint of numbness.
She lowered her head, preparing to attend to Wen Yan’s washing as usual.
“Sit.”
The word was spoken softly, yet it made Qiu Chan stiffen. The distinction between master and servant was a strict boundary not to be crossed.
“Miss, this servant dares not.”
Without wasting words, Wen Yan picked up the rattle drum and gave it a gentle twist.
Dong-dong-dong—the sound echoed clearly in the silent night.
Qiu Chan’s head snapped up, her eyes fixed on the old toy. The stagnant pool in her eyes finally rippled—a sign of struggle.
Wen Yan seized the moment.
“Qiu Chan, it’s been ten years.”
She stood and approached, naturally taking Qiu Chan’s hand.
Her touch was icy cold, her fingertips trembling slightly.
“If something were to happen to me… where would you go?”
Boom—the words struck like a dagger to the heart. Qiu Chan’s legs weakened, nearly buckling beneath her.
“Miss… please… don’t say such things. You will live a long life…”
Her voice trembled with suppressed sobs, tears welling in her eyes.
The moment was ripe.
Wen Yan tightened her grip on Qiu Chan’s hand, looking directly into her eyes. Her words came fast, each one sharp as a blade.
“Look at me. I know someone is forcing you. Forcing you to do things you never wanted to do.”
Qiu Chan’s pupils trembled violently.
“You’re afraid every day, struggling every day. You don’t want to harm me, do you?”
Wen Yan pressed on, her words rapid and relentless. “That ‘it’ is controlling you, but I can save you. Just tell me—who is it?!”
“I…” Qiu Chan trembled as if shaken by a sieve. The mask of numbness cracked, revealing the terrified, helpless soul beneath.
She looked at Wen Yan like a drowning person clinging to their last piece of driftwood.
Wen Yan activated the Truth-Seeking Eye.
In her vision, the dimmest golden light point on Qiu Chan’s body now flickered with unprecedented intensity, desperately trying to break free from the suppression of the other two light points.
“Speak, Qiu Chan.” Wen Yan’s voice softened, carrying a hint of temptation. “Tell me, who is it. As long as you say it, I can find a way to save you, just like before.”
“Like… before…”
Qiu Chan murmured to herself, the haze in her eyes gradually fading.
She seemed to see again that little sticky rice dumpling from ten years ago, secretly slipping a piece of candy into her palm.
She opened her mouth wide, a wheezing sound like bellows escaping her throat, straining with all her might to squeeze out two words:
“Save… me…”
However,
right at that moment—
A sudden change occurred!
Qiu Chan’s body stiffened abruptly, as if a pause button had been pressed.
The flicker of will to survive that had just ignited in her eyes was swallowed by darkness in an instant, returning to lifelessness.
The speed at which that expression vanished was chillingly fast.
The golden light representing her “true self” was completely obliterated.
Slowly, she withdrew her hand, straightened up, and spoke in a flat, mechanical tone:
“Miss, it’s late. Please take your medicine.”
With that, she turned and walked away, her steps steady, without a trace of hesitation or reluctance, as if the person who had been crying and struggling moments ago had never existed.
Wen Yan stared at her retreating figure, her fingertips lightly tapping the table.
That just now… was a forced override.
That “puppet consciousness” had won.
…
Chun’er tiptoed in, her face full of fear.
A moment later, Chun’er crept in, hunched over, her small face pale as if she had seen a ghost.
“Miss… I’ve been watching her as you instructed these past few days. It’s terrifying!”
“How so?”
Chun’er swallowed hard. “She’s like she’s possessed! During the day, she’s fine, but as soon as night falls, she talks to herself in front of the mirror in her room. One moment she’s crying and begging, saying ‘don’t force me,’ and the next, her face changes, and she says coldly, ‘she must die’… It’s like there are two people inside her body!”
“The weirdest part is…”
Chun’er lowered her voice,
“Exactly at the hour of Zi, she suddenly falls into a deep sleep. When she wakes up the next day, she forgets everything from the previous night and turns back into that wooden stump.”
Wen Yan rubbed her knuckles, a cold glint flashing in her eyes.
She understood. “It’s not possession,” Wen Yan interrupted Chun’er, her tone certain. “This is a type of puppet technique.”
She explained to Chun’er, almost as if speaking to herself.
It was some kind of “underlying command” implanted through drugs combined with hypnosis.
Qiu Chan’s true self-consciousness was still resisting, which was why the split personality appeared.
And the “deep sleep at the hour of Zi” was the system’s forced reboot mechanism—erasing the memories of resistance from the day and resetting the core command to “administer poison.”
This method was dirty, and it was ruthless.
Day after day of erosion, Qiu Chan’s true self-consciousness would grow weaker and weaker until it was completely devoured by that “puppet consciousness,” turning her into a true, mindless puppet that only followed orders.
By then, even if a celestial being descended, she could not be saved.
And today, Wen Yan’s probing had accelerated this process.
That “Puppet Program” sensed the threat and began forcibly suppressing Qiu Chan’s true self.
Wen Yan glanced at the water clock.
The hour of Hai had passed. Less than two hours remained until midnight, the hour of Zi.
There was no more time to wait.
Once the “system rebooted,” all efforts tonight would be in vain.
She had to forcibly awaken Qiu Chan’s true self-consciousness before the next “system reboot” and make her speak the name of the mastermind behind this, completely and clearly!
She needed an anchor point,
a switch that could deliver a precision strike to the “puppet consciousness” without completely destroying Qiu Chan’s mind.
The Truth-Seeking Eye opened once more. Wen Yan’s gaze swept over the medicine chest, finally settling on the residual memory shadow of Qiu Chan—the nine-petaled lotus tattoo on the tiger’s mouth of her hand!
In her vision, the faint golden light representing the “true self” was seeping precisely from the center of that tattoo, yet it was ruthlessly suppressed by the swirling black energy on the petals.
That’s it! It wasn’t mere decoration—it was the Formation Core, the signal receiver!
She stood up, retrieving from the medicine chest a full row of silver needles of varying lengths and a small bottle of strong liquor.
Her plan was simple, yet perilous: use the silver needles to block the meridians around the tattoo, temporarily creating a “physical disconnection.” Then, with the finest needle, aided by the precise positioning of the Truth-Seeking Eye, pierce the core of the Formation Core and use the purest internal energy to forcefully awaken Qiu Chan’s “true self-consciousness.” This was a battle of wits and power against the hidden mastermind from afar! Without further hesitation, Wen Yan called out softly to the door:
“Chun’er, guard the courtyard gate. No one is to enter!”
With that, she picked up the medicine chest, pushed the door open, and strode directly toward Qiu Chan’s room.
…
In Qiu Chan’s room, she sat before the mirror, holding a comb, mechanically brushing her hair stroke by stroke.
Hearing the door open, she slowly turned her head, her face wearing that familiar, lifeless numbness.
“Young Miss, it’s late at night.”
Wen Yan locked the door behind her, placed the medicine chest on the table, and walked step by step toward her, her gaze sharp as a blade.
“Qiu Chan, I know you’re in there.”
She raised the silver needle in her hand, its tip glinting coldly under the candlelight.
“Now, I’m going to pull you out!”
Before the words had fully left her lips, a flash of violent red light flickered in the “puppet” Qiu Chan’s eyes. She suddenly grabbed the scissors by the bed and lunged at Wen Yan!
“She must die!”