“Whoosh—!”
The sound of something tearing through the air was sharp and piercing. A black-feathered short crossbow bolt shot in, accurately and fiercely embedding itself into the Tall Man’s left leg just as he was about to step forward!
The man groaned miserably, stumbled, and fell to his knees. Blood instantly soaked his coarse cloth trousers.
Xie Lanyin used all her strength to turn her head, her unfocused gaze struggling to reach the doorway—
Against the pouring afternoon sunlight, a tall, red figure stood framed in the doorway.
The Flying Fish Robe was a dazzling crimson, as if soaked in blood, or perhaps as if the most scorching rosy glow of the horizon had been draped upon him.
The newcomer stood backlit, his face indistinct. Only his figure, straight as a pine, cut through the dazzling daylight, appearing as if coated in a sharp, brilliant halo.
Who… was it?
The thought was fleeting, too quick to grasp, and there was no time to delve into it. Heavy darkness, like a tide, surged from all directions, swiftly swallowing that faint light and the startling red.
The moment Zhan Shuo stepped into the dim farmhouse, the heavy scent of blood assaulted him.
The sight that met his eyes caused his usually calm gaze, accustomed to scrutinizing criminal justice records without a ripple, to narrow almost imperceptibly.
The woman on the ground was in utter disarray. Her moon white inner garment was torn and messy, half-open and slipping from her shoulder, revealing a delicate lotus-embroidered mauve肚兜 beneath, a patch of skin fairer than frost and snow, dazzling to the eye. One long, jade-like leg was exposed, covered in dust, and her ankle bore deep red ligature marks. Her face was deathly pale, yet a striking trail of blood snaked from her lips. Her long lashes were damp, stained with what could have been sweat or tears, reflecting a fragile glimmer in the dim light.
Fragile, yet possessing a breathtaking fierceness, a remnant of a near-death counterattack.
With just a glance, Zhan Shuo averted his gaze. At the same time, he flicked his wrist, and the black cloud-patterned brocade cloak he wore came loose. He strode forward, not hesitating to drape the cloak over Xie Lanyin, covering her completely.
The thick, soft fabric, carrying an unfamiliar body warmth and a faint, cool pine scent, instantly cut off the cold air and the indecent gazes, thoroughly enveloping her.
“Take them away,” his voice was not loud, but carried a cold, hard, almost metallic scraping quality, falling clearly in the silent farmhouse.
Four Jinyiwei Guards, dressed in brown and armed with Xiuchun Sabers, silently flashed in from outside the door. Their movements were as swift as leopards. Working in pairs, they deftly pinioned the arms of the two men writhing and groaning on the ground, dislocated their jaws to prevent them from biting their tongues, and dragged them out mercilessly like dead dogs, without making a single superfluous sound.
In an instant, only Zhan Shuo remained in the farmhouse, along with Xie Lanyin, unconscious and wrapped in the voluminous cloak.
His gaze fell again, settling on her pale face, stained with dust and grass.
Even under the cover of unconsciousness and grime, her face still revealed strikingly beautiful contours. And her identity was even more unsettling than her appearance—
The paternal granddaughter of First-Rank Grand Tutor Xie Mingyuan, the cherished daughter of Minister of Rites Xie Yanqing, the capital’s most renowned noblewoman, and furthermore… the prospective Imperial Consort, destined for Second Prince Xuanyuan Jingting, a rumor that had vaguely circulated from the palace not long ago.
Xie Lanyin.
Any one of these titles would have been enough for her to live a peaceful life amidst the capital’s most splendid finery, not to be discarded like a broken doll in a filthy place on the outskirts of the capital, her life hanging by a thread.
Was The Xie Family, with its deep roots, so negligent as to fail to protect even its legitimate daughter?
Or was this attack fundamentally aimed at The Xie Family itself? Or perhaps… at the vaguely discernible “prospective Imperial Consort” title behind her, which was enough to influence the imperial court?
As his thoughts raced, the chill in Zhan Shuo’s eyes deepened.
Perhaps, these two were inherently one.
And the secret letter that had “just so happened” to lead him here likely had an even deeper purpose—not only to make him witness the Xie family’s daughter’s tragic state but also to irrevocably drag him, a blade that had always obeyed only the Emperor, into this muddy water.
Indeed, the opponent might have already calculated that, given his identity and responsibilities, he would never stand by idly in such a situation.
A brilliant move.
The corners of his lips tightened imperceptibly for a moment, then settled back into cold stillness.
“Miss Xie, forgive me.”
With that, he bent down. Through the thick cloak, one hand firmly and powerfully supported her shoulder and back, while the other passed beneath her bent knees, gently lifting her into his arms. She leaned against his chest, unaware, her hair disheveled, and un-dried blood still on her temple, cold and fragile.
Zhan Shuo’s gaze lingered for an instant on her tightly closed eyelids, then moved away. Holding her, he turned and strode out of the farmhouse, which reeked of conspiracy and blood.
“Awake?”
A low voice, devoid of warmth, sounded nearby.
Xie Lanyin struggled to open her eyelids. Her vision was initially blurry, only vaguely discerning a dark figure sitting by the bed.
She tried to move, and every bone and muscle in her body instantly protested with a dislocating ache. The dull pain in the back of her head was a constant companion, pounding repeatedly on her fragile nerves.
She gritted her teeth, using all her strength, and managed to shift herself from a supine position to half-sitting against the hard headboard.
Her vision cleared somewhat.
The man before her sat upright on a simple wooden chair. It was him, the man who had saved her.
Now, he was not wearing that striking red robe, but a dark green casual inner garment.
His face, in the dim light of the wing room, appeared sharply defined, his expression one of almost indifferent calm. His calm eyes were fixed on her, a cool, almost professional scrutiny.
Xie Lanyin’s throat was parched and burning, as if scraped by grit. She opened her mouth, squeezing out a hoarse whisper:
“…Water.”
Zhan Shuo said nothing, rising to walk to the table. He lifted the kettle and poured a cup of warm tea, then returned and offered it to her. His movements were swift and decisive, without any wasted motion.
Xie Lanyin took the coarse white porcelain cup, feeling the moderate warmth of the cup wall on her fingertips. She tilted her head back and drank the tea in one go. The warm liquid slid down her burning throat, bringing momentary relief.
“More, please.” She held the empty cup, her voice still hoarse but clearer, her gaze directly on the teapot in his hand.
Zhan Shuo did not immediately move, his eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly.
Her posture just now—taking the cup, tilting her head back, swallowing—was fluid and unhesitating, completely lacking the reserved grace that noblewomen in the capital strove to maintain even when in distress.
Without further words, he directly picked up the celadon teapot from the table, returned to the bed, and refilled her cup.
Xie Lanyin indeed took it again, quickly drinking most of it before her breathing finally calmed slightly. She unceremoniously wiped the remaining water from her lips with her sleeve—another natural gesture completely out of character for the capital’s most elegant noblewoman.
Zhan Shuo’s gaze lingered for an instant, almost imperceptibly, on the cuff of her sleeve that had wiped her mouth.
“You saved me. Thank you.” She thanked him hoarsely, succinctly, then closed her eyes.
It was not rudeness or weariness, but rather the fragments of the original owner’s memories violently surging and clashing in her mind. The intense headache intertwined with unfamiliar images, forcing her to concentrate all her mental energy.
Zhan Shuo watched her suddenly tightly closed eyelids and slightly furrowed brow, raising an eyebrow almost imperceptibly.
Just a moment ago, his subordinate Qingfeng had softly reported the investigation results: “Sir, the short, stocky one in the house suffered severe trauma to his lower abdomen; I’m afraid he’s… crippled. The other, taller one, had his right arm pierced by a silver hairpin, which entered three fen deep into the bone. The technique was extremely precise and ruthless.”
Now, looking at this seemingly frail, newly awakened noblewoman of the Xie family… that “composure in the face of danger” seemed to have a more concrete, and even more astonishing, explanation.
Was this the other face hidden within the foundation of a centuries-old scholarly family? Not only teaching women poetry, etiquette, and rites, but also quietly refining such ruthless counter-attack methods in desperate situations?
If it were Xiao Yu… a sudden pang pierced his heart. The image of that simple, delicate figure he meticulously hid in the deepest part of his mind flashed, then was forcefully suppressed. No, they couldn’t be compared.
“Lord Zhan,” Xie Lanyin said, reopening her eyes. The confusion in them had settled, replaced by a clarity and weariness she struggled to maintain.
Zhan Shuo did not immediately answer. He caught her first clear question after waking, and the fleeting scrutiny deep within her seemingly calm eyes.
“You know me?”
Xie Lanyin’s eyelashes fluttered slightly, not expecting him to ask this first.
“Lord Zhan, Commander of the Imperial Guard… who in the capital doesn’t know you?”
“A month ago on Vermilion Bird Street, I was fortunate enough to see Your Excellency leading your detachment at a gallop.”
That was a blurry image from a corner of the original owner’s memory: the bustling long street suddenly fell silent, people frantically clearing the way as a troop of black-armored Jinyiwei Guards swept past like a dark iron current. The leader’s crimson official robe fluttered, his silhouette sharp as a blade.
A fleeting glimpse, but a deep impression.
Zhan Shuo looked at her, his gaze lingering for a moment on her pale face.
Riding horses through the market… indeed, last month, while pursuing an important criminal, he had certainly galloped through the streets.
He just hadn’t expected this deeply cloistered noblewoman to remember.
“Surveillance Department,” he finally answered her question, three concise words. “A temporary wing room for placement.”
Surveillance Department… the location of the Jinyiwei Imperial Prison.
Xie Lanyin’s heart sank, though she showed no outward sign. “Why… not send me directly home?”
She looked up at him, trying to find a crack in that icy face, to glimpse some clue, but it was still futile. That face was like a snow-covered mountain rock, cold and unfathomable.
Zhan Shuo sat back down on the hard wooden chair, his posture still upright and rigid, his hands resting naturally on his knees, a posture of official business.
“Your esteemed father, Minister Xie, is waiting outside the gate.”
“Once this official has asked a few questions and recorded the details of today’s incident for filing, Miss Xie can return to your residence to recuperate with your father.”
He leaned forward slightly, a subtle movement that conveyed immense pressure: “This matter involves many parties, and this official cannot act on his own. I have already reported it to His Majesty.”
Already reported to His Majesty!
Xie Lanyin’s heart suddenly constricted.
After the brief memory reconstruction and sorting, she knew better than anyone that this “accident” today reeked of meticulous calculation from beginning to end and was by no means coincidental.
And after this incident, regardless of whether she was “intact,” the matter of the “prospective Second Prince’s Consort,” which had only been a palace rumor but had already vaguely stirred the hearts of various factions, would probably also…
At this thought, not only did she feel little disappointment, but a very complex, almost absurd sense of relief swept through her.
Calamity? Or blessing?
If she truly married into the imperial family, with her meager “palace intrigue cells” gleaned from TV dramas, which were mere theoretical knowledge, she probably wouldn’t survive three days in that ruthless inner palace, nor would she know how she died.
But the price of this current “blessing” was perhaps too great, and the repercussions endless.
How would The Xie Family… deal with her?
A legitimate daughter whose reputation was damaged, perhaps even deemed “inauspicious.”
Would they condemn her to a life of solitude, devoted to Buddha, to preserve the family’s pure reputation? Or… would they go further, making her “die of illness” or “accidentally fall,” cleanly erasing this blemish to preserve the dignity of both The Xie Family and the imperial family?
Chaotic thoughts intertwined with a chill. She instinctively closed her eyes, but more memory fragments surged up at this moment, diluting some of the cold, realistic considerations.
She “saw” the original owner mischievously eavesdropping outside her grandfather’s study and getting caught red-handed, saw her playfully coaxing her mother for an extra piece of sweet pastry, saw her laughing and chasing butterflies with her cousins in the garden, her eyes bright and lively, full of spirit…
Ah, this original owner… was actually a pampered, somewhat mischievous, vibrant, and cheerful girl.
Xie Lanyin slowly took a breath.
“Lord Zhan, please ask.”