The maid clutched the hem of Jing Miaoyi’s gown as if it were her last lifeline. “Miss Jing, please… save me… save me…”
The burly housekeeper stepped forward and yanked her away in one swift motion, her movements sharp and precise, revealing some training in her stance.
Jing Miaoyi shoved the woman aside and shielded her maid beneath her arm. “What exactly do you want?”
The man didn’t spare her a glance, simply picking up his chopsticks. “Eat.”
The housekeeper at his back withdrew after receiving the unspoken command.
“Thank you, Miss Jing. Thank you, Duke,” the maid stammered, her voice trembling as she hurried away.
In an instant, the room was left with only the two of them.
“I’m going back.”
“Eat.”
“I said let me go back!” Jing Miaoyi swept the dishes from the table with a single hand.
The clattering crash of bowls and chopsticks shattered on the floor cast an eerie stillness over the room.
The man’s thin lips pressed tight, the corners of his mouth dipping slightly. His cold, composed face now radiated a deadly, predatory aura.
In the next second, his long, defined fingers clamped around her neck, pressing her down onto the table.
“Go back? Where exactly do you think you’re going?”
“L-let go!”
A madman—he was utterly insane.
Jing Miaoyi flailed, pounding on him in desperation. Her clear, cold eyes were tinged red from the suffocating pressure, adding a shattered, almost broken edge to her beauty.
Even in this dire moment, there was never a hint of pleading in her gaze.
He wanted to see the goddess fall to the mortal plane, to watch her beg in despair.
Provoked, he tightened his grip.
Her consciousness began to waver as his hold constricted. She raised her hands, only for him to trap her wrists effortlessly, lifting them above her head and forcing her fingers to intertwine.
A beauty as fragile as jade—since she scorned his love, she would bear his hatred instead.
His thumb brushed her smooth wrist with a faintly suggestive touch, feeling her pulse leap sharply—
He wanted the goddess to be unsettled by him.
She truly suited white. One layer after another, he lifted the garments representing purity, revealing her exquisitely sculpted figure.
As the aura of sanctity fell away, what remained was a natural, intoxicating allure.
Every night, in dreams that came unbidden, he saw that spring day again.
She had accepted his flowers, accepted the admiration of her followers, peeling away each layer of clothing bit by bit.
Her cold, detached eyes, when they met his, were filled with heartfelt emotion.
Ruan Xi chuckled lowly, leaning close to her fair earlobe. This scent—exactly like in his dreams—haunted him day and night, relentless in memory.
“Shameless—”
The next second, he bent down and kissed her, feeling the struggle and resistance beneath him.
Jing Miaoyi’s body shuddered, her waist twisting like a serpent as she tried to break free.
But the man’s hands were like iron clamps; her slender waist trembled beneath his grip.
“Duke!” Chang Qing suddenly interrupted from outside the door.
Ruan Xi’s brow furrowed. In that moment of distraction, Jing Miaoyi seized the opportunity and shoved him violently away.
“Smack—”
The sharp slap echoed in the room, instantly thickening the tense atmosphere.
He pressed his tongue to the side of his mouth that had been struck, a dark, chilling smile curling at the corners.
“Duke, Shen Jueming is here.”
Jing Miaoyi’s expression flickered. She hurriedly pulled on her outer robe, trying to dash to the door.
“Trying to run?” The man’s broad hand caught her slim waist, lifting her onto his shoulder despite her struggles, and carried her behind the screen.
“You wanted to go back? Let me show you a little entertainment first.” He pinned her to a chair, drawing the red sash from his waist to bind her firmly.
“Let go! You madman! What exactly do you want?” she shouted, struggling as the chair scraped against the floor, sharp and grating.
“Quiet.” He pressed a handkerchief against her mouth, fingertips resting lightly on her lips. “I remember your maid stayed with you a long time.”
A threat.
Jing Miaoyi fell silent. This man was ruthless, a true killer. If she didn’t obey, he would genuinely kill Baozhu.
“That’s better,” he said, satisfied with her compliance, his rough fingers gently massaging her earlobe.
Ruan Xi stepped out from behind the screen, taking his place in the master’s chair. “Bring him in.”
Shen Jueming stood tall in a sky-blue brocade robe, jade belt fastened around his lean waist. His posture upright, back straight, exuding the refined elegance of a scholar.
Ruan Xi gripped the chair tightly. Over all these years, she had never stopped admiring such a scholarly presence.
But this lifetime, her desires would never be fulfilled.
“Father, your son pays respects.” Shen Jueming spoke with formal respect, calling a man barely four years older than him “Father.”
He felt no shame—his honesty was plain, and he possessed none of the scholar’s pride.
Ruan Xi had no respect for a man who traded loyalty for gain, who sold his wife for status.
A cold snort left his lips.
“Father, what happened here?” Shen Jueming asked, seeing the shattered pieces on the floor, his tone tinged with filial concern.
“Just a disobedient cat,” Ruan Xi replied casually.
The moment he arrived, he had heard Baozhu was being held, that Miaoyi was on a hunger strike, demanding to return. That alone stoked his burning resentment.
“Do you know why I called you?”
The shadow in Shen Jueming’s eyes vanished. “Your son… does not know?”
“A divorce deed.”
Shen Jueming’s face shifted instantly. He could hardly believe his ears.
“Father, what are you doing?”
“I’ll be direct. Divorce deed.” He lifted his eyelids lazily. “I am the father-in-law, she is your daughter-in-law. The union is not legitimate.”
Shen Jueming’s fingers trembled, anger flaring instantly to his brow.
Overstepping, insolent, shameless.
He had already yielded, yet what more did Ruan Xi demand?
“Unwilling?” Ruan Xi’s voice was light, almost teasing. “Shen Jueming, I can dress you in that crimson official robe, and I can undress you as well.”
Shen Jueming’s face darkened, nails digging into his palms. He couldn’t accept it—Miaoyi was his wife. Why—
He wanted to kill him.
Shouting against heaven and man, he drew his sword, intent on striking down the Duke.
“Shen Jueming!”
Ruan Xi’s patience had run thin.
Snapping back to control, Shen Jueming swallowed the rage, his expression instantly returning to composed respect.
“What Father says is right. She is but a woman. The bonds of father and son, sovereign and subject, must come first. If a father seeks a divorce, the son shall comply.”
Such obedience. Truly his good son.
Ruan Xi couldn’t help but smile, eyes fixed behind the screen. He wanted to see Jing Miaoyi’s reaction—this would be exquisite.
This was the scholar she loved. Shameless, yet far inferior to him, a brute.
Shen Jueming’s calligraphy was majestic and imposing. Using the robust strokes of seal script in regular script, the lines were full, vigorous, resilient like a “folded hairpin.” His writing bore more backbone than the man himself.
Even Ruan Xi, barely literate, could recognize the skill.
Shen Jueming handed over the completed divorce deed.
Ruan Xi cared little for the content; his goal was humiliation.
He took the paper, moving behind the screen with a sly smile. “A day as husband and wife, a hundred days of gratitude. At least one last meeting is deserved.”
He pushed the screen aside.
The moment Shen Jueming saw Jing Miaoyi, his face drained of color. He scrambled to his feet, nearly stumbling.
“Mia—”
Ruan Xi’s cold gaze swept over, silencing him instantly.
“Snap.”
The brush he held broke.
“Miss Jing.”
Her almond-shaped eyes glistened with tears, lip bitten, filled with sorrow and affection.
Shen Jueming panicked. He wanted to tell her it wasn’t his true feeling.
Ruan Xi watched the heartbroken Miaoyi, and the sense of playful cruelty vanished completely.
She liked him, despite everything. A worthless man.
A fiery anger blazed in Ruan Xi’s chest, brows furrowed, eyes sharp as knives.
“Get lost—”
He stepped forward, yanking the handkerchief from her mouth, gripping her chin. “Jing Miaoyi, are you a fool? Someone like him, and you still like him, still shed tears for him. Now you are a discarded woman—Shen family won’t take you, and the Jing family won’t have you back.”
Like.
A mocking glint flickered in Jing Miaoyi’s lowered eyes. If not for clearing her father’s name, she would have killed him long ago.
Why waste effort feigning compliance with such a man?
Yet she owed Ruan Xi gratitude—if he weren’t so arrogant, how could she drive a wedge between them?
Those like Shen Jueming, enduring yet dangerous, must be watched. Once he acts, it would be fatal.
Dog eats dog. Let them destroy each other.
She would gladly watch.
“Duke,” Chang Qing interrupted softly, “Princess Zhao Jia has arrived.”
“What does she want?” Ruan Xi bellowed.
Chang Qing paused. “She’s here to escort Miss Jing into the palace.”
Ruan Xi’s face darkened instantly. He turned to Jing Miaoyi. “It’s you.”
He had said it—Shen Jueming’s weak nature would never sacrifice such a brilliant future.
A cold smile. “Do you think the Emperor will act on your behalf?”
“Jing Miaoyi, think carefully—what to say and what not to say. After all, your little maid is still waiting at the Duke’s mansion.”