Chapter 8: Hunu

Xie Chongqing turned around at once, his back now to Yan Ling. He removed the cloak from his shoulders and flung it backward over her head.

“Put it on.”

If one listened closely, there was restrained anger beneath his words.

Yan Ling’s cheeks burned instantly, as though she had been seen through completely. Shame flooded her, leaving her nowhere to hide.

So this was what it meant to play the temptress—clearly not something just anyone could manage.

But she had no other choice.

Clenching her teeth, Yan Ling endured the humiliation and picked up the cloak, draping it over herself. A faint scent of sandalwood unfurled in wisps around her. She hesitated, then loosened her grip—her fox-fur coat slid down, pooling at her waist.

The cloak was large—much larger than her fox fur—enough to wrap her whole body within it.

The heat from the bath had yet to dissipate inside the room, mingling with the fragrance of bath beads and hair oil, thick and intoxicating enough to make one dizzy.

“I… I’m dressed,” came her soft voice from behind.

When Xie Chongqing turned back, a vein at his temple twitched almost imperceptibly.

Yan Ling stood as she had before—bare beneath his dark cloak, the fox fur still gathered at her waist. The contrast between the deep black fabric, the pale pink fur, and her long, white legs created a strikingly provocative image.

Xie Chongqing could more or less guess why she had resorted to such thoughts. The method was clumsy, transparent at a glance, so obvious it almost made him sneer. And yet, alongside that came a deep-seated contempt and revulsion.

Yan Ling’s scalp prickled; she didn’t dare look at him. She knew her movements must look stiff and unnatural.

What she didn’t know was that this very stiffness lent her an added air of timid fragility—pity it was wasted on someone like Lord Xie, who loathed female allure to the extreme.

Outside, Qingtao and the others were waiting when the door suddenly flew open. Xie Chongqing strode out briskly, his expression faintly displeased.

Qingtao jumped, thinking the two must have quarreled—yet she’d heard no disturbance at all.

When she entered, Yan Ling was sitting quietly, unharmed, only now with a familiar cloak draped over her shoulders.

Qingtao didn’t ask questions. “Madam, shall you retire for the night?”

Yan Ling nodded blankly, exhaled slowly, her expression returning to calm. She unhurriedly removed the cloak and tossed it aside.

Qingtao helped her change into her nightwear. When she went to put the cloak away, Yan Ling said, “Return it tomorrow.”

Qingtao agreed.

The next day, Xie Chongqing was in his study reading documents. Dressed in white, half his body bathed in sunlight, he looked refined and noble beyond words.

Qingtao handed the cloak to Yuan Che, who brought it inside and hung it neatly on the screen near Xie Chongqing’s desk for his convenience.

Xie Chongqing glanced at the cloak but ignored it. After a while, however—perhaps because it was unbearably conspicuous, or perhaps because Yan Ling’s lingering fragrance clung to it, seeping everywhere—

“Yuan Che.”

Yuan Che entered. “My lord.”

“Throw it away. No—burn it,” Xie Chongqing said coldly.

Though confused, Yuan Che obeyed and took the cloak away.

For several days in a row, Qingtao’s reports were much the same: she barely ate, had grown thinner, and remained dispirited. In the end, Xie Chongqing reluctantly lifted Yan Ling’s confinement.

She was finally allowed to take short walks in Lotus Courtyard—only for two quarters of an hour, but that was enough. At least she no longer had to suffocate within four walls.

Still, as she left Bamboo Purity Court, she keenly sensed shadows lingering nearby. The familiarity of it made her realize instantly—

This place was a prison under surveillance.

She didn’t know how long she would be kept here.

Yan Ling had always been optimistic; even at dead ends, she could maintain composure. But this time, she truly didn’t know what to do.

There were people outside who could save her—but how could she break through a Xie estate sealed like an iron barrel?

Gongsun Zhi had not appeared for days. Yan Ling’s anxiety reached its peak.

Late autumn rains came often. Cold dampness clung to the air. When Xie Chongqing returned home, he saw Yan Ling outside his residence just as expected.

She sat quietly beneath the corridor, not even wearing a cloak, her frame exceptionally fragile.

As he drew closer, mist dampened her hair. Half her shoulder was already soaked, her thin garments clinging to bone and flesh, making her look even weaker.

Xie Chongqing frowned.

Ignoring the curtain of rain, she leaned forward, biting her lip. “I beg you, my lord—tell me how my imperial father fares.”

Tilting his bamboo umbrella slightly, Xie Chongqing looked down at her, expression cold. After a long silence, his gaze shifted sharply to Qingtao, clearly reproaching her incompetence.

Qingtao lowered her head, not daring to breathe loudly. The madam had insisted on waiting here—no amount of persuasion worked. She had even blocked her wheelchair herself; as a servant, Qingtao couldn’t force her.

Yan Ling’s eyes glistened, her brows soft and pitiful, but beneath that was a surging chill.

“At the Imperial Medical Office, all efforts are being made to ensure your father’s safety,” Xie Chongqing finally said. “You may rest assured.”

With that, he turned to leave.

Yan Ling grabbed his wrist, wanting to ask more.

Her palm was icy cold. Xie Chongqing recoiled as if burned, wrenching free at last.

“Let go.”

He had always been fastidious, disliked being touched. Saying so, he stepped inside and shut the door forcefully.

Left outside, Yan Ling bit her lip and coughed softly, her thin shoulders curling inward.

A long time passed—so long she was about to leave.

Then the door opened.

She lifted her head. Her dark lashes trembled, eyes reddened like dew clinging to a blossom at dawn—fragile, pitifully beautiful.

Xie Chongqing expressionlessly threw his cloak over her head.

“What exactly do you want? If you wish to die, don’t do it in my courtyard.”

His blue-sleeved robe fluttered in the wind, like a cyan bird swooping down in hunt.

Meanwhile, near Qixia Mountain, Gongsun Zhi had wandered for days, already losing hope—until one day, local children dragged a towering Hu man to him.

“Where is A-Ling?” The Hu man’s strength was immense. His face was haggard, gem-like eyes bloodshot as he seized Gongsun Zhi’s shoulders and demanded madly.

Fu Li was nearly desperate. For days, only belief had sustained him. If A-Ling was gone, there was no reason to live. He had failed to protect her—he deserved death.

One day, exhausted, he collapsed in the mountains and was rescued by a farmer.

He awoke to a folk song—A-Ling’s clear voice overlapping with children’s voices, as if calling him.

He had been by her side since childhood, her shadow. He had promised to protect her for life. This song was one she often sang—she said her mother used it to lull her to sleep.

After waking, he found the children and urgently asked where they’d heard it.

They led him to this man.

Gongsun Zhi was startled. Seeing Fu Li’s blue eyes and imposing build—matching Madam Yan’s description—he hurriedly said, “You must be the elder brother Xueci sought. She’s been asking me to find you. Brother Yan, don’t panic—don’t—”

His face flushed as he patted Fu Li’s arm, gasping for air.

Fu Li released him abruptly, anger rising. Xueci—how dare he call her that?

“You saved her? Take me to her—now.”

“Brother Yan, calm down. Xueci wasn’t saved by me. She’s currently in the Xie residence.”

Fu Li froze. “Which Xie residence?”

“Lord Xie Chongqing’s—the current Shangshu Pushe.”

Fu Li’s vision darkened. He recalled the day Xie Chongqing brought a hunting hound to search Zhangyun Hall—A-Ling had already been in his grasp then. Fury surged; he wanted nothing more than to tear Xie Chongqing apart.

So what was the purpose of that feint?

Piecing it together, Fu Li steadied himself. Xie Chongqing and Prince Hui were allies—this had to be Prince Hui’s doing.

“Xueci told me you were harmed by traitors and advised against rash action,” Gongsun Zhi added. “If you have anything to say, tell me—I’ll pass it on.”

Only then did Fu Li really look at him. The man wore Daoist robes, yet his bearing was extraordinary.

“Who are you?” Fu Li asked warily.

“I am a retainer of the Xie clan—Gongsun Zhi.”

At the mention of Xie, Fu Li’s hand tightened around his blade.

“I met Xueci through shared affinity,” Gongsun Zhi said earnestly. “She is… my confidante.”

Fu Li stared at him coldly, his expression darkening.

This man clearly didn’t know A-Ling’s true identity—meaning she didn’t fully trust him.

“Thank you. I have many enemies. Please do not reveal my whereabouts to anyone.”

After a pause, he suppressed his impulse and looked straight at Gongsun Zhi.

Gongsun Zhi probed, “What is your trade, Brother Yan?”

“A Hu merchant. I travel far and wide.”

So that was it.

“Then rest assured—I’ll keep your secret.”

“Time is short. Take me to the Xie residence—now.”

They mounted horses and headed into the city without delay. But fate was unkind. At the city gates, they ran into Tiger Guard patrols—rows upon rows of black armor.

“I’ve been away a few days,” Gongsun Zhi sighed. “Security’s tightened quite a bit.”

Fu Li didn’t respond. All he could think of was seeing A-Ling again.

“Stop.”

A commander spotted Fu Li’s unusual appearance and barked.

Gongsun Zhi’s heart clenched.

“Travel permits.” The guard commander—of the Yu clan—spoke curtly. Hu people were rare in Jiankang, and usually slaves.

“This one is my newly purchased Hu s*ave,” Gongsun Zhi hurriedly explained, producing his permit. “He’s not yet tamed—temper’s fierce.”

Fu Li silently handed over his own.

The commander eyed them suspiciously, then let them pass.

Fu Li surveyed the surroundings. He hadn’t followed the army back—who would have thought security had grown so strict?

Likely due to the assassination attempt involving A-Ling.

As they led their horses inward, Gongsun Zhi was about to suggest Fu Li conceal his features—

“Wait.”

Soldiers swiftly surrounded them. Another commander stepped forward—this one from the Huan clan—his gaze fixed on Fu Li’s blue eyes.

It was said the missing Twelfth Prince had a fiercely loyal Hu guard matching this description.

“With war raging north and south,” the commander said coldly, “all Hu entering the city must be detained and searched.”

With a wave of his hand, they were seized.

Gongsun Zhi was stunned. “Sir, I am—”

“Brother Gongsun.”

Fu Li cut him off.

If Xie Chongqing learned of their connection, A-Ling would lose all hope.

Gongsun Zhi’s face crumpled in despair.

As they were dragged aside, several men approached. Fu Li lifted his head and recognized the lead commander.

“Captain Wang,” he called out—

He was kicked to the ground immediately.

Wang Ke turned, frowning. “Who called me?”

Fu Li forced out the words:

“Personal guard to the Twelfth Prince—Fu Li.”