"My lady..." Yan Congxiao cautiously reached out and brushed against Ye Jiao's arm.
"Help me up," Ye Jiao muttered.
Every ounce of strength that had returned to her body was precious—none of it could be wasted.
Overjoyed by her words, Yan Congxiao grasped her arm and lifted her to her feet. But Ye Jiao, still weak from the knockout drug, could barely stand, her frailty adding to her delicate charm.
"Slowly, my dear. Careful..." he murmured, drool trickling from the corner of his lips. He didn't bother to wipe it, focusing instead on supporting her swaying steps as they neared the open window.
And then—without warning—Ye Jiao gripped the window lattice and vaulted outside.
Her movements were far from nimble. Her limbs remained leaden, and the act of climbing out nearly drained the last of her strength. But she had trained for this—trained for years under her grandfather's old comrades, ever since she, as a child, had chosen a sword during her "Zhua Zhou" ceremony. All those hours spent on the wooden stakes, the punches she had thrown, the countless times she had drawn a bow and pulled it to full tension—perhaps all of it had been for this moment. To escape the clutches of a beast.
"Where do you think you're going, my sweet?" Yan Congxiao called out, lunging toward her.
But his ankle still throbbed with pain. Clumsily, he clambered after her, dragging himself through the window.
Outside was a viewing terrace.
Perhaps deliberately, Ye Jiao didn't run far. After a few steps beyond the lattice, she came to a stiff, unnatural halt—as if her strength had run out.
Yan Congxiao, impatient, pounced toward her.
But under the moonlight, the pale figure before him suddenly twisted aside. He crashed into the railing. As he tried to regain his balance, pain flared again in his injured ankle.
Ye Jiao crouched, seized his foot, and with one ruthless motion, flipped him over.
Yan Congxiao plummeted from the terrace.
A thunderous crack split the air. The wooden bridge beneath the pavilion shattered beneath his fall. His screams mingled with the shouts of Qian Yougong.
"Young Master Yan! What happened?!"
Ye Jiao peered down. Yan Congxiao lay sprawled across the splintered bridge, an iron rod skewering him through the abdomen, pinning him in place. Judging by its placement, it must have been the net pole she'd accidentally wedged into the bridge's crevice earlier.
The black iron shaft quivered in the moonlight, like a soul-reaping pen wielded by a judge from the underworld. Blood bloomed across the pond's surface in crimson ripples.
Ye Jiao stood frozen on the terrace, her soul nearly torn from her body.
Qian Yougong shook Yan Congxiao frantically, saying something she could not hear.
She knew she couldn't stay.
Sister. She had to find her sister. Her only chance for salvation.
Still weak, Ye Jiao forced herself down the stairs. She stumbled in the direction of Ye Rou's quarters, step by painful step, her thoughts gradually regaining clarity.
No. Her sister was with child—she couldn't be frightened. She mustn't be made to rise in the night only to learn that her own sister had nearly been defiled.
And the monster behind it all… was her husband.
Ye Jiao stepped back and veered away from the pavilion.
She saw Qian Yougong hadn't followed—he was preoccupied.
"Young Master Yan! Are you alright?!"
"Did you bring any attendants with you tonight?" Qian Yougong asked.
Through his screams of agony, Yan Congxiao managed to answer. "No…"
Qian Yougong nodded grimly and began to pull the iron rod from Yan Congxiao's body.
His movements were violent, utterly devoid of compassion. Halfway through, realizing the rod was entangled in the net, he flipped the man over and yanked it out from the other side.
Hidden behind a tree, Ye Jiao felt a chilling instinct settle over her.
Qian Yougong wouldn't let him live.
He couldn't risk Yan Congxiao surviving—couldn't explain to the Yan family, couldn't erase the crime of attempted rape.
Under the pale moonlight, Qian Yougong hesitated briefly. Then he picked up a heavy stone and, without a word, smashed it down on Yan Congxiao's skull.
Ye Jiao staggered back, nearly falling. The dull, sickening crack of bone echoed into the night.
"Little sister-in-law..." Qian Yougong called softly after the kill.
The moon slipped behind the clouds.
Ye Jiao fled.
His voice pursued her.
"Don't be afraid. It's just a family matter. The servants won't wake tonight. As long as we don't speak of it, no one will ever know."
She ran toward the courtyard wall, her strength slowly returning.
Still, Qian Yougong coaxed.
"Won't your sister worry if you run away? Aren't you afraid your reputation will be ruined if this gets out? Don't do anything foolish—your sister carries my child."
His voice was low and sticky with false tenderness.
Ye Jiao hesitated at the wall.
Then the moon reappeared—and in its light, she saw the wooden staff in his hand.
He was here to kill her.
The moonlight revealed her to him as well.
He charged, murderous intent blazing in his eyes.
Ye Jiao didn't pause again.
She vaulted over one wall, then another, and finally scrambled over the tall outer wall into the street beyond.
Never had she been so disheveled.
Born and raised in the residence of a Duke, even though her family held no office now, she had always lived in comfort and dignity. But tonight, she wore only her thin sleeping robe, her neck bleeding from a cut inflicted by Qian Yougong. Dirt and sweat clung to her clothes. Her heart pounded with fear—and fury.
How dare he?
Was it because the Duke's family no longer had the Chancellor's backing? Because her sister had married him, so the Ye family could be crushed at will? Was the absence of political allies an invitation to be trampled?
She couldn't stop. She had to keep going.
Barefoot, Ye Jiao stumbled through the streets, her soles torn by jagged stones, every step an agony.
Behind her, the sound of a carriage approached.
A lantern swung from the front, and the driver hummed an old tune.
"In reverence stands the Pure Temple, stately and serene. Scholars abound, graced with virtue and learning…"
The verses came from the Book of Songs—a hymn offered by kings in ancestral worship.
Who was it, in the capital's shadowed night, singing an ancient paean?
His voice was calm, touched with a clarity that defied life and death—yet laced with a fury, a tenacious pride, as though the singer stood alone before a monstrous demon, sword drawn, unbowed.
The carriage neared. The song ceased.
Then a voice called out, startled: "Miss Ye?"
Ye Jiao turned without hesitation and flung herself into the carriage.
Let them mock her if they must—she would survive. She had a goal to reach.
A single candle flickered inside. The man she had met just days before hesitated, then ducked in after her.
He wore a black robe with a round collar. A piece of white jade and a gold peach-shaped charm hung from his waist.
It was Li Ce.
His dark eyes studied her disheveled figure in silence, contemplative and sharp.
He spoke lightly, teasing, "What a coincidence—sleepwalking, Miss Ye?"
Ye Jiao didn't answer.
Inside the cramped carriage, her mind began to clear. The horrors she had just endured surged back in vivid fragments.
A flicker of grievance passed over her face—but was quickly replaced by guarded distance.
She raised her chin, looked straight at Li Ce, and bit her lip.
"I need your clothes."
This nightgown was too revealing. She needed proper garments to move through the city.
Of course. The last time they met, she'd nearly kissed him after slamming him into a wall. Now she demanded his clothes, with no trace of modesty.
But Li Ce didn't jest.
She was speaking—so things weren't beyond repair.
"What happened?" he asked, even as his fingers moved to undo his collar.
He was asking, and helping.
His lashes trembled with concern. Panic crept through his poised expression. His hands shook; it took several tries to unfasten a single button.
He was furious. And relieved to have found her.
"I'm going to the magistrate," Ye Jiao said.
She would report it. She would let the Capital Prefect see how his own men had become beasts in human skin.
She didn't care about her reputation. Didn't care if life became harder.
If no one else dared to challenge the monsters, she would. Let them burn in hell.