The fluorescent pigment continued extending into the canyon, and several people stopped in front of it.
The cold wind blowing out from the canyon was bone-piercing, striking the face like needle pricks, painfully severe.
In the pitch-black night, icicles hung on both sides of the canyon. The end of the road was unseen. Mist billowed around, like a beast opening its mouth to devour human desire, leaving people unable to move.
When they reached the Sifang Restaurant, Zeng Xiaoyan and her husband stopped the ox cart some distance away, choosing not to come closer. Xu Zhichun and Aunt Zhu’er stepped forward with the baskets and knocked on the back gate.
“Who is it?” After a long while, a worker opened the door impatiently.
Seeing two rural women, he immediately showed a look of disgust and wariness, sizing them up rudely.
Jiang Ning had no idea she’d become the target of resentment.
She didn’t know that her casual act of saving Jin Jingxiu would shift something in him—and cause Jiang Mengyue no end of trouble.
She was swinging a whip in the courtyard at that moment.
The whip Jin Jingxiu had gifted her felt just right in her hand. She liked it better than a dagger—whipping suited her more.
Though Hua Yan held the rank of Supreme First-Class National Guardian General of Nanchu, his villa in Liaozhou was remarkably simple.
There were no flowers or plants—the rear courtyard was a vast training ground. Many armored soldiers stood guard, and when they saw Hua Le return, they smiled brightly and offered a half-bow on the spot.
When Jin Jingxiu heard Jiang Mengyue mention the Crown Prince, he became even more certain of what he had seen that day.
He took the deed from his sleeve and placed it on the table, saying, “This is the deed to this residence.”
Jiang Mengyue was completely confused and hadn’t reacted yet—why bring up the deed to this residence now? They were talking about the Crown Prince.
Father Cao saw the bundle and immediately scrambled over, clutching it tightly. His eyes gleamed with greed. He glanced at Cao Lingzhi again, but didn’t obediently back off as Murong Yun had expected.
Instead, he tried to bargain.
“Miss, this isn’t how business is done. I have such a grown daughter—this is far too little.”
The Marchioness of Cheng'en took the teacup that Wen Qingwan handed over with both hands and a beaming smile, and immediately brought it to her lips for a sip.
“Mm, good tea. Yunqing, bring over my name-change gift.” Lady Xiao’s voice was soft—she used “my” instead of “this madam.”
“Yes, Madam.” The maid Yunqing, standing behind her, took out a small, delicate pouch from her sleeve.
