Chapter 76
Outside the prince’s mansion, the scene was equally chaotic, though slightly less intense than at the Murong estate. The gathered crowd, while emboldened, was still wary of offending Shangguan Ye, waiting for him to judge the matter and take action against Murong Qiufeng.
A black steed galloped swiftly through the streets from the palace, soon arriving at the mansion. As it stopped, the rider, Shangguan Ye, dismounted with a face as cold and dark as an iron pot.
The gathered crowd, upon seeing Shangguan Ye, grew excited. Noticing his grim expression, they assumed he was equally furious at Murong Qiufeng. Some began shouting, hoping to gain his favor by accusing Murong.
“Your Highness, Murong Qiufeng is a scourge, harming the innocent. Please deliver justice for us common folk and rid us of this menace!” one voice cried.
Emboldened by these words, others chimed in, their accusations growing louder.
Shangguan Ye’s raised foot paused mid-step. He turned back, his piercing gaze scanning the crowd. With a swift move, he grabbed one man by the throat, yanking him forward with inhuman speed. The man, pale and trembling, stared at the prince as if he were a ghost.
The crowd fell silent, their previous clamor dissipating under Shangguan Ye’s oppressive aura. As his cold eyes swept over them, a few in the crowd flinched, their faces betraying their intent to flee. Shangguan Ye made a subtle hand gesture, signaling his guards. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he tossed the captured man to a waiting guard.
“Half an incense stick’s time,” Shangguan Ye declared in a chilling tone. “I want no one irrelevant outside my gates. Stay, and you’ll face the blade.”
The threat carried weight, his reputation as a ruthless general who thrived in bloodshed lending it credence. Fear gripped the crowd as they dispersed hurriedly, faces pale with terror.
Without another glance, Shangguan Ye ascended the steps and entered the mansion. Following the sound of music, he made his way toward Murong Qiufeng’s quarters.
The closer he got, the more the discordant notes of a zither grew audible. Unlike its usual serene tones, the music carried chaos and ferocity—like a battlefield drenched in blood. It was stirring yet laced with palpable rage and killing intent.
Shangguan Ye’s expression darkened. Murong Qiufeng was not someone easily angered, let alone to the point of harboring murderous intent. For him to react this way meant that this ordeal had touched a nerve.
When he reached the courtyard, he saw Yuxiang pacing anxiously by the open doorway, her face filled with worry. At her feet, the little blood wolf pup whimpered and tugged at her hem, trying to push her toward the room.
The moment the wolf spotted Shangguan Ye, its dark eyes lit up. Forgetting its usual fear of the prince, it darted to him, tugging at his cloak as if pleading for help.
Yuxiang noticed him as well and moved to speak, but he silenced her with a hand gesture. She lowered her voice, saying, “Your Highness, the young master has been like this since he returned. It’s been over an hour now. His fingers are bleeding, and I’m afraid—”
“Let him vent,” Shangguan Ye interrupted, his tone steady but tinged with concern. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
Though his heart ached for Murong Qiufeng, he knew the young man needed an outlet to process his anger. He gestured for Yuxiang to follow him into the study.
Inside, Murong Qiufeng sat at the zither, his expression blank but his playing relentless. Blood stained the white jade of his fingers, yet he didn’t stop. His music was chaotic, but to the trained ear, it was also calculated, as if he were piecing together a puzzle through sound.
By the time the music stopped, the room was heavy with tension. Murong Qiufeng rested his trembling hands on the strings, his eyes closed. When he finally opened them, the anger and confusion were gone, replaced by a calm, calculating sharpness.
As he reflected on the events, he pieced together the truth: the trap laid by Song Lige was far too elaborate to be born of simple spite. Her actions couldn’t merely be a personal vendetta. The involvement of a third party, whose martial skills rivaled his own, further complicated matters. This wasn’t just about him—it could be an attack on the Murong family, Shangguan Ye, or even the imperial court itself.
Lost in thought, he felt something nudging his leg. Glancing down, he saw the little blood wolf staring up at him with concern. He reached down to stroke it, only to notice his bloodied hands.
Before he could withdraw them, Shangguan Ye appeared at his side, his gaze dark and unreadable. “Don’t move,” the prince commanded, kneeling by the zither.
Shangguan Ye carefully took Murong Qiufeng’s hands, his expression softening ever so slightly as he cleaned the wounds with practiced precision. His touch was gentle, though his brow furrowed with displeasure at the sight of the injuries.
The sharp sting of the ointment made Murong Qiufeng flinch, but he said nothing. Watching Shangguan Ye’s solemn face, his anger and frustration began to ebb away. The prince’s unspoken care and concern warmed him, and for the first time that day, a faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
