Chapter 77
Outside the Duke’s Mansion, chaos erupted. Although the scene wasn’t as chaotic as the Prime Minister’s residence, it was clear that these people feared Duke Shangguan Ye. They lingered, hoping for him to decide the fate of Murong Qiufeng.
A black steed galloped swiftly from the palace, arriving at the mansion in no time. The sight of the crowd outside the gates turned Shangguan Ye’s expression icy, his face dark as the bottom of a pot.
The gathered people, initially disheartened by his indifference, grew bold when they saw him approach, mistaking his grim demeanor for anger over Murong Qiufeng’s actions. They seized the opportunity to voice their grievances, hoping to win his favor.
As Shangguan Ye dismounted, a vigilant guard took the reins of his horse. Exchanging a glance with the guard, Shangguan Ye ignored the crowd entirely and strode purposefully up the steps.
“Your Grace, Murong Qiufeng is a scoundrel, wreaking havoc upon the common people! We beg you to bring justice and prevent this villain from roaming free!” one man cried out.
Encouraged by his plea, the crowd grew louder, their shouts blending into a cacophony. Shangguan Ye paused, turned back, and swept his sharp gaze over the throng. In an instant, he vanished and reappeared, his hand clamped around the throat of a startled man.
The man’s face alternated between shades of blue and white as he struggled to comprehend what had happened. His terrified expression silenced the crowd.
Shangguan Ye’s cold eyes scanned the assembly again. Spotting a few individuals whose faces betrayed guilt, he gestured to his guards. The captured man was tossed to a waiting soldier.
With a voice like frozen steel, Shangguan Ye declared, “In half an incense stick’s time, I don’t want to see anyone unrelated lingering outside the mansion. Anyone who disobeys will face execution.”
This proclamation chilled the blood of all present. Shangguan Ye was not one to utter idle threats. His reputation, built on battles and bloodshed, ensured his words were heeded.
Without sparing another glance at the crowd, Shangguan Ye entered the mansion and headed toward Murong Qiufeng’s quarters. Before he reached the courtyard, he heard the sharp notes of a guqin. The melody was neither soothing nor harmonious but chaotic and fierce, as if depicting the clash of armies. The music carried an undercurrent of anger and killing intent.
Shangguan Ye’s heart tightened. Murong Qiufeng was rarely angered, let alone driven to murderous rage. Whatever had occurred had clearly crossed his bottom line.
When Shangguan Ye arrived at the courtyard, he found the doors wide open. A young maid, Youxiang, stood inside, visibly distressed as she watched Murong Qiufeng play the guqin with an expressionless face. Even the wolf cub, usually attached to Murong Qiufeng, seemed restless, pulling at Youxiang’s skirt as if urging her to intervene.
The moment the cub saw Shangguan Ye, its dark eyes lit up, and it darted to his feet, tugging at his robes as if imploring him to act.
Shangguan Ye raised a hand to silence Youxiang, signaling her to remain calm. As she left the room, she whispered, “Your Grace, the young master has been like this for an hour. His fingers are bleeding… I’m worried…”
“Let him vent,” Shangguan Ye replied, though his voice betrayed a trace of concern. He then motioned for her to follow him to the study, where they could speak privately.
Murong Qiufeng, meanwhile, was not merely venting. The chaotic notes of the guqin helped him organize his thoughts, teasing out every detail and suspicion. Piece by piece, the puzzle began to form.
By the time the music stopped, his fingers were stained red, and his expression had shifted to one of calm determination. His clear eyes showed neither confusion nor panic, only wisdom and resolve.
He had replayed every moment in his mind, uncovering inconsistencies. Song Lige’s elaborate scheme couldn’t simply be for revenge. The stakes were too high. A woman who risked her reputation couldn’t be acting out of mere spite. There were larger forces at play—perhaps targeting him, Shangguan Ye, the Prime Minister’s estate, or even the Immortal Sword Sect.
He pondered deeply, his thoughts clouded by the possible implications. At his feet, the wolf cub nudged him gently, its round eyes filled with concern.
Looking up, Murong Qiufeng saw Shangguan Ye standing before him. Without a word, Shangguan Ye knelt, carefully tending to Murong Qiufeng’s wounded fingers. The cool touch of medicine stung, but Shangguan Ye’s gentle care eased the pain.
“Don’t move,” Shangguan Ye ordered softly, his stern voice contrasting with his delicate movements.
For a moment, Murong Qiufeng watched him in silence, his heart warmed by the unexpected tenderness. Despite Shangguan Ye’s cold exterior, his actions spoke of a profound care that words could not express.
“Never let yourself get hurt again,” Shangguan Ye said firmly, his gaze locking onto Murong Qiufeng’s. His tone left no room for argument.
Murong Qiufeng nodded lightly, feeling a newfound strength in Shangguan Ye’s unwavering support. The weight of his burdens felt a little lighter, knowing that no matter what storm lay ahead, he would not face it alone.
