Chapter One Hundred Sixteen: The Bashful Young Man

Yuwen Lingxi (Xiao) still sipped his tea with an air of tranquility, as if the question had not been directed at him at all.

But Qiao Zhi was not so careless. Warily, he set down his cup, glanced at Lan Shui and Lian Yue, who seemed utterly unconcerned, then switched to another cup and only dared to take a tiny sip. His nerves were so taut that he failed to notice Lian Yue’s subtle pause as he picked up the cup.

This, inevitably, set the stage for his misfortune.

The moment the water touched his lips, Qiao Zhi sensed something was wrong, but it was too late. The liquid became a numbing agent, seeping into his lips and tongue. Helpless and exasperated, he looked from one cup to the other, his peach blossom eyes brimming with grievance as he gazed at Yuwen Lingxi, who remained as composed as ever.

“Rest for half an hour,” Yuwen Lingxi said coldly, the few words enough to make Qiao Zhi’s face collapse in despair.

Having watched this amusing scene, Lian Yue couldn’t help but think, “Evil meets its match.”

Lan Shui merely frowned slightly at Qiao Zhi’s misery, wisely choosing to ignore it. However, she did glance at the two cups Qiao Zhi had used, a hint of concern in her eyes.

Yuwen Lingxi noticed her hesitation and said blandly, “Just scald them with hot water.”

Lan Shui nodded, deciding to leave the matter at that.

Seeing that Qiao Zhi remained silent, his gaze hot and fixed on Yuwen Lingxi, Lian Yue mused that anyone unaware of what had just transpired might well suspect some secret affair between the two.

The pill Yuwen Lingxi had given her was indeed effective. “He really can’t speak now?” Lian Yue’s tone was laced with barely concealed glee, and Qiao Zhi, had he been able, would have gnashed his teeth in frustration.

“He’ll recover in half an hour,” Yuwen Lingxi replied.

Lian Yue paused, her eyes shining even brighter, her gaze as intense as Qiao Zhi’s. “Could you give me some of that medicine you just used?”

Yuwen Lingxi was curious about her intentions but chose not to ask. He simply took out a pouch of medicine and handed it to her.

Delighted, Lian Yue accepted it as if it were a treasure, shooting a mischievous grin at the now-mute Qiao Zhi. That glance made her intentions abundantly clear to all present.

Qiao Zhi, realizing this, lunged for the medicine in a rare display of disregard for his dignity, but Lian Yue deftly evaded him.

Brandishing the medicine pouch in warning, Lian Yue declared, “If you keep on chattering, I’ll use this to punish you.”

So this was what it meant to suffer in silence—Qiao Zhi embodied it perfectly. He could already foresee himself falling victim to this trick time and again in the future. Clearly, he would need to be doubly cautious and best avoid eating or drinking anything where Lian Yue was present. Why not just talk less? Well, Qiao Zhi was born with a sharp tongue—being unable to speak was as good as death to him.

At that moment, Zizhu entered carrying a bowl of medicine. “Miss, your medicine is ready.”

Only then did Lian Yue put away her newly acquired pouch, step forward to accept the bowl, test its temperature, and, with a decisive tilt of her head, swallow it in one go.

This display surprised both Yuwen Lingxi and Qiao Zhi. Of all the young women they knew, few drank medicine so resolutely.

But almost immediately, Lian Yue grabbed several candied fruits from Zizhu, munching on them to chase away the bitterness—proving that even she was not immune to it.

Qiao Zhi found some comfort in this.

Once Lian Yue had recovered, Zizhu said, “Miss, I just saw Young Master Zhou pacing outside. He nearly knocked several times. Should I invite him in?”

Lian Yue recalled the shy youth she’d just met. Having such a father was hardly his fault, and with others already present in her room, she nodded. “Invite him in.”

Zizhu obeyed and soon returned, leading Zhou Ziwen inside.

Zhou Ziwen looked awkward, glancing at those seated around the table before lowering his head. “My father sent me to check on you.” He offered nothing further.

Lian Yue, who had never met such a bashful boy, was momentarily taken aback. Then she couldn’t help but let out a giggle.

Her laughter made Zhou Ziwen even more embarrassed. He hastily explained, “My father’s idea about marrying you is entirely his own wishful thinking—it has nothing to do with me! Young Master Yuwen, I would never attempt to steal your fiancée, please don’t misunderstand!”

It was as if thunder had struck from a clear sky—such were the consequences of his words, though Zhou Ziwen himself had no inkling of their impact.

Lian Yue’s laughter froze on her lips, Yuwen Lingxi’s ever-calm hand trembled, causing tea to spill onto the table.

As for Qiao Zhi, had he been able to make a sound, he would surely have burst out laughing, decorum be damned. As it was, he could only laugh internally.

Behind Qiao Zhi, Zizhu’s look betrayed an incredulity usually reserved for witnessing a fool. She regretted not leaving him outside, had she known he would say something so startling.

The only one who remained composed was Lan Shui, who smiled as she poured a fresh cup of tea and invited, “Young Master Zhou, please have a seat and enjoy some tea.”

Her words served to restore normalcy to the room.

Lian Yue, half amused and half exasperated, beckoned to Zhou Ziwen, who still stood awkwardly. “I know all about it. With Uncle Zhou around, you must get quite a few frights. Come, sit and have some tea to calm your nerves.”

Zhou Ziwen gave a shy smile, two charming dimples appearing on his cheeks, and shuffled to a seat by the table. “Thank you. One gets used to it.”

Lian Yue recalled her scant encounters with Zhou Man over the years and realized that, added together, they spanned less than five days—yet even she found him hard to endure. For someone to claim to have gotten used to it, she could not help but admire him.

Qiao Zhi remembered Zhou Ziwen from three years ago, always following Zhou Qian around. Back then, though he’d just recovered from a serious illness and was quiet, he wasn’t nearly so timid. How had he become so effeminate over the years? Yes, “effeminate” was the word.

But these thoughts could only stay in Qiao Zhi’s mind. It wasn’t out of concern for Zhou Ziwen’s feelings—he still couldn’t speak a word.

In this, he misjudged Zhou Ziwen. The boy had always been afraid of his father, and Zhou Man, in his efforts to make him more refined, had gone to extremes—never letting him wield weapons, yet not hesitating to use them himself. Over time, the constant fright had weakened Zhou Ziwen’s constitution.

Three years ago, after meeting Lian Yue at Phoenix Ridge, Zhou Man had repeatedly urged his son to “win her over.” Though Zhou Ziwen resented the idea, he never dared to voice his objections.

Today, Zhou Man had spoken without reservation in front of so many, including Lian Yue’s rightful fiancé. Zhou Ziwen wished he could sink into the floor.

Compared to Lian Yue, he wanted to disappear even more.

With Yaoyao, the life of any gathering, absent, Qiao Zhi silenced by his condition, and Zhou Ziwen, Yuwen Lingxi, and Lian Yue all involved parties, while Zizhu dared not interrupt and Lan Shui feared making matters worse, the room fell into a tea-scented silence.

Far away, beyond a thousand miles, a white falcon swooped down over a dense, dark forest, startling a flock of larks as it landed on the shoulder of a man in black. The bird affectionately rubbed its head against the man’s sharply defined face.

Though the man exuded an icy aura, he patted the falcon’s head indulgently, then took a bamboo tube from its talons. Inside was a letter, which he read; his elegant brows first knit, then gradually relaxed, and a look of surprised understanding flashed in his obsidian eyes. His thin lips curved into a faint, handsome smile.

This was An Ming, also known as Yuwen Lingxi, who had left Floating Cloud Mountain.

He had originally intended to return directly to the Yuwen family, but upon receiving a letter from his father, he’d changed course, riding hard until he now stood at the foot of Rakshasa Hall’s mountain.

In recent days, Yuwen Lingxiao had kept him informed of all that transpired in the forest and of Lian Yue’s daily movements, all through the white falcon. As for the fate of the group led by Shiliu, Yuwen Lingxi was not surprised in the least.

Once their mission was complete and their identities exposed, his father, true to character, would not let them remain by his side. Their deaths had simply come too easily.

Yuwen Lingxi produced a porcelain vial from his robes, poured out several verdant pills, and tossed them to the eager falcon, which swallowed them before soaring skyward and vanishing from sight.

He withdrew his gaze, looked calmly at the woods before him, and said, “You’ve hidden long enough. You can come out now.”