Chapter 3: The Real Disaster Duo

Prince Zhao's bedchamber.

Yan Chen sat in a bathtub filled with ice, barely suppressing the wild fire rampaging through his body.

"Your Highness."

Wei Feng stepped in, footsteps deliberately light, head bowed.

"The woman... wasn't found."

The air stilled for a beat.

Yan Chen didn't move. Didn't respond.

Sweat beaded on Wei Feng's temples. He had no choice but to press on. "My men searched the entire prince's manor. In the end, we only found this at the dog hole in the northwest corner..."

He produced an object from his sleeve and presented it with both hands.

A hairpin.

Yan Chen rose from the tub, lazily pulling a robe from the screen and draping it over his shoulders. Wet hair clung to his neck, water trailing down his throat, past his collarbone, disappearing into the depths of his waist.

He walked to Wei Feng and took the pin.

Fine celadon jade, warm to the touch. The pinhead was carved into a lotus blossom, petals unfurling layer by layer, a touch of cleverly inlaid yellow at the center for the stamens.

Demure. Proper. Straitlaced to the point of dullness.

Yan Chen turned the pin slowly between his fingers. The woman's blurry face flashed through his mind.

Striking features, paired with a reckless, audacious boldness. When she'd been perched on top of him, teasing and stoking his fire, her eyes had gleamed like a cat that stole the cream.

Pleased as punch. Tail practically in the clouds.

The elegance of this hairpin had nothing to do with that brazen, ruthless woman.

"Good at playing innocent." He scoffed, tossing the pin back into Wei Feng's hands. "Three days. Bring her to me. If you can't find her..."

He glanced at Wei Feng, his voice flat.

"Don't bother coming back to report."

A chill ran through Wei Feng. He bowed immediately, fist to palm.

"Understood!"

"And one more thing."

Yan Chen walked to the table, picked up a crystal-clear ice cube from the silver tray, and placed it in his mouth. He chewed slowly, deliberately.

"Every maid and eunuch who touched my wine cup at tonight's palace banquet—every single one. Dispose of them."

"Collect their heads, deliver them to Grand Tutor Xie's estate tonight, and give Xie Zhining a message."

Yan Chen's lips curled. The smile didn't reach his eyes. Instead, it carried a cold, bloody stench.

"If there's a next time—if anyone dares scheme against me—their end won't be nearly this polite."

Xie Zhining. Grand Tutor Xie's pampered daughter, and one of the most ardent admirers of Yan Chen in the entire capital.

She'd had him drugged, no doubt on her father's orders, hoping to latch onto his coattails through a compromising situation.

Shame. They picked the wrong target.

"Understood!"

Wei Feng departed. His footsteps faded beyond the door, and silence reclaimed the room.

"Shen Zhaoye..."

Yan Chen murmured the name, his eyes darkening.

He remembered the woman saying something—"Don't be afraid, little general"—and then asking, "You're not Shen Zhaoye?"

Shen Zhaoye.

Heir of Marquis Yong'an. Made general at a young age.

Lately, he'd been rather favored by His Majesty's dear nephew, who had been quietly working to pull the young general into his camp.

That woman—was she after Shen Zhaoye? Had she mistaken him for someone else and stumbled into his bed by accident?

Or was she Shen Zhaoye's person, planted deliberately?

Yan Chen placed another ice cube in his mouth. His jaw clenched. The ice shattered between his teeth.

Interesting.

Whoever you are—whether a stray pawn who wandered into this game, or a planted spy with an agenda—

I will find you.

With my own hands.

I'll crush you.

Su Estate, west side of the city.

Night had deepened. Two lanterns swayed under the eaves, casting a dim, flickering glow across the stone steps.

Jiang Luyi—

No. Su Ruan, now.

She stumbled to the front gate, outer robe disheveled, hair half undone, looking barely better than a fleeing beggar.

"Open the—"

Before her palm could connect with the door, it creaked open on its own. A head poked out, furtive and cautious.

In the dim light, four eyes met.

The small figure yelped. When she got a clear look at Su Ruan's face, her eyes went wide.

"M-Miss?!"

The little maid slipped through the crack, circling Su Ruan with a shocked once-over.

"Didn't you... retire early for the night? What are you doing out here? And looking like this?!"

The death-sentence pastries were the only thing in Su Ruan's head. She had no time to explain, no time to figure out who this girl was.

She grabbed the maid's bony wrist, voice urgent. "Where's Yu Qinghe? Take me to her, now!"

"Oh, oh—"

The little maid was startled by her intensity and stepped aside to lead the way, nodding instinctively.

Then she glanced down—and saw the bloody, raw mess of Su Ruan's feet. She sucked in a sharp breath.

"Miss! Your feet?!"

Su Ruan looked down. Only then did the pain register—searing, needle-sharp.

She'd sprinted all the way from Prince Zhao's manor, squeezing through a dog hole, scaling walls. These pampered feet had been torn to shreds. Every step left a bloody print—gruesome to behold.

"It doesn't matter!" Su Ruan was frantic, fire burning at both ends of her patience. "Quickly, take me there!"

The little maid stamped her foot. Then, without warning, she bent down and hoisted Su Ruan onto her back.

"Don't move, Miss. I'll carry you!"

Su Ruan was caught off guard. She slumped onto the maid's back and was lifted with embarrassing ease.

The girl looked thin and small, but her strength was staggering. She carried Su Ruan without the slightest strain—and moved faster than Su Ruan's own stumbling run.

Bouncing on the maid's back, a name slipped out. "...You're Lizi?"

In the original novel, Su Ruan had a fiercely loyal but spectacularly dim-witted maid. The name was something like Lizi.

The author had described her as "skin and bones, but with the brute strength of an ox." When the original Su Ruan was thrown into the beggars' den, Lizi had fought to the death to protect her mistress—beaten to a pulp in her place.

Reading the novel, Jiang Luyi had once snarked that the mistress and maid had a combined IQ of 250—one daring to scheme, the other daring to execute, working in perfect harmony on their shared march toward self-destruction.

A true disaster duo.

The maid's footsteps stuttered. Tears plopped down. "Miss! Did the pain scramble your brain? You're only now recognizing me? I'm your Lizi! Your Lizi!"

Su Ruan: "..."

Confirmed. The IQ-challenged teammate, in the flesh.

"Alright, alright, stop crying."

Su Ruan sighed, wiping clumsily at the girl's face. Her hand came away wet with tears.

"Take me to Yu Qinghe first. Hurry!"

Lizi sniffled hard, fighting back sobs, and picked up the pace. But confusion crept into her voice.

"But Miss, why are we looking for her at this hour?"

Before Su Ruan could answer, Lizi's face lit up with a "got it" expression. She leaned in, whispering conspiratorially.

"Oh, I know! You want to check if the drug kicked in, right?"

A bad feeling surged through Su Ruan.

Lizi grinned, proud. "Don't you worry, Miss! I handled everything perfectly! Not only did I put the full dose of Spring Breeze Passion in the osmanthus cakes like you said—"

"I also swapped out the incense in her room for the spiked kind! And the fruit on her table? I pricked every single one with a needle dipped in the drug! Guaranteed foolproof!"