Chapter 5: Did I Offend Him?

Tan Qingjiu entered the inner courtyard. It was quite spacious, yet eerily silent, with no sign that anyone was present. She circled the yard but found no trace of the so-called Prince Duan.

“Prince Duan?” she called, glancing around. “Prince Duan, I’m the physician sent to treat you. Where are you?”

Still, there was no response. Tan Qingjiu took a deep breath. Since Prince Duan refused to appear, it was no fault of hers. Surely, she could simply leave this unsettling place and report back.

Just as she was entertaining this thought, a faint rustling came from behind a tree in the garden—a sound like footsteps on dry leaves.

Her ears twitched. She turned to look in that direction and, after a moment of hesitation, stepped into the garden.

The garden was littered with dead branches and leaves, as though it had been neglected for some time. She circled behind the tree but found nothing. Frowning, she was about to leave when, quite suddenly, something clamped around her ankle and yanked hard.

Caught entirely off guard, Tan Qingjiu pitched forward. A flash of cold severity lit her gaze; her assailant’s breath was so well concealed that she had never sensed anyone approaching. The grip was swift and skillful.

In another instant, she was about to collide face-first with the ground. If she fell directly, her forehead would likely strike the edge of the stone flowerbed, splitting her head open and leaving her bloodied.

With lightning reflexes, she thrust out a hand to break her fall, using the momentum to twist her body. Even before she could see her attacker clearly, a silver needle shot from her fingers.

The needle flew, but all she glimpsed was a flicker of black as a shadow darted away. The needle buried itself in the trunk of a nearby tree.

She dashed toward the tree, but as she rounded it, a hand shot out from the side and clamped around her neck.

“Hurry, there’s a big bug on you. Let me strangle it for you,” came a voice behind her—low, hoarse, and almost otherworldly.

Tan Qingjiu quickly realized that this must be the master of the house, the notorious Prince Duan, Shen Yingjue, rumored to be afflicted with a strange illness.

“Strangle it! Strangle them all!” the voice rasped, then broke into a chilling cackle.

He truly was mad. But why had no one told her that this madman was skilled in martial arts—and, it seemed, a master at that?

The grip around her neck tightened, cutting off her air. She let out a muffled groan, feeling the oxygen being squeezed from her lungs.

“Let me go. I’m a physician here to treat you,” she managed to choke out, each word a struggle.

“No, you’re a bug. I’ve got my hands around your neck. Soon, you’ll die.”

Her hand, hanging at her side, clenched tight. Die? After finally crossing over to this world, her original body’s great vengeance unfulfilled, her lost child still missing, and her little Xingqi and Xingyou still so young—she couldn’t die now.

Her fingers groped for the silver needle embedded in the tree. Gripping it, she yanked it free and, with a deft movement, stabbed it toward the hand strangling her.

The hand recoiled. Tan Qingjiu drove her elbow back with all her might; a low grunt sounded behind her. She spun around in a flash and, without hesitation, tackled her assailant to the ground.

“How dare you!”

“Impudent!”

Two reprimands rang out at once, one near, one far.

Tan Qingjiu ignored them, panting as she looked down at the man beneath her.

He was half-dressed in a black brocade robe, hair loose about his shoulders, a golden mask covering his face. At a glance, his attire was unremarkable, but his eyes were wild with madness. When he fixed his gaze on someone, it felt like being stalked by a beast—sending a cold shiver down the spine.

Her eyes lingered on the golden mask. Raising her hand, she touched its surface, genuinely curious to see the face of the man who had nearly killed her.

“Want to see my face?”

“Do you know what happened to the last person who saw what I look like? The grass on their grave is three feet high by now.”

She had already lifted the mask somewhat and caught a glimpse of two old scars running along the jaw—grisly marks, like centipedes clinging to his flesh.

At Shen Yingjue’s words, she replaced the mask, but her hand lingered at his throat in a silent threat.

The murderous intent in Shen Yingjue’s eyes faded, replaced by a glimmer of amusement.

“Divine Physician Tan, what are you doing?”

It was the butler, who had hurried over, his expression dark as he fixed on Tan Qingjiu’s posture.

At that moment, she was straddling Shen Yingjue, her fingers at his neck—a scene ripe for misunderstanding.

“Divine Physician Tan, our prince is a patient. You mustn’t take advantage of his illness to molest him!”

“This... this is most improper!”

“If you are truly fond of our prince, you could petition His Majesty for a marriage decree. After all, our prince has yet to take a consort.”

Tan Qingjiu stifled the urge to roll her eyes. From which angle did the butler see her molesting Shen Yingjue? Could they not see the red marks on her neck?

“Leave,” Shen Yingjue commanded, his voice cold as ice.

The butler and guards exchanged a glance, not daring to disobey, and bowed their heads as they retreated.

Tan Qingjiu’s heart tightened. Shen Yingjue was a madman, his mental state teetering on the edge. She could not risk being alone with him any longer.

Though her hand still rested at his throat—a move that might threaten an ordinary man—it would hardly intimidate a lunatic.

She inched her hand closer to the throbbing artery at his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin and the steady pulse beneath.

“Planning to kill me?”

“Do you realize where you are right now?”

“This is the Prince Duan’s residence.”

His voice was still hoarse, but now carried a certain allure, as though a feather brushed the heart, teasing out a faint itch.

But Tan Qingjiu paid no heed to his tone, her brow knitting as her gaze deepened.

“Prince Duan, do you know you’re on the verge of death?”