Lan Fenghuang stared at Qi Fang, utterly speechless. ‘She looks so quiet and proper on the surface — who would have guessed what’s underneath.’
“You —!” Wan Gui went white. He nearly fainted on the spot.
Song Qingshu’s voice dropped to something cold and level. “If I recall correctly, just now you were talking about making me into a green-hatted turtle.”
Wan Gui’s eyes were murderous. He had been swaggering and foul-mouthed in front of Lan Fenghuang not long ago — and now reality had served him something considerably more bitter. He wanted to do something, anything, to express his fury — and found he could do nothing at all.
“Qi Fang, come here.” Song Qingshu beckoned.
Qi Fang looked at her husband, hesitated. She didn’t know what Song Qingshu intended, but instinct told her it was nothing good.
“Come here,” he said again, and this time there was no room for argument in his voice.
Qi Fang bit her lip and crossed the room slowly, half hoping to say something that would defuse things — but Song Qingshu’s arm swept out and gathered her in before she could speak a word.
“Song —” She got one word out.
His lips covered hers.
She stared with wide eyes, one thought chasing all others out of her mind: This can’t be happening. My husband is right there.
She had already decided that her bond with Wan Gui was severed — but years of marriage leave reflexes that don’t answer to decisions. The shame of it was almost unbearable. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Wan Gui, and so she closed her eyes, though her trembling lashes made clear how far from calm she was.
“Faithless, shameless, contemptible —!” Wan Gui was nearly beyond words — particularly at the sight of his wife making not the slightest move to resist, her eyes closed.
Song Qingshu looked back at him over Qi Fang’s head. “Your first instinct when you see your wife in another man’s arms isn’t to go to her — it’s to shout insults at her. Could it be that because you know you’re no match for me, you turn on someone weaker to hide your own helplessness?”
“That’s not — I —” Wan Gui’s thoughts were a tangle. He wanted to argue and found the words dissolving — because they cut true, and he knew it.
“As the old saying goes, an eye for an eye.” Song Qingshu’s voice went very cold. Di Yun’s death, his own months of suffering, and Wan Gui’s arrogance just now — old and new grievances rose together, and something hard entered his eyes. “Since you thought I deserved to be a green-hatted turtle — I’ll return the courtesy.” He reached deliberately toward Qi Fang’s collar.
“No — please —” Qi Fang grabbed his hand, her eyes beseeching. “Not here.”
“Killing him is too clean. Don’t you want justice — for yourself and for Di Yun? This is the only thing that can truly hurt him.” He pressed her back against the table and held her gaze, dropping his voice to where only she could hear.
“Senior Brother…” The thought of what had been done to Di Yun moved through her, and Qi Fang bit her lip hard. Then one word came out. “Yes.” She raised both arms — pale as white jade — and put them around Song Qingshu’s neck.
Wan Gui watched. Something cracked in his chest, and a mouthful of blood came up.
Lan Fenghuang stared with wide eyes, her face flushed — and despite herself, felt a private wave of something like admiration. ‘This man is a genuinely evil. No wonder she took an interest in him.’
Song Qingshu glanced at the relevant area of Wan Gui’s lower body and said with contempt: “Seeing your own wife taken by another m@n, and your body reacts like that — you don’t deserve to call yourself one.” He raised one hand and released a thread of invisible sword qi.
Wan Gui screamed — a sound that tore through the sealed acupoint — and crumpled, clutching himself as blood ran freely.
The injury was of a kind that struck at the core of a man. The scream had broken through the seal on his throat, and within moments the Minister’s guards were converging on the room.
Hearing them coming, Song Qingshu judged it was enough. He straightened, helped Qi Fang arrange her disordered clothes with gentle hands, and gathered her into his arms. Her face was scarlet, and she buried it against his chest, refusing to look at anyone — a perfect ostrich.
He looked back at Wan Gui. “This is only the first day. Recover from your wounds. I’ll be back.”
“Monster — you’re a monster!” Wan Gui writhed in his own blood, his handsome face twisted beyond recognition by pain and something close to terror.
“Monster?” Song Qingshu paused at the door, and left one last remark behind him: “I treat those who treat me well with tenfold the respect they give me. Those who do not — I repay in kind.” And then he was gone, Qi Fang and Lan Fenghuang with him.
*****
Wan Qili arrived with his people minutes later. The sight of Wan Gui stopped him cold. “Get a physician — no, take my name-card and summon the imperial physician now!”
“Gui’er — who did this to you? Tell me and I’ll see them destroyed.” He knelt beside his grandson, his expression murderous. He had never felt much warmth toward Wan Zhenshan, the concubine-born son, but Wan Gui — with his fine looks and his sharp, careful mind — was exactly to his taste. He had been grooming the boy deliberately, and had plans to use him in a marriage alliance with one of the capital’s great families.
And now here he was, in pieces. The marriage plans were ashes. The rage he felt had nowhere to go.
“Song Qingshu — it was Song Qingshu. He came back for revenge. He came back!” Wan Gui’s whole body was shaking, his voice on the edge of collapse, as though he had looked at something that couldn’t be unseen.
Wan Qili’s expression shifted. He waved his people out of the room, and when only the two of them remained, he spoke with measured gravity: “Song Qingshu was poisoned by the Heavenly Devil Flower. He should be dead. How could it be him?”
“I’d know him anywhere. Even as ashes.” Wan Gui’s voice still trembled as he gave a rough account of what had happened — omitting everything that had to do with Qi Fang. The shame of that part was the kind no man could speak aloud, even to his closest family. “Grandfather — you have to avenge me.”
Wan Qili did not respond immediately. After a long silence he spoke slowly: “Gui’er. We say nothing about this. What happened tonight — as far as the outside world is concerned, it never occurred. You do not mention Song Qingshu to anyone.”
“Why!” Wan Gui looked at him with disbelief, and the shock set the blood flowing again. He had assumed that with the sitting Chief Minister behind him, the full weight of the court and its forces would be brought down on Song Qingshu’s head — that today’s humiliation would be paid back twofold. Instead, his grandfather had thrown cold water over him without a moment’s hesitation.