Chapter 13

Chapter 13

“Shut up! I said you’re the woman, so you’re the woman! Why the hell are you arguing?”

The blade pressed harder against Shengsheng Zhou’s neck. Terrified, she flung both hands into the air.

“Yes, yes, yes, that’s me! I’m the legendary beauty the tyrant brought back from the Zhu Kingdom–the celestial maiden so gorgeous she could only have descended from heaven! Me! That’s definitely me!”

The man in black fell silent.

For some reason, he was no longer quite so certain.

“Siran Ming!” he roared. “Stop right there! I have your little lover. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll let us leave!”

His shout carried across the battlefield. The fighters nearest them hesitated.

Siran had just severed the head of a man trying to ambush him from behind. His bloodshot eyes turned slowly toward them.

Then he saw Shengsheng’s face.

Contempt curved his lips.

“Oh,” he said. The stench of blood had roughened his voice, but every word remained perfectly clear. “Be my guest.”

Shengsheng had expected as much, but the sheer speed of his refusal still made her furious.

“Your Majesty!” Disregarding the weapon at her throat, she screamed with all her strength. “Have you forgotten what you promised the Noble Consort?”

*In a crisis this dire, I still stayed in character and addressed His Spray Majesty with proper respect. Truly, Shengsheng Zhou, your professionalism knows no equal. No one avoids breaking character better than you!*

Siran stared at her.

Was she actually waiting for him to praise her?

Her captor was even more bewildered. This was nothing like the scene he had imagined.

Wasn’t Siran supposed to be enraged yet helpless because his beloved had fallen into enemy hands? Wasn’t the tyrant supposed to yield for the sake of his precious woman?

Who had written this plot? He wanted a word.

And what was with Siran’s expression? The man looked eager for him to hurry up and slit her throat.

Were tyrants all this cold-blooded now?

He glanced sympathetically at Shengsheng, whose face was full of despair and indignation, then raised his voice again.

“Don’t take me for a fool! I really will kill her!”

To prove it, he tightened his grip. The edge bit into Shengsheng’s pale neck, and a thin line of blood appeared.

Siran seemed not to notice her pain. His expression turned almost gentle as he addressed the assassin.

“Why are you shouting? We are not deaf. Why don’t you come closer?”

The crown that had once bound his hair had vanished. Black strands spilled loose around him, stark against the wet crimson smeared across his face and hands. His eyes shone with such murderous light that he resembled a demon freshly escaped from the deepest pit of hell.

Come closer?

Only an idiot would go anywhere near him.

Siran hacked through human beings as easily as vegetables. That was the entire reason the assassin had been forced to seize a hostage in the first place.

As the standoff continued, one of his comrades caught his eye and gave him a subtle signal. Then, while Siran’s attention appeared fixed on Shengsheng, the man lunged from behind.

Siran sneered and turned, his sword already sweeping through the air.

But his attacker did not dodge.

The blade cut him cleanly in half. Blood burst outward in a hot crimson spray, yet a crazed smile twisted the dying man’s face.

“Die, tyrant!”

Siran’s vision blurred.

Strength drained abruptly from his limbs.

His eyes darkened with vicious realization.

The man’s blood was poisoned.

When Shengsheng saw him stagger, her gaze immediately darted around in search of the heroine.

The crucial plot point had arrived.

*Heroine, this is your cue! Hurry up and appear!*

As if summoned by her desperation, Zhiyu Jiang emerged behind the man holding Shengsheng. The sight of her friend at knifepoint apparently lent her courage from nowhere. She picked up a stone, crept close while the assassin was distracted, and smashed it against the back of his skull.

He collapsed.

Shengsheng tore free just as Siran’s soldiers finally broke through the assassins’ defenses and rushed to reinforce their emperor.

She turned to Zhiyu at once.

“Siran Ming has been poisoned!”

Before Zhiyu could react, Shengsheng grabbed her hand and dragged her toward him.

Zhiyu had no choice but to swallow the words already rising to her lips:

*What does that have to do with me?*
The last thing Siran Ming saw before losing consciousness was Shengsheng Zhou hurling herself toward him.

*Surely she isn’t coming to deal the final blow…*

Then darkness swallowed him completely.

“A-Pang! Where is the key assassin with the black mole?”

Siran lay only a few yards from the edge of the cliff, yet the man destined to push him over it was nowhere to be seen. Shengsheng was beginning to panic.

A-Pang paused.

[Host, did you happen to notice that the man Zhiyu Jiang knocked unconscious had a very large black mole on his face?]

Shengsheng stared blankly ahead.

Heaven truly meant to destroy her.

There was nothing else for it. Pretending to check on Siran’s condition, she swept a covert glance around the battlefield. Her gaze abruptly met that of a man lying on the ground.

He was pretending to be dead.

Shengsheng’s eyes lit up.

She immediately made a pushing motion with both hands, pointed at Siran and Zhiyu, then flicked her gaze meaningfully toward the cliff a short distance away.

Fortunately, the man was not stupid. He grasped her meaning almost at once.

His expression grew complicated as he looked from her to Zhiyu. Under Shengsheng’s enthusiastic, encouraging gaze, he clambered to his feet.

Thus, when Rong Li arrived in frantic haste, the first thing she saw was all three of them being shoved over the cliff.

From above came a heart-rending scream.

“Nooooo!”

As Shengsheng plummeted, her face went utterly lifeless.

Why?

Why had he pushed her too?

At the top of the cliff, the assassin–now securely bound–gave a cold laugh.

He had always despised jealous women. The situation had been obvious at a glance: the woman with the red mole must have envied the breathtakingly beautiful young lady beside her and plotted to kill her. As for Siran, she had undoubtedly let love curdle into hatred. If she could not possess him, she would destroy him.

Women like that were the worst.

***

Seated beside a stream, Shengsheng had no idea that an assassin’s overactive imagination had nearly killed her.

She sat upright beside the blood-soaked, unconscious Siran, her brows drawn tightly together.

They had been extraordinarily lucky. An ancient tree growing from the cliffside had caught them, sparing both their lives.

After bowing to the tree with twelve parts sincerity and gratitude, Shengsheng had dragged Siran’s dead weight to the stream nearby.

The three of them had fallen together, yet Zhiyu was nowhere to be found.

That was a serious problem.

How was the plot supposed to proceed now?

As Shengsheng brooded, Siran let out a pained groan.

She reluctantly went over and crouched beside him. Gripping his sleeve, she tore off a strip of cloth.

Then she noticed the gold thread embroidered along the cuff.

Shengsheng hesitated.

She tucked the first strip into her robes and tore off another piece from what remained of his sleeve.

Lifting Siran’s head, she wound the cloth firmly around his mouth and tied the ends in a neat, elegant bow.

Excellent.

At last, silence.

Satisfied, Shengsheng returned to her seat, propped her chin in one hand, and resumed thinking.

She had escaped with only a few scrapes from the fall. Siran, unfortunately, was in terrible condition. Traveling with such a burden would be nearly impossible, which meant finding the heroine was now her first priority.

But was she truly supposed to drag Siran around while she searched for Zhiyu?

Maybe she should find a nice place and bury him first.

Then again…

Even if he was the male lead, he would probably die if she put him underground.

As though he had heard her inner voice, the unconscious man with the lower half of his face bound like a gift frowned deeply.