Chapter 17: A Raging Fire Burning All the Way to Jinzhou

In the West Court bedroom of the old mansion, the maid pulled the curtains tight by the window, ensuring no dampness would seep inside.

Song Xueyan rubbed essence water into her palms, gently applying it to her delicate neck. Listening to the maid recount the day’s events, a mockingly sarcastic smile spread across her face: “Housekeeper Gu can never stand up again?”

Arranging her long hair, the maid sighed: “Indeed, Miss, you didn’t see it—Young Master Yuchu was like a madman today. He scared us all out of our wits.”

Song Xueyan sneered with contempt. Everyone called Jiang Yu a lunatic, but in her eyes, a paranoid freak who fell in love with a lunatic was the real madman.

Song Yuchu was truly losing his mind and dignity.

Finishing her evening skincare routine, she was just about to get into bed and sleep when her phone suddenly exploded with messages. It was her private group chat with her group of socialite friends in Yangcheng.

[Xueyan, what happened? Did you offend He Lian?]

[Quick, look at He Lian’s Weibo—he just changed his profile picture!]

[If I remember correctly, He Lian used your painting as his profile picture and didn’t change it for three years. Why did he swap it out so inexplicably? I heard he went to your house a few days ago—did something happen?]

[Does He Lian have a new flame? Didn’t he love your paintings the most?]

The dense wall of text forced Song Xueyan’s eyes wide open. Terrified, the blood ran cold in her veins. She hurriedly checked He Lian’s Weibo, only to find that the man had indeed changed his profile picture to a photo of desert yellow sand.

He had even posted a Weibo update with the caption: Fucking hate rain the most [middle finger emoji]

At the same time, the head of her art gallery, her manager, and the assistants of many wealthy collectors who had bought her paintings were incessantly sending her messages, asking if she had formed a grudge with He Lian.

Song Xueyan’s hands trembled so violently she could barely hold her phone, terrified that He Lian had found out about something.

But… that was impossible.

Or could that lunatic have said something to He Lian?!

Song Xueyan’s pupils contracted sharply like a bolt from the blue, and she frantically typed a reply.

[How could that be? Mr. He was very polite to me. He probably heard I’m retiring, so he changed it.]

The response was far too weak—nobody believed it.

Ignoring the popping notifications, Song Xueyan immediately ordered the maid to prepare an umbrella. Without even changing her clothes, she rushed straight to the small wooden building where Jiang Yu stayed.

Kicking the door open, she saw Jiang Yu still sitting in front of her easel, looking up toward her upon hearing the noise.

Song Xueyan grabbed Jiang Yu’s hair, pulling it upward with brute force, and demanded in a furious rage: “Jiang Yu! Did you say something to He Lian?! You lunatic! Are you trying to get me killed?!”

Enduring the pain, Jiang Yu continued to stare blankly at Song Xueyan.

She was unaware of Song Xueyan’s motive.

Only hearing someone mention He Lian made the fingertips hanging by her ankle clench slightly. She then pretended to look dazed, blinked her eyes, and uttered a single phrase: It hurts.

Far from letting go, Song Xueyan pinched her arm instead, her newly manicured nails digging deep into the girl’s flesh as she spewed maliciously: “It hurts? Only when it hurts will you remember the lesson! Speak! What did you say to He Lian?! Did you tell him those paintings were all painted by you?!”

Jiang Yu cautiously chose to remain silent.

Judging by Song Xueyan’s desperate, cornered behavior, she would likely volunteer the reason herself.

“Still playing dumb, are you?!”

Just as expected, Song Xueyan proceeded to pinch and scratch her, spewing curses: “If you didn’t say anything, why did He Lian change his profile picture out of the blue?! He loved my paintings so much! Why did he suddenly change it?!”

Huddled on the floor, Jiang Yu covered her head with both arms to endure the beatings and curses, yet her gaze remained cold as ice.

So that was what happened.

She hadn’t exposed Song Xueyan’s fraud. Thinking back, He Lian had taken that tin of paint with him. With just a quick test, he would know that it had been laced with a massive dose of breeding boar aphrodisiac.

She had put in a large dose back then, worried that He Lian’s physique was too strong for a small amount to affect him.

He Lian likely assumed that the person plotting against him was Song Xueyan, and changed his profile picture in a fit of rage.

Song Xueyan was feeling guilty and panicked.

After an unknown amount of time, Song Xueyan finally stood up, utterly exhausted. To her eyes, Jiang Yu, curled into a crumpled heap on the floor, was no different from a tattered rag.

Having vented her anger, Song Xueyan calmed down significantly.

If Jiang Yu had truly tattled, He Lian would have turned on her the very day he found out she used him to rise to fame. Yet a whole month had passed before he changed his profile picture—the timeline didn’t add up.

He Lian didn’t seem like someone who could hold back for a month.

Pulling out her phone, she looked at the message she had replied to her friend earlier.

[He probably heard I’m retiring, so he changed it.]

Perhaps she really was overthinking things, scaring herself for nothing.

Glancing at Jiang Yu, Song Xueyan caught her breath before walking out while replying to messages.

Smelly lunatic.

Making her worry for nothing—exhausting.

She deserved to be beaten!

Only after Song Xueyan had left did Jiang Yu push herself up to a sitting position. She walked calmly to the window, using the rainwater to wash the blood off her arms. Unsure whether her sensations were malfunctioning or she had simply gotten used to it, she didn’t feel much pain.

Sizing up the rain’s intensity, she determined it would lighten in half an hour. She walked over to the innermost low cabinet, which was packed tight with palm-sized paint cans.

Uncapping one, a pungent smell of gasoline wafted out.

With Housekeeper Gu gone, there was no one around to inspect her room.

Walking upstairs and downstairs, Jiang Yu doused every single corner of the wooden building with gasoline. Finally, she pulled out that flip lighter. With a sharp clack , the flickering flame reflected in the resolute depths of her eyes.

This was her final chance.

He Lian.

I hope this fire…

Can burn all the way to Jinzhou where you are.

The next morning, The Fortress.

Just as He Lian finished washing up and came downstairs, he saw Duan Jingyue sitting stiffly on a wooden chair in the reception area, with his maternal cousin sitting beside him.

Rubbing his bleary eyes, he asked in a raspy voice: “What are you running over here for again?”

Duan Jingyue cleared his throat: “Uncle…”

“He Lian, why didn’t you discuss breaking off the engagement with us first?” Meng Zhenyue, nearly fifty years old, was unaccustomed to the desert dirt, adjusting her skirt as she spoke, “Fooling around blindly with Jingyue.”

Ignoring his cousin, He Lian clapped his hands, and a guard walked in to serve food.

Looking at the mountain of beef piled on the platter, Meng Zhenyue covered her nose in disgust, switching back to a maternal, elder posture: “Xiao Lian!”

Holding a military dagger, He Lian sliced open the beef, casting a side glance at her.

Only then did Meng Zhenyue speak again: “If I hadn’t asked today, I would still be kept in the dark! Let me tell you, this marriage can absolutely not be broken off.” She glared at her son, “Even if she’s a lunatic, he has to marry her!”

Duan Jingyue pulled his neck back, looking over at his uncle who was tearing into the beef.

Taking a sip of chilled canned beer, He Lian chewed for a long moment before opening his mouth: “Why?”

Meng Zhenyue looked left and right before saying in a low voice: “You didn’t know?”

Finding it bizarre, He Lian plunged the dagger straight into the beef, his brows furrowing in impatience: “If I knew, would I have gone with your son to break off the engagement?”

There were no profanities, but his tone was exceedingly harsh and overbearing.

Startled by his action, Meng Zhenyue shrank back slightly to the side.

Though they were cousins, He Lian was the kind of person who, when enraged, would dare point at his own father and curse him out. She had no choice but to force herself to be patient.

“Let me tell you—before the Old Master of the Song family died, he left all his assets to Jiang Yu.”

CRACK.

The beer can in He Lian’s hand was squeezed completely out of shape.

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