Chapter 20: Stepping Back into Her Game of Chess

Startled by the roar, Song Qian shivered and nearly dropped to his knees before this crown prince of a man.

Not only him, but the entourage trailing behind felt intensely awkward as well, glancing left and right. Finally, Song Qian forced out a response: “Rest assured, Mr. He. A-Yu is in the West Court. She’s probably already fast asleep at this hour.”

Without laying eyes on her himself, He Lian wasn’t about to swallow these people’s nonsense. For all he knew, that little fool might already be a charred corpse by now!

At the thought, his temples throbbed with a dull, stabbing pain. A bloodthirsty, chilling smile tugged at his lips, and his harsh, ominous tone slowly pierced straight into Song Qian’s ears.

“It doesn’t matter if she’s asleep. Take me to see her.”

Song Qian swallowed hard, his eyes flickering with evasion.

He Lian’s heart sank. Just as he reached out to grab Song Qian by the collar, Su Xuning stepped in with an ingratiating smile: “Oh come on, Old Song, why are you still dragging your feet? If Mr. He wants to see A-Yu, let’s just wake her up.”

He Lian shot her a suspicious, sideways glance.

The little fool wasn’t dead?

Song Qian also cast a covert glance at his wife.

With her expression unchanged, Su Xuning said: “Mr. He, this way, please.”

This time, He Lian’s pace was urgent. Cutting through rooms and halls, rounding trees and winding paths, he had never realized the old mansion’s layout was so convoluted and tedious—it felt as though no matter how far he walked, he would never reach the West Court!

Finally catching sight of the moon gate leading to the West Court, he was about to stride straight through when a familiar figure in the massive pagoda tree beside the gate caught his eye, causing him to abruptly halt his right foot.

The hodgepodge group behind him scrambled to hit the brakes as well.

Tilting his head up, He Lian furrowed his brows in deep confusion.

The little fool?

It was pitch black, and with rain threatening to fall, even the moon refused to show its face. He could only make out a vague silhouette and couldn’t be certain whether the person hiding among the leaves was actually Jiang Yu.

Yet his personal “fool-seeking” radar was pinging relentlessly.

“Jiang Yu?”

He Lian called out tentatively.

The others followed his gaze upward.

A rustling sound came from the dense foliage. Moments later, a thin, tiny figure—clinging like a sloth—slowly shimmied and inched her way down the thick tree trunk.

He Lian: “…”

What on earth was this idiot doing up a tree in the middle of the night?!

The Song family members were dumbfounded too. They had clearly locked Jiang Yu inside the old mansion’s Qing Dynasty-era storeroom—how on earth had she ended up wandering over here?!

What a ghost story!

Besides, Jiang Yu was wearing a white dress, her ink-black hair blowing in the wind—she genuinely looked terrifying.

Stepping forward, He Lian leaned down to stare at her small, bowed head, the corners of his mouth twitching uncontrollably: “Little fool?”

Jiang Yu turned her head around. Her delicate face still wore that hazy, fog-drenched gaze, but upon seemingly recognizing the person before her, her tightly pressed lips parted softly: “Hug.”

He Lian took a deep breath, feeling his heart melt entirely. Without a second word, he clamped his broad palms around her waist, plucked her right off the tree trunk, and hoisted her securely into the crook of his powerful arm.

That chilly, soft, and completely dependent obedience was back in his arms once more.

Lowering his head, He Lian finally let the turbulent anxiety that had battered him all the way here settle down.

Patting Jiang Yu’s head, he murmured in a low voice: “Are you cold?”

The girl didn’t speak, only wrapping her arms around him tighter and tighter.

Tighter even than the last few times.

The bone-deep game of chess made Jiang Yu tremble uncontrollably. That night had been her biggest and final gamble—she had risked everything, wagering her very life!

Thank goodness He Lian stepped back into her game.

Thinking of that monstrous, sky-high fire, she buried her face against his chest and bit down hard, swallowing the sour lump in her throat.

She burrowed into He Lian’s embrace as though clinging to her final lifeline.

Assuming she was simply cold, the man turned his head and barked a sharp command: “Where is Jiang Yu’s room?”

There was no such thing as a proper room for Jiang Yu in the West Court.

Su Xuning had merely wanted to stall He Lian and send someone to release Jiang Yu later; now, she found herself cornered by her own lie.

Fortunately, Song Xueyan possessed a quick wit, hastily squeezing out a stiff, unnatural smile: “A-Yu must be freezing. The heater in her room isn’t working very well, so let’s head to my room first. It’ll be convenient to give her a wash and change her clothes, too.”

Mindful of Jiang Yu’s physical state, He Lian reluctantly agreed.

Song Xueyan led the man toward the left wing.

Zhuang Yumian stared after them, her brows narrowing in an imperceptible frown.

Compared to the dilapidated wooden building Jiang Yu used to live in, Song Xueyan’s bedroom was practically the embroidery chamber of an ancient aristocratic maiden—except that it was fully outfitted with modern technology and household appliances.

Su He took Jiang Yu into the bathroom to wash up.

As the door clicked shut, Song Xueyan could barely suppress the intense disgust pooling in her eyes.

He Lian actually had his eyes on Jiang Yu!

She turned back around. The man was unceremoniously sizing up everything in the room, his patrol-like gaze making Song Xueyan’s heart skip a beat with a bad premonition.

There wasn’t a single painting tool anywhere in her room!

In her panic, Song Xueyan hurriedly said to He Lian: “Mr. He, let’s head back to the main hall first.”

As she spoke, she deliberately put on the bashful, flustered air of a young woman whose private chambers had been invaded.

He Lian wasn’t slow-witted. It was indeed impolite for a grown man to linger in a young woman’s bedroom. Giving an awkward cough, he turned and followed her out.

Song Xueyan followed right behind, shutting the bedroom door tight and shooting a meaningful glance at the servant standing guard outside.

The servant nodded cautiously.

Back in the main hall, He Lian lounged casually in an armchair, his fingertips rhythmically rubbing against his watch face. Seeing that Jiang Yu was safe and sound, the gloomy shadow hanging over his brow dissipated, and his attitude softened noticeably.

The Song family members weren’t as stiff and nervous as before either, chatting and laughing in his presence as they tried to strike up casual topics.

Only Song Xueyan nervously pinched her fingertips, deep in thought.

He Lian had evidently set his sights on Jiang Yu. But that lunatic wasn’t a natural fool—if she ever snapped back to her senses one day and told He Lian the truth, it would spell immediate doom for her!

He Lian remained silent.

Since Jiang Yu was safe and sound, the Song family’s suspicion of intentional arson could be ruled out. It might genuinely have been a natural lightning strike, just as Song Qian claimed.

Furthermore, Meng Zhenyue’s claim about Old Master Song entrusting her to his care remained questionable.

It was entirely possible that the Old Master had deliberately tricked his greedy niece and nephew-in-law just to find a good husband for Jiang Yu to secure the rest of her life.

Regardless, the engagement had already been broken off.

He turned over various phrases in his head, struggling to find a valid reason to take Jiang Yu away with him.

Even without a blood relation, the room was still packed full of Jiang Yu’s elders.

Prying a girl away from her family’s hands—not even someone like He Lian possessed that kind of justification.

From any angle, Jiang Yu’s life or death had nothing to do with him. In that regard, Shen Jin wasn’t wrong: no matter how far his reach extended, it didn’t stretch into the Song family’s internal affairs.

Taking her away by force was an option, of course.

But that would show far too little respect for the late Old Master Song.

That was old friendship dating back to Jingyue’s great-grandfather’s generation.

Just as he was caught in a mental storm, a young man walked down into the hall. He Lian cast a lazy glance his way, spotting a youth of similar age whom he hadn’t noticed by the door earlier.

He seemed to have seen him once at the funeral, but left no deep impression.

Song Xun quickly scolded in a low voice: “Yuchu, where have you been?”

Walking straight up to sit beside his father, Song Uchu’s pale, sickly complexion remained entirely devoid of emotion: “I was sleeping a bit heavily and didn’t hear anyone calling me. What’s going on with you guys?”

What’s going on?

Song Xun nearly glared his eyes out in fury.

Was He Lian sitting right up there on the dais like a piece of decorative furniture to this brat?!

This little bastard hadn’t even bothered to offer a greeting—was he completely lacking in basic situational awareness?

Giving him a private tug from the side, Song Xun muttered: “Hurry up and greet Mr. He!”

The corners of Song Uchu’s lips curled into an indistinct, cold sneer, completely devoid of the awe and deference everyone else showed. Only after a few seconds did he turn his head to look over, and the chilly gazes of the two men intersected sharply in the air.

It was like the clash of sharp needles against solid spears.

Support Sansukini on Ko-fi