Chapter Eight: Am I Your Woman?

Situ sat quietly, her gaze lingering on the young man who had just "lost his mind" for her. A faint smile slowly rose at the corner of her lips.

Her enchanting, almond-shaped eyes grew hazy once more, as if intoxicated all over again.

At that moment, the young marquis' guards, having finally conquered their inner terror, prepared to draw their swords. But Situ simply flicked her finger.

A single drop of wine leapt forth.

That crystalline drop, moving faster than anyone could react, struck Lu Chenyuan squarely between the brows.

With a soft hum, the strange mark on Lu Chenyuan's forehead dissolved instantly, and the ghostly blue flames in his eyes were snuffed out.

He reeled as if struck by lightning, swaying and nearly collapsing.

Situ's languid voice sounded, as though scolding a disobedient child: "Had enough? You haven't even drunk the wine and already you're causing a drunken scene?"

Without sparing the young marquis so much as a glance, she took the still-unsteady Lu Chenyuan by the arm and, under the astonished, uncertain gaze of all present, strolled away at her leisure.

Zhao Chengde's face turned alternately pale and green.

He was cowed by the uncanny aura Lu Chenyuan had just displayed, yet also humiliated to have lost face before so many onlookers. If he didn't restore his dignity, he'd become a laughingstock in the capital's circles.

Torn between fear and indignation, Zhao Chengde deliberated whether to order his men to block their path, when suddenly a hand landed on his shoulder without warning.

He was so startled his soul nearly fled his body. He spun around.

Behind him stood a middle-aged man in black, expressionless, having appeared without a sound.

The man simply looked at him, then opened his palm to reveal a token, dark and lustrous, neither gold nor jade.

On one side was the elaborate dragon pattern of the imperial Zhou family.

But when Zhao Chengde's gaze fell upon the reverse, his pupils shrank to pinpoints.

There, in an ancient intaglio style, was carved a beast: bare-bodied, five-tailed, and single-horned.

The very creature that legend named as the totem of the Lanling Prince's Estate—a five-tailed Red Fiend.

"Lan... Lanling Prince's Estate..." Zhao Chengde's voice trembled uncontrollably.

The black-clad man paid no heed to his loss of composure, his tone flat and devoid of emotion: "My master invites the young marquis aboard for a cup of tea."

With that, he ignored the four cultivators at Zhao Chengde's side, seized Zhao in one motion, and melted into the shadows of the crowd as if he had never been there.

The entire process was swift and clean, over in less than three breaths.

Zhao Chengde's vision went black; when he came to his senses, he was sprawled on a carpet of pure white fox pelt.

His bones felt as though they had been shattered, his strength utterly spent.

When the black-clad man had captured him, a mere brush of his hand over several vital points had utterly drained Zhao's cultivation, leaving him as weak as any common mortal.

Inside the cabin, an unfamiliar incense burned—a cool, clarifying aroma that should have calmed the mind, yet only deepened the chill gnawing at Zhao Chengde's heart.

The silence here was uncanny.

So profound that he could hear his own unsteady heartbeat, pounding faster and faster, each thud sounding like a death knell.

He didn't know where he was, nor when he had provoked the Lanling Prince's Estate, nor what fate awaited him.

This uncertainty gnawed at his already terror-ridden mind.

In such suffocating quiet, time crawled unbearably slow.

He had no way of knowing how long he waited—an hour, perhaps, or the time it takes incense to burn.

Just as his nerves were about to snap, and he nearly cried out for help, a faint creak finally broke the stillness.

Within this deathly silent cabin, that sound was like a thunderclap.

Elsewhere, in a modest courtyard by the Zhenhai River, another barely audible sound split the night—a roof tile quivering under a light foot.

Situ landed softly, as insubstantial as a wisp of smoke, atop the woodshed roof. The breeze stirred by her robe fluttered a withered leaf at the eaves.

She didn't glance at the youth who had followed; instead, she sat casually on the rooftop, tipped back her head, and took a swig of wine.

A clear drop slid down her elegant jaw, sparkling in the moonlight like dew on jade.

"Come up," she said indifferently, her voice still tinged with the laziness of someone who had tasted wine.

Lu Chenyuan's heart still pounded chaotically; the fury that had nearly consumed him had not entirely faded, and a faint chill lingered at his brow.

He knew full well—had his master not intervened, he would have been lost forever.

Yet he had no proof.

He climbed up as she bid, settling beside her.

Around them, the riverbank darkened with the deepening night. Distant lights flickered; the wind moaned past the eaves.

Situ handed him the vermilion wine gourd, her words brief: "Have a sip."

Lu Chenyuan took it reflexively. The gourd retained the warmth of her hand, making his heart leap. Unbidden, his mind echoed with the reckless words he'd shouted in the street earlier—

"She is not my master; she is my woman."

That thought froze his hand mid-air.

He had never drunk wine before.

If he drank tonight, it would be his first time.

More than that... She had drunk from this gourd just moments before. If he drank now, wouldn't that be...?

He dared not pursue the thought, feeling his face grow hot and his heart pound wildly.

At the rim, a faint scent drifted—wine mingled with her unique fragrance—subtle, alluring, more intoxicating than the wine itself.

He stole a glance—Situ was not looking at him, but gazing up at the bright, silver moon, her flawless face bathed in its glow.

Moonlight poured over her perfect profile and slender neck, cloaking her in a sacred aura.

From the dark hair at her temple, a single white strand caught the light, like a delicate flaw on jade—yet rather than marring her beauty, it lent her an air of poignant loveliness.

Lu Chenyuan was entranced.

A strange, inexpressible urge rose within him—to reach out and smooth that lonely white hair, to shield her from the world's every storm.

But in this corrupted, mad world, the word "protection" weighed unbearably heavy...

What was that terrifying power that had surged from his soul? He had nearly become a monster even he would fear.

He should have been haunted by dread and confusion. But seeing Situ's tranquil detachment, those feelings quietly melted away, replaced by a profound sense of peace.

Heart steeled, he finally brought the gourd to his lips and took a cautious sip.

The liquor burned like fire, searing his throat; he could not tell whether he tasted wine or the lingering sweetness left at her lips.

He coughed violently, face flushing crimson, doubling over as tears pricked his eyes.

Just a sip, and the world spun; heat surged through him, and a drunken blush bloomed across his cheeks.

Situ let out a clear, musical laugh that rang delightfully in the quiet night.

Lu Chenyuan looked up, dazed, to find his master watching him—her eyes, always touched with a trace of languid intoxication, now curved into twin crescent moons, enchanting and mischievous, outshining even the moon above.

He stared, momentarily spellbound.

Seeing him so bemused, Situ's lips curled even further with playful amusement.

She leaned in, and her breath, faintly scented like orchids, brushed his cheek.

"What you said on the street just now," she murmured teasingly, "I heard every word."

Lu Chenyuan's heart gave a jolt, his drunkenness fading as nervousness seized him.

He had spoken in a rush of passion, never imagining he would have to face the consequences.

He'd thought she would laugh it off, pretend not to hear—but she had chosen this moment to mention it.

Situ regarded him with unhurried poise, eyes glinting with mischief, and deliberately mimicked his earlier, smoldering tone:

"She... is my woman!"

With a raised brow and a bright, teasing smile, she added, "Was that how you said it?"