Volume One, Chapter 16: Cousin, Save Me

Today, the sky was somewhat overcast, heavy clouds seeming ready to crush the heavens. The air was thick with dampness, and it looked as if rain might soon fall.

Song Xianwan stepped down from the carriage and quickened her pace to follow Qin Songting. Qin Songting strode purposefully into the command post, and seeing this, Song Xianwan hastened to keep up. Her steps were short, unable to match Qin Songting’s long strides, so she found herself jogging to catch up.

What seemed just a few steps to Qin Songting left Song Xianwan slightly breathless by the time they reached Wei Qian’s room. A thin sheen of sweat had already formed on her forehead.

As if expecting this, Qin Songting stepped aside with a slight smile, knowingly asking, “Cousin, what’s the rush?”

Song Xianwan barely caught her breath enough to answer when a cold voice came from behind.

“So this is your cousin?”

The tone was like a chilling wind in a cold night, carrying a sharp edge.

In the capital, Wei Qian and Qin Songting were known as the fearsome “Black and White Demons.” Qin Songting always wore a smile, but behind it lay hidden schemes; a flick of his curved blade meant a lost life. Wei Qian, meanwhile, wore a perpetual scowl, decisive and ruthless in his actions. Together, they were a nightmare to the city’s elite—feared and avoided by all.

Qin Songting seemed to ignore Wei Qian’s remark, sitting down on a nearby chair and looking up slightly. “Where is the assassin?”

Wei Qian entered the room, his gaze briefly resting on Song Xianwan before retracting. He replied calmly, “In the jail.”

He then gestured for Song Xianwan to sit. She bent her knees slightly and spoke softly, “Thank you, Commander.”

Song Xianwan settled beside Qin Songting, appearing obedient and well-behaved. A servant brought tea and a plate of pastries.

“The jail is full of unruly people. I’ve already had him brought here,” Wei Qian said. Qin Songting’s brow twitched. “Did you find out who sent him?”

“We had difficulty prying it out of him. Shall we hand him over to the Court of Justice for you, as their chief?” Their exchange was sharp and pointed yet revealed their close rapport.

Song Xianwan sipped her tea quietly, listening.

Soon, the clang of shackles came from outside. She lowered her gaze silently.

“Sir, the prisoner has arrived.”

A rough voice announced. Wei Qian asked, “Miss Song, is this the man who tried to assassinate you last night?”

At these words, Song Xianwan covered her lips with a handkerchief but looked up at the kneeling assassin. He seemed to want to confirm something, turning his head toward her. Their eyes met briefly, a cold glint flashing in hers before vanishing.

“In answer to your question, this is indeed the man who tried to kill me last night,” she replied softly.

Before Wei Qian could speak, the assassin muttered, “You’re not…”

“Cousin, save me!” Song Xianwan’s voice trembled.

Some scalding tea spilled onto the assassin as she spoke, and she quickly retreated behind Qin Songting, clutching his clothes tightly, fear etched on her face.

“He has such a terrifying look in his eyes, like he wants to devour me. I’m scared,” she said, her eyes reddened, unwilling to let go.

The assassin, burned by the tea, was too distracted to respond.

“Since the assassin has been identified, proceed according to protocol,” Wei Qian said coldly. “You should return now.”

As someone moved to take the assassin away, Qin Songting, who had not spoken the entire time, shot Song Xianwan a sideways glance.

“Still holding on?” he remarked.

How could a young lady be so unreserved? Always wanting to cling to him?

Song Xianwan’s fingers trembled slightly as she withdrew her hands. When Qin Songting stood to leave, she followed.

“I know who you are,” the assassin murmured as she passed by.

Song Xianwan turned her head, covering her lips with the handkerchief, silent as she left the command post.

Outside, just as Song Xianwan was about to board the carriage, Qin Songting grabbed her.

“Cousin?”

She looked at him, puzzled.

Qin Songting’s gaze rested on her face. “You haven’t been in the capital long. Surely, you have no enemies here.”

“Then this assassin—was he sent by someone you made an enemy of in Liuzhou?” she asked.

He released her hand, leaning against the command post’s gate, watching her leisurely.

“I went to Liuzhou to handle an old case. If I’m not mistaken, I believe I’ve met you there,” Qin Songting said, staring intently at Song Xianwan, as if unwilling to miss any change in her expression.

He was probing, testing whether she was lying.

“I don’t know for sure. If I have any enemies, it would only be my stepmother.”

“You must have heard from Grandmother. After my mother’s untimely death, my father’s concubine took over the household. To please her, he sent me to a Buddhist temple to live in seclusion.”

Song Xianwan lowered her eyes, a trace of sadness crossing her face.

Such matters were painful to recount.

“If Grandmother hadn’t taken me back to the Marquis’s mansion, I fear I wouldn’t be alive.”

She cleared her throat softly, meeting Qin Songting’s gaze. “You’re a good man for wanting to help me.”

At this, Qin Songting scoffed. “Good man? Has no one told you about my reputation outside?”

The notion was laughable—who would call Qin Songting a good man?

“The people at the Marquis’s household dislike me, thinking I’m a freeloading poor relative.”

“Besides Grandmother, you’re the first to help me. No matter what others say, in my heart, you are a good man.”

Song Xianwan nodded firmly. Her words were unreasonable, but Qin Songting found them comforting.

The old madam liked her, surely because she knew how to flatter.

Qin Songting stared at her a while longer before turning away and heading toward the carriage.

Seeing her dazed, he frowned. “You’re not coming back?”

“I’m coming,” Song Xianwan replied, lifting her skirt and walking briskly.

Everyone likes to hear kind words; it seemed Qin Songting was no exception.

When they returned from the command post to the mansion, they ran into Qin Yuanjue at the gate.

He had been copying books at the Hanlin Academy these past days and hadn’t returned last night. Hearing of the assassin’s intrusion, he hurried back.

“Ah Wan, cousin, are you alright?” Qin Yuanjue asked, concern etched on his face.

Song Xianwan shook her head slightly. “Thank you for your concern, Second Cousin. I’m fine.”

Upon hearing this, Qin Yuanjue looked toward Qin Songting, who walked ahead of Song Xianwan, frowning.

Everyone knew Qin Songting’s notorious reputation—why was Song Xianwan walking with him?