Sixty-Seven: Meeting Wang Luo Again

Just as Su Chen had said, Wang Luo had truly made a name for himself.

He had single-handedly defeated the Chen family, and now strode proudly through the streets with Chen Wanjun on his arm—so much so that even Chi Mu could do nothing to him.

The next time Su Wan saw him was at an auction.

Su Wan had her eye on a plot of land, perfect for a cosmetics workshop. She had already looked into it thoroughly: the land had once been a cemetery.

People in the 1980s were superstitious about such things, so Su Wan was able to secure it for a pittance.

After learning who this person was, the crowd in the hall, though still whispering among themselves, no longer dared raise their voices in anger.

Chu Liche stepped forward and offered a courteous bow, his tone full of apology. “I have been rude, miss. Please do not be alarmed. My name is Chu Liche. Upon hearing of your exceptional beauty and grace, I could not help but come to pay my respects. I hope you can forgive my boldness.”

With that, he took a step back, moving politely toward the door.

Someone downstairs chuckled. “Who would have thought Chu Liche could be so courteous to a beautiful woman? How odd. I’ve heard he doesn’t even spare his own father a harsh word—or a fist—at home.”

Chu Liche’s gaze darkened with displeasure, as if he might rush out to confront the speaker at any moment. The charm in his eyes now seemed overshadowed by a brooding intensity, a stark contrast to his usual rakish air.

“Young Master Chu...” Wang Yi called softly. Chu Liche’s expression shifted, and he looked at her with a teasing smile. “Since Young Master Chu is so polite, and has such a good reputation, why not come in and sit with us?”

The hall broke into a clamor. Some whispered that the woman must be out of her mind; if she hadn’t reacted so strongly just now, the young master would have already lured her away. Others said she was simply currying favor, hoping to seize the chance to get close to someone so influential.

Their voices were not in the least subdued. The innkeeper’s face fell, and upon hearing that the young woman had invited Chu Liche inside, he hurried downstairs to sternly silence the gossip.

Chu Liche’s eyes swept over the woman before him. Her features were unremarkable at first glance, but whenever she smiled, it was as if a hundred flowers bloomed at once—her brows arched, her lips curved, and she seemed to bring a quiet joy to all who saw her.

He smiled faintly and gestured for her to go first; they entered the room one after the other.

He said, “My name is Chu Liche. Might I have the honor of knowing yours? Judging by your bearing and manner, are you here in Wangzhou for the martial arts tournament?”

Wang Yi’s eyes dimmed, her voice soft as she replied, “Young Master Chu, you have keen eyes. I am from the Wang family of Fuzhou—my name is Wang Yi.”

“Fuzhou’s Wang family?” Chu Liche’s brow furrowed. “Is that the family that was wiped out by Snow Palace a few years ago?”

Wang Yi raised her sleeve to cover her face and nodded quietly, her tone sorrowful: “I happened to be away traveling at the time and thus escaped the disaster, but my poor younger sister...”

Chu Liche’s heart twisted with empathy and he couldn’t help but ask, “And your sister...?”

Wang Yi dabbed her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief, her delicate nose twitching as she forced a smile through her tears. “Thankfully, I arrived in time to save her life, though she was gravely wounded and her meridians were damaged. She will never again roam the martial world as she once did.”

“My lady...” Chu Liche was taken aback, seeing her in a new light. “Who would have thought you were once a famed heroine, a woman of both courage and beauty.”

Wang Yi lowered her eyes. “Now I am frail and weak. Hard to imagine, isn’t it?”

Chu Liche rose hastily, eager to explain. “Miss, I didn’t mean it that way...”

Wang Yi managed a forlorn smile, but before Chu Liche could continue, she looked toward the door, her eyes brightening. She rushed out and called, “Ah Jiu! Ah Mo! I’m here!”

At the inn’s entrance, a young woman and a man had just stepped inside. Hearing her call, they looked up in surprise and delight.

“Elder sister!” Ah Jiu exclaimed.

Her master had told her, whenever she appeared as herself, to call her elder sister.

Shen Mo froze—he could see no trace of disguise in Wang Yi’s appearance today. So she was really... her? Glancing at the man beside her, his eyes darkened. He too called out softly, “Elder sister.”

Chu Liche studied the pair closely; they seemed vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t quite place them.

As Ah Jiu and Shen Mo approached, Chu Liche suddenly stepped back and said to Wang Yi, “My lady, I just remembered something I must attend to. May I ask where you are staying? I’d like to call on you tomorrow. To be honest, I am Chu Liche, son of Chu Shengzhi—the head of the Chu family, co-host of this martial arts tournament.”

Wang Yi was briefly surprised, then composed herself and replied with a formal bow, “So it is Young Master Chu. Please forgive my earlier discourtesy.”

Having learned Wang Yi’s whereabouts, Chu Liche took his leave, brushing past Shen Mo. Their eyes met—a flash like blades crossing, or the tension before a coming storm.

Watching Chu Liche depart, Wang Yi turned to Ah Jiu and Shen Mo and led them into the private room. As if on cue, the innkeeper arrived with the dishes Wang Yi had ordered, filling the table with delicacies—though the three diners wore very different expressions.

Wang Yi picked up her chopsticks and said quietly, “Chu Liche, only son of the Chu family. Rumor has it he frequents brothels, loves beauty more than power, never trains in martial arts, but is skilled in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting. What do you think?”

Ah Jiu, ever guileless, replied, “Master, what’s there to think? Isn’t he just a playboy—like a painted butterfly?”

Wang Yi looked at Shen Mo.

“His steps seem unsteady, but he lands heavily—clearly, it’s all an act. He may not be a master, but he’s no mere rake.”

Wang Yi laughed wildly. “He made sure you saw through him—otherwise, why would such rumors persist for so long? What’s your history with him?”

Shen Mo muttered, “You really are a fox spirit in human form. How do you know everything?”

Wang Yi ate with gusto, her lips moving as she spoke. “You can eat first—or, if you’d rather, tell us your story while we dine.”

After all, he wouldn’t eat anyway.

Shen Mo’s breath caught; the wooden chopsticks in his hand snapped. He stood abruptly, his voice low and urgent. “You ask me now... Back then, you saved my life, but offered no further help. Ah Jiu, you took her in; even those two brothers you gave both silver and a house. But what about me? I scraped by for nearly ten years. What kind of life do you think I had? As for my grudge with him, what grudge could there be? He only broke my leg!”

Shen Mo drew a trembling breath, resentment heavy in his heart.

“All for the amusement of a courtesan, he shattered my leg.”

“They say a gentleman waits ten years to exact revenge. Thanks to that ordeal, I, Shen Mo, am now known in the martial world as the Little Demon King—wherever I go, chaos follows. The Chu family has hunted me many times, always in vain. But now I want to ask you—why did you save my life only to abandon me?”

Shen Mo looked at Wang Yi, his gaze conflicted. It was as though, having spoken, his resentment had dissipated. He was grateful to her, but he needed to know—why had she ignored him so completely?

“You had the means to survive. Without hardship, how could you become who you are today?” Wang Yi replied coolly, not even glancing up.

Shen Mo, now beside her, sank into his seat like a deflated balloon. “Ha! That sounds just like you. Just as, when I begged for death, you coldly said, ‘Only the living have hope—why seek to die?’”

Wang Yi spoke again, nearly without emotion. “Contentment brings happiness. Your resentment is pointless. I spared your life—whether you thrived or perished thereafter, what is that to me?”

What is that to me? Those four words landed like a heavy hammer, driving Shen Mo inch by inch into the stone floor beneath his feet.

“Master...” Ah Jiu tugged at Wang Yi’s sleeve, trying to break the tension. “Master, your clothes are beautiful today. Where did you have them made? I want one too.”

“Earn the money yourself.”

Ah Jiu pouted. “Then never mind—you arrange it for me. I have no money... I’m still living off the savings you left me.”

Wang Yi’s movements stilled. For a moment, silence reigned at the table.

Ah Jiu quickly recovered. “Master, I just meant... I’m still young, I haven’t earned anything yet. I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just that you risked your life for that money, so I can’t just waste it.”

Snap!

The half-broken chopsticks in Shen Mo’s hand splintered into pieces.

He seemed to wake from a dream.

What right did he have to resent her?

The Snow Palace left no survivors—she had broken the rules just by sparing his life. What more could he ask?

Ah Jiu was someone she had rescued from the Snow Palace; those two brothers were saved by her on a whim, unrelated to her mission. He—what claim did he have?