Chapter 25: The Arrival of the Savior

"Weren’t you the one who just said everything was ready?” In this moment, Huarong truly felt the urge to swing the cabinet and bash her to death.

If it weren’t for Su Xin’s earlier confident assurance, would she be sitting here waiting for doom? She could’ve found a place to hide instead!

Faced with this round of scolding, Su Xin looked utterly aggrieved, muttering softly, “You only told me to go get someone, not whether they’ve arrived yet…”

Even in the dark of night, it seemed a few crows circled in the sky, broadcasting Huarong’s speechless frustration.

With a deep breath, Huarong dodged another frenzied assault from the man in black. He was clearly persistent, always swinging his blade at her, and she could barely contain her irritation. “Can’t you go hack someone else for a change?”

To tell the truth, though she didn’t want to betray her companion, she really couldn’t hold on much longer under his relentless chase—her legs were about to give out. If someone erased the man in black from the scene, she’d look like a fool tap-dancing alone, a truly mortifying sight.

“If you’d just stay still and let me kill you, it would hurt a lot less!” the man replied in all seriousness, though his blade showed not a hint of mercy—a response that nearly made her weep with frustration.

What kind of fool did he take her for? Stay still and let him kill her? If he’s so capable, let him stand still and let her catch him!

The stalemate dragged on until Su Xin was at a loss for what to do. Seeing Huarong growing weaker, she gritted her teeth and called out, “Don’t be afraid, Your Grace! I’ll come help you!”

Her gaze flickered about and landed on the wine jug on the stone table. Grabbing it, she hefted it onto her shoulder, her eyes wide and desperate. “Can you two stop moving? I can’t aim properly!”

Truly, what sort of master breeds what sort of servant?

Huarong’s own foolishness, cultivated over time, seemed to have become infectious.

“Quit hesitating and do it already! Today, it’s either him or me!” Huarong, breathless and exhausted, could barely get the words out.

Bolstered by this encouragement, Su Xin steeled herself and hurled the wine jug directly at the man in black.

But just then, Huarong was forced right in front of the jug’s trajectory—she could only watch, horrified, as it flew toward her forehead, threatening either disfigurement or death.

Her eyes went wide with panic, and in that instant she nearly lost control. “You idiot! Are you trying to kill me for real?”

But at the critical moment, Huarong’s steps faltered; stumbling over her own heel, she fell backward, narrowly dodging the jug. It sailed over her head and smashed into the man in black with a resounding crack, a drop of wine even splashing onto Huarong’s lips.

The next moment came the sound of shattering pottery—sharp and chilling. The blow left a bloody gash on the man in black’s head, blood streaming down his brow and catching on his lashes. He looked like a bloodthirsty wraith.

Huarong glanced over and saw him swaying unsteadily. Clenching her jaw, she lifted her skirts and, without ceremony, kicked him squarely. “Chase me now, will you? Go on, keep chasing!”

At last, she’d avenged her earlier humiliation. Satisfaction warmed her heart, and she couldn’t help but feel a touch smug. When Su Xin rushed over, face full of concern, she asked, “Your Grace, are you all right?”

“I am now. I nearly wasn’t just a moment ago. Next time, try to be a little more careful!” Huarong was grateful for divine mercy that she hadn’t fallen victim to Su Xin’s blundering.

She glanced again at the staggering man, lurching left and right as if drunkenly shadowboxing. Huarong and Su Xin’s heads unconsciously swayed in sync with his wobbling.

“Why hasn’t he collapsed yet?” Huarong grumbled, wary of getting too close.

Meanwhile, far off in the corner, Cuiyu watched everything unfold, heart pounding with anxiety. “Isn’t that the assassin from before? If he gets caught, what if he rats me out?”

As a palace maid, she lived every day treading on thin ice, always playing a perilous game with fate.

“No, I can’t let that happen!” Cuiyu shook her head in fear.

Gritting her teeth, inspiration struck—she pulled out the chili powder she’d brought with her. “My fate depends on you now!” Eyes cold and determined, she pinched the packet and rushed forward. “Your Grace, don’t worry! I’m here to save you. Brazen assassin, prepare to die!”

With hurried steps, she reached the assassin’s side and flung the chili powder straight at him.

In an instant, a fiery cloud of powder filled the air, stinging everyone’s eyes.

“Cough, cough—what is this stuff? Why is it so choking?” Huarong nearly collapsed on the spot, her nose burning, lungs aching, the coughing fit relentless and overwhelming. Even Su Xin wasn’t spared.

“Cuiyu, what on earth are you doing?”

“Don’t be afraid! It’s just chili powder. So long as I’m here, I won’t let them harm you!” Cuiyu’s words sounded noble, but she’d cleverly held her breath ahead of time and thus suffered little herself. She cast frantic glances at the now slightly more alert assassin, signaling him desperately: “Now’s your chance! If not now, when?”

Understanding her intent, the man in black forced himself past the pain and irritation, snatched up the fallen blade, and lunged at Huarong.

“Die, you wretched woman! This time, you won’t escape!”

The blade flashed—a deadly arc that, in the next second, seemed poised to pierce her heart.

Huarong’s vision blurred, her bloodshot eyes wide, death looming before her. She gasped in terror.

“Your Grace, no!” Su Xin shrieked, but it seemed too late for everything.

Just then, from afar, a silver sword whistled through the air, striking the assassin’s weapon and knocking it to the ground.

With two metallic clangs, the blades fell. Huarong stood frozen, drained of color, dazed and bewildered. “What happened? I’m not dead? How?”

She swallowed hard, casting about in confusion, when suddenly she spotted a figure atop the high palace wall, hands clasped behind his back, bathed in moonlight—like a banished immortal.

His half-shadowed face radiated an awe-inspiring presence.

Huarong glanced at the wide-open palace gates, perplexed and uncertain. “Why isn’t he using the main entrance? Why stand up there so high?”