Song Qingchao pursed her lips and nodded heavily.
She could clearly see everyone’s expression.
Surprise, pity, disappointment, and mockery – not a single person held hope for her return.
It was understandable, she had been ill for five years.
But her illness was due to the space.
The space was a grand and magnificent library, six floors above ground, with an estimated collection of 1.2 million volumes.
The power of knowledge was heavy.
The space gifted her with erudition but stripped her of a healthy body.
Everyone whispered that the eldest daughter of the Zhennan Marquis Manor would not live past eighteen, her life short and her a bringer of bad luck.
Since she came of age, only the “infatuated” second young master of the Feng family had sought her hand.
On a day like this, those of noble standing would not venture out. Most of those present owed a debt of gratitude to the Song family.
Though they held no high expectations, they still made way, allowing her to pass quickly.
“Thank you.”
Song Qingchao pursed her lips and tightened her grip on the umbrella handle, walking forward.
Initially, she worried she had unknowingly transferred the space to that man, but a check revealed otherwise.
The only difference was that the hourglass, which had been stationary on the central platform, was now moving.
Since obtaining the space at the age of eleven, she had never felt so refreshed. Her body felt like a wisp of willow catkins, easily carried aloft by the slightest breeze.
She had once believed fate was cruel, turning a winning hand into a losing one.
Only at death did she understand how foolish it was to depend on others for survival!
Song Qingchao narrowed her eyes. Perhaps this man was the key to her breakthrough.
She intended to turn the tide, transforming a burden into an asset.
But Song Qingchao had not expected to be unable to even enter her own home.
The row of guards stood like eighteen arhats; no matter how much she pleaded, they remained unmoved, their swords held across their chests.
These were official soldiers; she could not act rashly, lest she be branded a “traitor.”
Though anxious, she maintained her dignity as a嫡女 (direct descendant daughter). “All of Chang’an knows that the Marquis Manor has a daughter whose beauty is unparalleled. Her crimson mole now is even more captivating. Pray, look and see if my crimson mole is fake?”
The gruff man holding a sword at the forefront grunted, “Young lady, you are perhaps too confident in your own beauty.” He then flashed the tip of his sword. “If something were to happen after I let you in today, this humble officer cannot bear the responsibility.”
Song Qingchao stood rooted, smiling helplessly. Since when did she have to prove her own identity?
She had intended to use the main entrance for speed, but unexpectedly encountered such stubborn guards.
She lowered her gaze, turned, and retreated, intending to climb over the wall.
The entire manor was surrounded; forcing entry would be suicidal.
After a circuitous route, Song Qingchao finally arrived at the Xie Manor.
She looked up at the grand plaque and pursed her lips.
Her family had now been labeled as “traitors.”
The Xie family, on the other hand, was a staunch supporter of the Emperor and would not help her.
Therefore, she did not knock on the firmly shut gate. With a light step, she leaped onto the wall, spinning to land in the courtyard.
She was intimately familiar with the patrol times of the Xie Manor.
With practiced ease, she crept into an elegant courtyard; this place was even more familiar to her.
The Xie and Song manors were adjacent, separated by only two walls and a narrow path.
Beside these walls stood a towering old tree, its summer apricots often extending into her family’s garden.
Just as she stepped onto the trunk to climb, the master of this courtyard emerged, startling her and nearly causing her to slip.
The person held a paper umbrella, obscuring his face, revealing only a handsome jawline and a dangling sapphire earring.
Despite wearing a dignified blue robe, he managed to exude an air of rebelliousness.
“Song Chaocao, you’ve come to steal apricots again.”
His voice was lazy as he slowly revealed a pair of eyes utterly devoid of any impurities.
“There’s been a lot of rain this year, making the apricots sour and riddled with wormholes, unfit to eat. You probably won’t find a good apricot in all of Chang’an. If you want to eat apricots, you’d best go elsewhere.”
The moment Xie Yan spoke, she knew his stance.
The Xie family’s attitude did not represent his own.
Song Qingchao smiled knowingly, “Thank you.”
Without hesitation, she stepped onto the branches and moved forward, then leaped down.
In her previous life, though confined, she had her own unique intelligence network. However, the clues eventually led to a dead end at the Xie family.
Shortly thereafter, news spread of the Xie family’s annihilation.
Young Marquis Xie Yan died particularly tragically. It was said he had watched helplessly as assailants ripped open his wife’s belly; the unborn child was merely a pool of blood.
The voices from the other side of the wall continued.
She heard the clash of weapons and interrogating voices.
But Xie Yan merely replied lazily, “Miss Song was not seen. However, I did see a little thief stealing apricots.”
Song Qingchao’s clenched fist loosened. It seemed she owed Xie Yan a great debt.
She ran forward without looking back.
Yet, she wondered why there were no guards.
The manor was vast; after leaving the garden, she would pass through the front hall, where she could see the situation outside the main gate.
What surprised her was seeing people kneeling outside the gate, their desperate pleas punctuated by the sound of heads hitting the ground. Some were even clashing with the guards.
“These fools…”
Song Qingchao murmured softly, her eyes welling up. She wiped her tears forcefully and, without hesitation, ran inside.
She could not betray those who helped her!
The cacophony from outside repeated, only to be interrupted by screams suddenly erupting from within the manor.
Everyone present froze in astonishment.
The umbrella in Song Qingchao’s hand dropped. Had she returned too late after all?
After a brief silence, an even more powerful wave of sound erupted.
She ran with even greater desperation!
Song Qingchao’s hearing had always been acute; she could discern location by sound, a skill learned during a game of hide-and-seek with her brother when she was five.
“Young Master Song, why do you still persist? You might as well follow your mother’s example and die to prove your integrity. I shall call you a man then.”
Hearing the voice in the ancestral hall, Song Qingchao turned her toes and rushed directly towards it. Halfway there, her heart began to ache again.
The green bracelet on her wrist once again showed red threads.
She braced herself against the wall, gasping for breath as she walked towards the ancestral hall, the vile insults in her ears unabated.
Song Qingchao called out “Mumu” repeatedly, her voice low and indistinct, trembling uncontrollably.
Finally, she collapsed just outside the ancestral hall door.
She raised her head, meeting Song Qingmu’s bloodshot eyes.
She was familiar with what lay within those eyes: hatred, a vast, immeasurable hatred.
Soldiers were continuously assaulting him, yet he tightly held the person in his embrace, even though that person had ceased to breathe.
“Look at this tender skin. Who knows where the Song family’s cultivation techniques went?”
“He’s worse than that sickly sister. As a general’s son, he spends his days with a writing brush, his moves are clumsy, who knows who he’s showing off for, hahahaha.”
Song Qingchao’s head struck the ground, her fingers digging into the bluestone steps.
Pain, intense pain.
She was too late, after all.
“It’s infuriating just looking at him. Boss, should we break his hands?”
Song Qingchao resentfully lifted her head, only to meet Song Qingmu’s despairing eyes.
She offered a bitter smile. Her sister must have seemed very useless to him.