“Sir, I don't think it's a good idea to meet him alone. We can arrange an official meeting, but not like this. He's very dangerous—” The man stopped when his master raised a hand, signaling him to stop.
“Beihong,” his master called his name lazily. “How long have you been working for me?”
The man named Beihong, uncertain of how the question related to the situation, responded quickly, “Three years, sir.”
“I see... that's quite a while, isn't it?” His boss hummed, feigning contemplation. An elegant hat rested above his eyes, concealing them perfectly. “I thought you knew me by now.”
Hearing his master's ridicule, Beihong could only nod in resignation.
Meanwhile, inside a distinguished car, a prominent man read a newspaper article with great interest.
Outside, men in black suits guarded the vehicle amid a political protest rally. The crowd raised their signs high, shouting their demands to the officials as if their lives depended on it.
Their echoing protests filled the air: We want justice, you can't silence us.
Anti-capitalists, enraged by the growing poverty, questioned who they were truly fighting—the wealthy officials or the world itself, which seemed their greatest enemy.
In the end, society functioned by accepting whatever the world handed them.
Yang's eyes narrowed when Zhou Shwan informed him of a certain someone's arrival.
“He is here, master.”
“Let him in.”
The mysterious man entered the car, unfazed by facing one of the most feared men in society, Liang Yang.
“Never thought I'd meet the young master like this,” the younger man said, his hat still shadowing his eyes.
Two nobles, of different blood, inside the same car.
Yang chuckled and acknowledged him leisurely. “Sicheng.”
“I must say,” Yang remarked, putting the newspaper down, “You've trained your dogs quite well.”
“Yeah, right,” Sicheng responded playfully. “After all, they only bite thieves.”
As if they were old friends, Sicheng relaxed in the seat and picked up the newspaper beside him, muttering, “The public can be fools sometimes. They don't realize the innocent are portrayed as evil, and the real evil ones are worshiped.”
Yang's lips twitched at the underhanded comment, knowing exactly who was being referred to.
His eyes narrowed dangerously. “A man who seeks power often chooses the path of evil,” Yang said seriously. “Stop meddling with my business, Sicheng. I'm warning you because I've taken a liking to you. You're smart enough to know how I deal with people.”
His words were uttered as if discussing the weather, but the car's atmosphere was anything but normal. “The Li family raised you well, and I can see how smart you are. But you know you're embracing something that can take your life...” Yang paused before continuing, “...or even worse, end your whole family.”
“Just like it took your father's?” Sicheng's voice turned icy, his playful aura replaced with cold-blooded menace.
Yang didn't react, having expected this sooner or later. He sighed helplessly. “So this is how you're going to play.”
“So what? Do you expect me to hand over my city to your evil tyranny?” Sicheng sneered, waving the newspaper in the air.
Nearly every article highlighted Yang's evil deeds from the day before, glorified by the media. Six officials murdered in broad daylight, in front of thousands of fearful witnesses who did nothing, believing it was an act of justice for the poor.
Fools they were, imbeciles!
“Tyrant?” Yang closed his eyes tiredly. “I have no intention of ruling this city. Your men made the mistake of taking things lightly. What I did was inevitable.”
“What about their families? Why didn't you just kill them too?” Sicheng couldn't contain his anger. “What about the orphans, mothers, and widows whose fates you'd sealed? What will you do about them?”
“You know better. I don't kill women, children, or elders.” Yang leaned back, answering as if it were obvious. “They'll be compensated. I know you're agitated, but try to putting yourself in my shoes.”
“What a joke.” Sicheng scoffed. “How about I kill you and make your newly-wedded wife a widow?”
A smirk stretched across Yang's face, his kohled eyes opening without remorse.
“You're free to kill me.”
If he feared death, he wouldn't have chosen this path. He had no family, no weakness, no one to protect. If God sent him a weakness, he'd end it himself.
But he was forgetting about someone: the wife he'd married.
Little did Yang know that God had shown no mercy in creating his weakness. This weakness would bring him to his knees, make him bow his head for its sake.
Sicheng was beyond enraged. His eyes filled with fury, his fist clenched, turning his knuckles pale as he coldly declared, “I would have killed you if not for the respect I had for your late father. Since you're so blind that you can't even see your own sins, I hope one day you'll regret all of this, seeking the mercy you never spared for the lives you've taken. You shall regret this, and I'll make sure of it.”
Yang seemed unfazed by Sicheng's curse-like statement. He took out a cigar from the car's compartment and asked, “Have you got a lighter?”
Receiving no response, Yang raised his eyebrows and stepped out of the car to enjoy a stress-relieving smoke.
Sicheng was about to leave when Yang exited first. Troubled, Sicheng followed and witnessed the display of power this formidable man wielded in his city.
As the protesters saw who had emerged from the car, a sudden silence fell over the crowd. Even the rustling of papers on the street was audible.
Rustle! Rustle!
In an instant, the crowd bowed their heads to the man they both feared and respected. Not a single soul made a sound as Yang's aide, Zhou Shwan, lit his cigar.
After taking a puff, Yang sighed and glanced at the bowing crowd with a playful smirk. “Am I not supposed to be a hated figure?” He turned to his aide, asking, “What do you think, Shwan?”
“Yes, master.”
Yang chuckled, nodding after a moment, then turned to Sicheng with a playful lift of his cigar.
“Care for one?”
Sicheng pursed his lips, watching the scene with helplessness. From that day on, he vowed to change it all—to overturn the rule of this unruly tyranny.
…
She waited, but he never called.
Days dragged on endlessly for her. Her heart, numb from the wait, remained steadfast, though her hope was slowly wearing thin.
The little girl had blossomed into a vision of grace and beauty. Yet, she remained a young woman untouched by the love she longed for, waiting for the one who was supposed to be hers.
The servants marveled at their mistress's ever-increasing beauty, noting that it seemed almost like a curse—eternal and unyielding. Each day, her allure deepened, casting an enchanting spell that could've any man on their knees for even a fleeting glance.
Fei was blessed with more than just a striking appearance; she had a heart full of kindness, a soul as gentle as a whisper, and a beauty that could captivate any man. Yet, despite these gifts, her life remained unfulfilled without the one who was to complete her.
Fei waited, and waited. Another year passed in quiet expectation.
So what? He'd return. After all, she was his wife. He would come back someday and, perhaps, offer an apology. Wouldn't he?
She prayed for his well-being and prosperity, wondering if he thought of her as she thought of him—almost every day.
Was it foolish to fall for someone she had never truly met? Maybe she was a fool.
From childhood, she had been told she would be a bride, taken away from her cage-like home. The promise of a new life with him had kept her hope alive.
And just as in the fairytales, she would become his wife. Fei spent her childhood in an emotional cage, diligently learning how to be a graceful woman and preparing for the duties of a devoted wife.
That was the essence of her upbringing.
She had grown up hearing his name, but now that she was finally married to him, the trials of her past seemed insignificant compared to the pain she felt now.
Why was God testing her in such a way?
…
Two years later, in the Master's grand courtyard, a delicate figure sat gracefully beside the hall window, absorbed in her embroidery.
Unaware of the surprise awaiting her, she continued her meticulous work, oblivious to the arrival of the one she had been waiting for so long.
Two years had passed, and Fei's confinement felt much like the cage of her childhood. The only difference was that she once had her mother’s love—a small solace that had sufficed. Perhaps she had taken that affection for granted, leading to this divine trial.
Rumble! Boom!
Fei glanced out the window at the stormy sky. Rain was coming. Her eyes lit up with sudden concern as she remembered her birds. She hurried to the backyard to bring them inside, knowing how frightened they were by thunder.
She found them fluttering anxiously in their cage, and with a gentle smile, she carefully moved the cage into the safety of the manor.
Creak! Thud!
A sudden noise drew her attention. Puzzled, she moved toward the sound. Was it the head maid? Who had opened the door?
───