Chapter 63: On the Brink of Collapse

How could a young fox ever match the cunning of an old one? He knew everything. Saw everything. Originally, the plan was to have Lu Yunzhou take her to the army for a period of training. This “training” was something Lu Yunzhou had doubts about. He worried the young girl wouldn’t be able to adapt physically, wouldn’t be able to endure it. After all, the army was no ordinary place. But since Old Master Shen had personally spoken, and his teacher wanted his assistance, he could only agree.

At nine o’clock in the evening, the lights of Birch Garden glimmered like lanterns in a waterside pavilion across the way. The Shen family’s servants moved methodically through their tasks—some sweeping, others wiping the railings beneath the long eaves, pruning flowers, tending to potted plants, all busily coming and going. Lu Yunzhou stepped out from Old Master Shen’s study and, looking up, caught sight of a tall, upright figure leaning silently against a tree beside the garden lake.

The man wore a thin black trench coat, his long legs straight, a cigarette held between his fingers. The crimson glow danced at his fingertips. When Lu Yunzhou approached, Feng Chenxin raised his eyes slightly, and an unusual emotion flickered in those narrow, deep-set eyes.

He asked, “Is it over?”

“Mm.” Lu Yunzhou’s voice was low and cold, his gaze jet-black, a hint of other thoughts lurking beneath.

Feng Chenxin rose from beside the tree, walking shoulder-to-shoulder with him. Earlier, he had come with Lu Yunzhou to meet their teacher, and Old Master Shen had also spoken with him at length. But later, during today’s birthday banquet, Feng Chenxin glimpsed someone—so he hadn’t stayed inside to play chess with Old Master Shen. It was Lu Yunzhou who remained, chatting and playing chess with their teacher, while Feng Chenxin went seeking that vivid red silhouette. He saw her at the banquet, holding a glass of red wine, approaching a man. He happened to witness the scene.

And so, he waited alone for Lu Yunzhou to finish his chess game and come out, lingering here in melancholy, chain-smoking, his mood evidently sour.

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Yet neither of them noticed.

Just two hours earlier, as darkness fell, the Shen family’s servants were bustling about the front hall of Birch Garden, and the garden itself was vast. On her way to find Shen Mo, Shen Sisi’s mouth and nose were suddenly covered, and she was dragged away from a secluded corridor’s corner. She struggled fiercely at first, but was forced down, dragged into the garden’s undergrowth. Gradually, as her mouth and nose were smothered, consciousness slipped from her, her vision dimming. The legs that kicked desperately on the grass soon grew still.

From beginning to end, all she could utter were muffled cries, desperate to call for help. But the figure behind her gave no chance. No sound escaped her. So even if someone passed through the corridor, none would notice her being dragged into the grass.

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The next day.

The iron door of the interrogation room was unlocked from outside. Clear footsteps echoed in. The girl huddled in the cold corner heard the sound and lifted her head slightly, revealing a bloodstained, filthy face half-hidden behind tangled hair.

It was Shen Xin—the one whose identity had been exposed at the Shen household, who had taken Shen Sisi hostage, and was now captured. When she saw the person entering, her expression changed instantly.

Shen... Shen Chaoxi?!

Shen Xin could never have imagined it. She had been locked here for two days, given nothing to eat, only a mouthful of water at the start. Her lips were cracked and bleeding, hunger gnawing at her, her mind clouded. After days in the pitch-black interrogation room, when someone suddenly entered, she thought she was hallucinating.

Shen Chaoxi stepped inside, cold eyes sweeping over her. The girl in the corner stared back in shock, disbelief etched across her gaze as their eyes met.

“How could it be you?…”

Shen Xin spoke, her voice rough, dry, and hoarse. Beneath her eyes lay bruised shadows, as if she’d been struck twice. Yet no one had hit her. Up close, it was clear these weren’t ordinary dark circles, but the aftermath of torture since her capture.

The punishment was simple—a method used to interrogate spies and criminals. Her hands and feet were shackled, her head fixed to the chair, a lamp shining on her face without pause. Day and night, she was deprived of sleep—a cruel torment for the mind.

It was enough to drive Shen Xin insane. She suffered, grew irritable, at first refusing to say anything. So they asked nothing further.

Shen Chaoxi walked quietly to her, the interrogation room dim and frigid. Anyone placed here would be driven mad. “She still refuses to speak?” Shen Chaoxi looked down on the cornered Shen Xin, her voice detached, eyes icy and proud, as if regarding someone irrelevant.

The girl before Shen Xin was cool and slender, frail in build, but her gaze was chilling—like someone who had survived life and death, facing all things with calm.

Shen Xin frowned, pupils trembling, staring at the girl’s flawless, pale face—there was an aura of authority about her, so different from the delicate, wheelchair-bound girl from the Shen household. There, she had always seemed fragile and spoke little. But now, appearing in the interrogation room, Shen Xin barely recognized her.

Shen Xin kept her eyes fixed on her.

Xiao Xiao nodded, “Yes.”

Shen Chaoxi lowered her eyelids, gaze indifferent and aloof, as if looking at nothing more than a stranger. “Since she refuses to speak, let her stay here. Let’s see how long she can endure.”

But “stay here” was far from simple. Shen Xin had been locked up for two days, her nerves stretched to the brink of collapse. She appeared drastically thinner. In the dim light, her face was as pale as frost, bruises beneath her eyes, her expression briefly dazed.

But when she processed Shen Chaoxi’s words, her long lashes quivered. Abruptly, she reached out, “No!” She grabbed Shen Chaoxi’s sleeve, looking up at the girl before her, her cracked lips issuing a piercing cry, “I don’t want to stay here. Let me out. Let me out—”

Her voice was dry, nearly broken, but facing the prospect of continued confinement and torture, she went mad. “You want out?”

Shen Chaoxi lowered her brows, leaned in, and stared at Shen Xin’s haggard, ghostly face, her voice soft, “Then tell me—who was behind your plot against the Shen family? Who instigated you?”

Shen Xin’s pupils contracted. Seeing Shen Chaoxi’s face up close, her mind seemed to fracture. “No!” As if clarity returned upon seeing Shen Chaoxi’s face, she laughed coldly. “Heh, Shen Chaoxi, you want to know, do you?”

“Dream on.”

“I’ll never tell you.”

Shen Xin laughed wildly, her laughter reckless and unrestrained.

Shen Chaoxi narrowed her eyes slightly.

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Author’s note:

I have always felt that writing is a journey undertaken by both author and reader—a little secret shared, a mutual understanding, hand in hand. The stories I write, you happen to love. That’s why, after reading your comments, I am always moved and happy. Some of you leave messages often, and I recognize you; it makes me feel blessed.

But this does not include those who casually rate one star just because they dislike it. As I’ve always said: if you like it, let’s continue together. If not, don’t make things hard for yourself. (Just delete it from your bookshelf and find another book you love.) There’s no need to intentionally leave bad reviews.

Even when ordering food or shopping online, unless something truly bothers me, I always try to leave positive feedback—after all, delivery workers and merchants work hard. Why can’t some people understand that respecting others isn’t difficult?

Fine, I won’t argue with you. Different perspectives, different ways of living. I won’t comment further. If leaving a bad review makes you happy, then cursing makes me happy too. But honestly, I can’t even be bothered to curse… Forget it, please just delete it from your bookshelf, don’t make things hard for yourself.

That’s all—a bit of rambling from the author.