Chapter 7 : A Hand in the Dark

The wind stirred shadows, and the entire courtyard was silent, except for the occasional chirping of insects that broke the stillness.

Blood seeped from the corner of Lin Ting’s eye, slowly blurring her vision in a crimson haze. 

Everything became indistinct—even Duan Ling’s face.

Lin Ting couldn’t see Duan Ling’s face clearly, but he could see her with absolute clarity.

Her hair was still styled in the twin-hanging bun from earlier that evening. 

To facilitate movement, she had removed all her jewelry, leaving only silk ribbons. 

The apricot-colored ribbons tied her hair neatly on both sides, their ends falling alongside a few loose strands of her soft black hair.

Duan Ling never forgot a single detail. 

He remembered that when she arrived at the Duan household, she had been wearing a light yellow waist-length ruqun, with gold and silver floral-embroidered pibo draped over her arms. 

But now, her outfit had changed—she was dressed like a village woman, wearing a simple trousers-and-skirt ensemble.

Now, blood-stained strands of her hair brushed against the fabric of her clothing, leaving dark streaks behind.

Realizing that there was more than one person in the wardrobe, his expression remained unchanged. 

With a calm and deliberate motion, he curled his fingers around the handle and slowly pulled open the door.

Without the wooden panel blocking it, the man’s corpse immediately tumbled out.

Duan Ling didn’t even glance at the body at his feet. 

His attention was fixed on Lin Ting, who was still half-crouched inside the wardrobe. 

His tone was gentle, almost tender, carrying a hint of surprise:

“Miss Lin Qi?”

“What are you doing here?”

Lin Ting moved her numb legs, gripping the now-slippery, blood-soaked edge of the wardrobe to pull herself out.

As soon as she stepped out, she collapsed onto the ground.

She couldn’t tell if it was because her blood circulation had been cut off from crouching too long, or if she had been so shaken by the man’s brutal death that her legs simply gave out beneath her.

Duan Ling, standing closest to her, made no move to catch her, nor to help her up.

His demeanor was like that of a merciful deity, yet his eyes betrayed an indifferent coldness—something inhuman, something deeply embedded in his very bones.

For as long as Lin Ting sat on the ground, Duan Ling stood beside her, unmoving.

Behind him, the Jinyiwei exchanged glances. 

Hearing the way he addressed this woman, they realized he knew her. 

Their hands, which had instinctively gripped their Xiuchun Blades, hesitated but did not draw them.

Lin Ting hadn’t yet recovered from the shock. 

Her eyelashes trembled as she stared at the blood on her hands.

Since regaining awareness of being trapped in a novel, she had only thought about making money—she had never personally witnessed someone die in such a horrific way right before her eyes.

She knew the Jinyiwei often left blood in their wake while carrying out their duties. 

But knowing and seeing it firsthand were two entirely different things.

What unsettled her most was that the Xiuchun Blade could have easily struck her as well, ending her life in an instant.

Duan Ling, noticing her prolonged silence, called out again:

“Miss Lin Qi?”

Lin Ting opened her mouth to respond, but the taste of iron seeped in from the corners of her lips, making her vision go black for a moment.

The sight of the man’s cracked skull, exposed brain matter, and his lifeless, unseeing eyes replayed vividly in her mind.

She gagged.

And then she vomited.

There was no time to run outside. 

She threw up right there in the room—in front of Duan Ling, in front of the Jinyiwei—completely disregarding her own image.

The Jinyiwei, accustomed to witnessing prisoners being captured, tortured, and executed, remained unfazed. 

A woman throwing up? 

That was nothing.

When Lin Ting finished, she glanced up at Duan Ling and muttered weakly, “Sorry, I couldn’t help it.”

He stood sideways near the door, half of his face hidden in darkness. 

His voice was absent-minded:

“This is your first time seeing something like this. Your reaction is normal. There’s no need to blame yourself, Miss Lin Qi.”

She picked herself up from the floor.

After vomiting, she felt slightly better.

Duan Ling stepped outside, his crimson robe trailing behind him like a streak of blood in the night.

Lin Ting had no desire to stay inside, facing either the corpse or her own vomit, so she followed him out. 

The Jinyiwei did not stop her.

Outside, the air was musty, but not as stifling as inside the poorly ventilated room.

It was only then that Lin Ting realized she was soaked in cold sweat—her damp clothes clung uncomfortably to her skin.

That was close.

She raised a hand to touch the golden pendant of the God of Wealth that hung around her neck, hidden beneath her collar. 

She decided that as soon as she got back, she would burn incense for it—not just one stick, but an entire basket.

She would personally fund all of the God of Wealth’s incense offerings from now on.

After a moment of silence, she hesitated before asking:

“How did you know someone was inside the wardrobe?”

Duan Ling turned his head slightly.

“My hearing is different from others.”

His voice was calm, indifferent.

“Sometimes, I can hear sounds that others cannot—like a person’s breathing. Just now, I heard two separate breathing patterns inside the wardrobe.”

Lin Ting had been trying to distract herself from thoughts of the corpse by asking questions.

So she asked another:

“You knew there were two people, but how did you determine that he was on the left? And how did you know that he was the person you were looking for?”

What if you had killed the wrong person?

Duan Ling lightly tapped his bloodstained fingers against a wooden post.

“Miss Lin Qi, are you interrogating me?”

She was exhausted, leaning against another pillar. 

Wiping away the sticky blood on her chin with the back of her hand, she murmured softly:

“How would I dare? If Lord Duan doesn’t wish to answer, then let’s pretend I never asked.”

Duan Ling smiled slightly.

“Men and women breathe differently. I could tell the difference.”

Lin Ting fell silent.

Her fingers absentmindedly picked at a small hole in the wood, chewed away by insects. 

After a long pause, she lowered her head and asked:

“What was his crime?”

Duan Ling answered lightly, as if discussing the weather:

“A capital offense.”

Then he added, “Miss Lin Qi, are you truly not interrogating me?”

Lin Ting was abruptly reminded that she and Duan Ling were not in any position to be having casual conversations.

She immediately shut her mouth, her gaze shifting away to avoid his.

In the original novel, Duan Ling had been utterly disgusted with Lin Ting because she had constantly schemed against him.

But he enjoyed boiling the frog slowly, never killing her outright. 

He let her climb higher like a ridiculous clown, believing she could suppress the female lead, take the male lead for herself—only to watch her fall from grace in the end.

She couldn’t afford to let her guard down around him.

Duan Ling took out a handkerchief and held it out to her. 

“Your breathing is uneven. Were you frightened? My apologies. Wipe your face first.”

Lin Ting didn’t dare accept his handkerchief. 

She politely declined and used her own, relatively clean, sleeve to wipe her face instead.

Duan Ling’s outstretched hand paused in midair for a few moments before he withdrew it at a measured pace. 

Then, he got straight to the point:

“By the way, Miss Lin Qi, you still haven’t told me why you are here alone.”

“I… I…” Lin Ting struggled to find an explanation. 

Should she say she just enjoyed visiting deserted places for the thrill of exploring haunted houses?

After hesitating, she asked, “Must I answer?”

In her line of work, confidentiality was key.

Duan Ling didn’t press her. 

“You don’t have to. But we have reason to suspect that you were colluding with him in secret, and that you had arranged to meet here tonight.”

That accusation was too much. 

Lin Ting could neither bear it nor afford to.

She quickly defended herself: 

“I don’t know him! If you don’t believe me, go investigate. He even held a dagger to my throat just now, threatening me to stay silent! You’re the Jinyiwei—what information could you possibly fail to uncover?”

Duan Ling remained unmoved. 

“You flatter us too much.”

Lin Ting continued smoothly, her words as sweet as honey: 

“I’m only speaking from my heart. I truly believe you have the ability to clear my name.”

She lavished praise on the Jinyiwei as she spoke.

A black spider, startled by the commotion, began scuttling along the web spun across the courtyard. 

Its eight thin legs twitched, spinning fresh silk strands as it quickly climbed up to a corner of the beam.

Duan Ling watched the spider as it busied itself, weaving its web. 

He seemed lost in thought.

Then, he said casually, “I believe Miss Lin Qi is not connected to him. It’s getting late—I’ll have my men escort you back to the Lin household. Would that be acceptable?”

Lin Ting breathed a sigh of relief.

Good. 

As long as she could leave, that was all that mattered. 

At least he hadn’t used this opportunity to settle personal grudges tonight.

But leaving empty-handed? 

After all that effort, after getting scared half to death?

She wasn’t satisfied.

She glanced at his hand, hesitated, then took the risk: 

“Lord Duan? Could you escort me back personally?”

Duan Ling was genuinely surprised this time. 

He looked at her with a hint of disbelief, as if questioning whether he had misheard.

“You want me to escort you?”

Lin Ting went all in. 

She nodded firmly. 

“I only recognize you. I only trust you.”

Even though they had spent so much time plotting against each other in the past, she figured it was worth a shot.

What if he actually agreed?

She had gone through so much effort tonight—even if she hadn’t found her target, touching his hand would at least make up for it.

Duan Ling stepped closer, lowering his gaze to meet hers. 

“Miss Lin Qi, do you think my Jinyiwei subordinates would harm you?”

He was too close.

The heavy folds of his crimson robe brushed against her trouser skirt before slowly falling away again.

Lin Ting’s gaze flickered toward Duan Ling’s unguarded hand, dangling loosely at his side. 

Her fingers itched to move.

“Not exactly,” she replied, then quickly added, “I also had something to discuss with you—your hand is injured! Why is there blood?”

She deliberately pretended not to know that the blood belonged to the dead man.

She reached out.

Just a little more.

Just a little bit more.

Her throat went dry.

But just as she was about to touch his hand, he avoided her.

“It’s not mine. I’m not hurt. But I appreciate your concern, Miss Lin Qi.”

So close.

Just a fraction of an inch away.

Lin Ting closed her eyes for a second, hiding the flicker of disappointment before he could notice and grow suspicious.

Yet, his next words rekindled her hope:

“Since you have something to tell me, I’ll escort you home myself.”

Then, he tilted his head slightly and ordered the Jinyiwei: 

“Take the body back.”

Lin Ting quickly interrupted: 

“Wait! I want to wash my face and change before I leave.”

She couldn’t just wander the streets covered in blood.

And she definitely couldn’t return home like this.

If Tao Zhu saw her, she would go ballistic, interrogating her about everything. 

After tonight, she’d never let her go out alone again.

“It was my oversight.”

Duan Ling looked at Lin Ting again after hearing her request. 

Though his expression remained patient, who knew what he was truly thinking? 

He ordered a Jinyiwei to purchase a new dress for her to change into.

Lin Ting knew she had inconvenienced him, so she sincerely expressed her gratitude: 

“Thank you, Lord Duan.”

After washing her face and changing into fresh clothing, Lin Ting followed Duan Ling out of the dark, gloomy courtyard. 

One after another, they walked out of the narrow alley and onto the brightly lit street, where the warmth of human life dispersed the lingering scent of blood from her body.

There was still half an hour before the curfew, and while the streets were no longer as lively as earlier, there were still vendors packing up their stalls, some eager to go home, others trying to earn a little more silver before calling it a night.

A street vendor approached Lin Ting. 

“Miss, would you like a candied hawthorn stick?”

Lin Ting had originally planned to refuse, but when she saw that he had only one stick left, she changed her mind. 

Tao Zhu liked sweets. 

She took out some money and bought it.

Duan Ling didn’t rush her. 

He let her stop and make her purchase without saying a word.

The capital, beneath the emperor’s rule, was a city of prosperity and decadence—a place where the powerful indulged in excess.

Tall buildings lined the streets, red silk sleeves fluttering from the balconies. 

The air carried the faint scent of incense and powder, and from time to time, soft, coquettish voices called out as they bid their guests farewell.

Following the sound, Lin Ting’s gaze landed on a nearby pavilion, where a group of women with painted faces, bare chests, and large red flowers in their hair stood at the railing, waving handkerchiefs as they sent off their patrons.

“Come again next time, my lord!” they said, their smiles dazzling.

But the moment the men left, their smiles vanished. 

Expressionless, they turned and disappeared into the building.

Lin Ting watched this scene with a thoughtful expression.

Duan Ling, however, was watching her. 

“Didn’t you say you had something to tell me?”

A stray lock of hair was lifted by the wind, brushing across the bridge of her straight nose, casting a faint shadow over her features. 

When the wind passed, the strand of hair fell back into place, and the shadow disappeared, revealing her face in full clarity once again.

During her time washing up, the rouge and powder had been washed from her skin. 

Now, her face was completely bare, her eyes bright and full of energy.

Duan Ling slowly looked away.

Hearing him bring up the excuse she had used earlier, Lin Ting lifted her lashes and met his gaze.

During her time changing, Duan Ling had also removed his Feiyu robe. 

Perhaps he had not wanted to escort her through the streets in full Jinyiwei attire, drawing too much attention.

Yet, even in plain silk robes, his striking appearance could not be concealed.

The passing townspeople, unaware of his true identity as a government official, simply assumed he was a handsome nobleman out with his beloved. 

They stole glances at him, whispered among themselves, and then went on their way.

Lin Ting had grown up watching him. 

She was used to it—the only issue was that their relationship had never been good.

A thought struck her, and she decided to play the weak card:

“I was young and foolish. I did many reckless things. I wanted to apologize to you.”

Duan Ling remained perfectly calm and even smiled. 

“Reckless things? What kind of reckless things?”

“Well…”

His gentle voice cut her off:

“Are you referring to the time you said I wasn’t even worthy to lick your boots?”

“Or the time you made a voodoo doll of me and stabbed it?”

“Or the time you set a trap, leading me into a wolf’s den?”

Lin Ting was at a loss for words.

She couldn’t deny that “she” had done those things.

But he remembered them in such vivid detail, and yet had never confronted her about it until now.

“I…”

The usually eloquent Lin Ting found herself unable to form a proper response.

Duan Ling took in every change in her expression.

“I was at fault as well,” he finally said. 

“They’re all old matters. What’s the point of bringing them up now? I don’t hold a grudge against you, Miss Lin Qi. Don’t dwell on it. It’s late—you should go home. Let’s not speak of it again.”

With that, he turned and continued walking forward.

But then—

A soft, slender hand reached out from behind and caught his.

Duan Ling’s step faltered slightly.

When he turned around, he saw Lin Ting’s delicate fingers slipping between his own, intertwining with them.