When Leng Yiyao woke up, she realised she had been brought to a cellar—an underground cellar, to be precise. All around her were stored supplies for winter, including barrels of ageing wine.
A cellar? Did he not even have a proper place to stay? But judging by his attire and demeanour, he didn’t seem like a homeless drifter.
She looked down at her abdomen. Thankfully, it had been bandaged. The wound must have been treated with medicine as well—though the pain persisted, there was a faint minty scent, indicating the quality of the medicine wasn’t bad. Otherwise, she would have already developed an infection and a high fever.
Scanning her surroundings again, she noticed that the cellar bore no signs of its owner’s identity. The walls were bare—not a single photo, nor any unnecessary objects.
Where was that man?
Surely, he wouldn’t just leave her here and ignore her completely?
Once she was certain her body was stable, hunger began to gnaw at her. It had been far too long since she last ate.
From the moment this body had been imprisoned by that so-called eldest prince to when she had expended energy fighting and killing so many people, she had reached her physical limit.
Surviving without food and water? That was something only gods could do. Any normal person still had to eat, drink, and deal with basic bodily needs.
At that moment, the only entrance to the cellar—the iron door—was pushed open from the outside.
The man in the black robe appeared once more, still revealing only his eyes as he silently stepped in.
He seemed surprised that she had woken up so soon. Though she couldn’t see his facial expression, the astonishment in his eyes was clear and undeniable.
“I brought you some bread and milk. It’s too late to find something hot.” No, it wasn’t that hot food was unavailable—he simply didn’t want to risk exposing his whereabouts.
Leng Yiyao didn’t ask further. She simply nodded and accepted the food.
Having anything to eat was already a luxury. This wasn’t the time to be picky.
Her throat was too dry, so she gulped down the milk first before starting on the bread.
Throughout the meal, the man kept watching her, seemingly intrigued by her identity, yet he remained silent, not interrupting her as she ate.
She glanced at her side—her scimitar was gone. Clearly, he had taken it.
Was he afraid she would “bite the hand that fed her” and suddenly attack him? Or had he discovered something from the dagger?
Feigning indifference, she continued eating while discreetly observing his expression.
The cellar was cold, and with no heating installed, the aftereffects of excessive blood loss slowly set in the longer she stayed.
After finishing her food, Leng Yiyao realised that even the robe draped over her shoulders wasn’t enough to keep her warm. Seeing that the man was lost in thought, she pondered for a moment before speaking first.
“You brought me here—what do you want?”
This man wasn’t a libertine. Otherwise, he would have taken advantage of her while she was unconscious.
And yet, in the dead of night, instead of sleeping, he had somehow “coincidentally” appeared when she was fighting off two rapists in an abandoned house.
There was something suspiciously uncanny about him.
“Who are you?” the man asked instead, lifting his gaze and cutting straight to the point.
The simplest question. The most natural question. The first thing strangers should ask upon meeting.
Leng Yiyao, however, smirked. “What does my identity have to do with you?”
The man suddenly moved, drawing the scimitar from behind him. Lifting it slightly, he let the dim cellar light reflect off its edge, his eyes dark and unreadable—almost sinister.
“You probably don’t know yet,” he said, voice eerily calm. “But just an hour ago, the entire city went into lockdown. Want to take a guess why?”
His words lingered in the air, carrying a chilling undertone that sent a shiver down the spine…
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