As the words fell, Meng Yang wheeled Yan Zheng over.

Dressed in a cyan robe with a white fur draped over his shoulders, he looked ethereal as an exiled immortal. Yet every word from his lips was a barb, pricking Pei Zhuo into a fit: “Yan Sanlang? What are you doing here? I’m speaking with my sister from the Chu family—what business is it of yours?”

Yan Zheng arched a phoenix-like brow: “You’re surnamed Pei, she’s surnamed Chu—what kind of relation is that? How dare you call her ‘sister’?”

“You!” Pei Zhuo glared for a moment before suddenly catching on. “I see now—you regret the divorce, don’t you? Yan, a good horse doesn’t turn back to graze. If you’ve got any pride, stay away and stop pestering her!”

Chu Ruoyan’s heart pounded in fear.

How dare the young lord of the Pei family provoke him like this?

Though he was a local tyrant in Yuzhou, facing Yan Zheng—this god of death—he’d be ground to dust in an instant!

Just as she stepped out to mediate, Yan Zheng leisurely remarked:

“What if I have no pride?”

Chu Ruoyan: “…”

Pei Zhuo froze, utterly unprepared for the famously composed Marquis of Anning to discard all dignity.

Then, a sweet voice piped up—

“Father, Uncle, what are you talking about?”

Turning toward the voice, they saw a boy of about five or six, his features bearing a faint resemblance to Yan Zheng, dressed in the uniform of the Imperial Academy. His large, dark eyes—shiny as black grapes—gazed at them with innocent curiosity…

Pei Zhuo felt as if struck by lightning, stammering: “You… what did you just call him?”

He pointed at Yan Zheng. The boy answered matter-of-factly: “Father!”

Father…

As far as Pei Zhuo knew, Yan San had only been married once. So this child’s mother must be—

Before he could finish the thought, Chu Ruoyan emerged from the carriage.

The boy cheered and rushed toward her: “Mother!”

Chu Ruoyan caught him hastily: “Be careful!”

Her tone, scolding yet doting, shattered Pei Zhuo’s world. His face crumpled: “H-he’s really your son?”

Chu Ruoyan’s lips twitched. Yan Wenjing, in his childish voice, puffed his cheeks and said indignantly: “Uncle, what do you mean? Of course I’m my parents’ son!”

Pei Zhuo blurted out without thinking: “That’s not what I meant! I meant—how could a cripple like Yan San even father a child?”

The moment the words left his mouth, he realized his blunder—the boy was clearly born years ago.

Stomping his foot, Pei Zhuo grimaced: “Chu… you—you should think carefully! Yan San’s legs are useless now. He’ll never ‘stand’ again!”

Chu Ruoyan was baffled. Wasn’t it obvious a cripple couldn’t stand?

But behind her, killing intent surged. Yan Zheng’s face turned icy: “Whether this marquis can stand or not is none of your concern!”

Seeing his fury about to erupt, Chu Ruoyan hurriedly intervened: “Young Lord Pei, today isn’t the best time. Please leave first.”

Pei Zhuo nodded, casting one last glance at Yan Wenjing before muttering as he walked away: “How did they even have a child?”

His voice dripped with heartache.

Only when he was gone did Chu Ruoyan exhale in relief: “My Lord, why provoke him? Everyone in the capital knows the Pei heir grew up wild in Yuzhou. Even if you disregard Empress Pei’s status, think of the Pei clan behind him!”

They were an ancient family, untouched even by shifts in imperial power!

Yan Zheng had initially been irked by her speaking for him, but her underlying concern soothed his temper.

“Mn. You’re absolutely right,” he conceded.

Chu Ruoyan: “?”

Had the God of Death lost his mind today? Since when was he so agreeable?

After scolding the elder, she turned to the child: “Wenjing, you too. If you’re going to lie, at least make it believable. I’ve only just turned fifteen—how could I have a child your age? Only someone as gullible as Young Lord Pei would fall for it.”

Yan Wenjing nodded obediently: “Oh.”

Yan Zheng interjected coolly: “Indeed. He’s a fool for not seeing through it. You should avoid him in the future.”

Chu Ruoyan massaged her temples. Why was Yan San so combative today, fixated on Pei Zhuo?

Dismissing it, she asked: “Wenjing, are you hungry?”

Yan Wenjing had already eaten before leaving school—his favorite braised pork belly, no less—and his little stomach was round and full. But he nodded eagerly: “So hungry! Auntie, let’s go eat!”

Chu Ruoyan also wanted a quieter place. “My Lord, any dietary restrictions?”

Yan Zheng shook his head. She suggested: “Then let’s go to Lucky Pavilion. Their braised pork is legendary—Wenjing’s favorite.”

“Ah? Again—” Yan Wenjing clapped a hand over his mouth mid-protest.

He shot a pleading look at Yan Zheng, who said calmly: “I had braised pork at noon. Let’s pick something else.”

“Alright, then let’s have hotpot. Something lighter.”

At Lucky Pavilion, Yan Wenjing barely ate before excusing himself to recite Confucian classics. Yan Zheng sent Meng Yang to accompany him next door, remarking: “Wenjing has been diligent in his studies lately.”

“Diligence is good. That child carries too much on his mind. Immersing himself in books will do him well.” Chu Ruoyan then shifted topics. “By the way, Lord Cao visited today. He mentioned the palace intends to pin the embezzlement case entirely on Earl Changlu as the scapegoat. Did you know?”

Yan Zheng’s gaze sharpened: “I did.”

Chu Ruoyan nodded, her guess confirmed. “So that’s why you arranged his ‘escape’—once he’s dead, the palace can’t dump everything on him…”

Yan Zheng hesitated: “Are you afraid?”

“Of what?”

Meeting his rare unease, she understood. “My Lord means Earl Changlu? Why fear him? He should’ve known the consequences when he embezzled military funds. As for the fourth miss, you spared her, didn’t you?”

Yan Zheng’s tension dissolved.

He’d worried his ruthlessness might frighten her.

But blood debts demanded vengeance.

Thankfully, she didn’t blame him…

“What’s your next move? Will you pursue it to the end?”

Yan Zheng affirmed: “But Gu Yuan complicates things. His protégé, the Ministry of War’s Gong He, is involved. Without the old fox’s cooperation, forcing him to yield will be difficult.”

Him—the emperor.

Chu Ruoyan pondered: “Chancellor Gu? I might have a plan…”

Yan Zheng raised a brow as she smiled. “Leave it to me. But I have a condition.”

“Name it.”

Choosing her words carefully, she said: “Lord Cao’s advice today holds some merit. Extremes sever fate. Now that the Yan family’s vengeance is nearly settled… could you shed less blood in the future?”

The hotpot bubbled, steam rising between them.

Through the mist, her clear gaze held his. Yan Zheng found himself nodding.

Her eyes brightened instantly: “Thank you, My Lord!”

He felt his heart warm like the boiling pot before him, but his expression suddenly darkened. “Why did Cao Yang visit your residence? Was he there to cause trouble?”

This was hardly surprising. As the head of the Ministry of Justice, he rarely paid visits unless it involved legal disputes or criminal cases.

Chu Ruoyan quickly explained the events of the day.

Only then did Yan Zheng’s furrowed brow relax. “So that’s what happened.” He tapped his fingers lightly on the table. “Since he’s about to become your uncle by marriage and also brought up the embezzlement case, it’s only proper to return the courtesy. Go back and tell him this—on his wedding day, he must avoid Princess Qingping at all costs.”

Chu Ruoyan was stunned. “Princess Qingping?”

Wasn’t that the emperor’s widowed cousin? She had never remarried, instead filling her estate with dozens of male companions, indulging in pleasure day and night. Her aunt had even once urged her to emulate the princess!

Noticing her bewildered expression, Yan Zheng’s lips curled into a faint smile. “Cao Yang may be rigid, but he holds considerable power and status. Did you think no one in the capital has their eyes on him?”

Chu Ruoyan’s face paled. “You mean… Princess Qingping has taken an interest in him too?!”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep