The pool was filled with water, and pink flower petals floated on its surface, their strong fragrance filling the bathhouse.
As the mist gradually dissipated, a figure could be clearly seen leaning lazily against the edge of the pool, arms stretched out and resting lightly on the edge.
This was a man, and a strikingly handsome one at that, a man whose gaze one couldn't tear away from after a single glance.
His features were exquisitely beautiful and finely sculpted, perfect from any angle. His skin was crystal clear, like fresh snow after a night's fall, exuding a lustrous glow.
Amidst the rising steam, a faint blush of peach bloomed on his face. His long, narrow brows were neat and meticulous, as if cut from frost, adorning his jade-like countenance. Long eyelashes, like delicate silk fans, covered eyes of untold beauty. His nose was proud, his lips thin, and his shallow breaths filled the room with a subtle, alluring fragrance.
Light, almost inaudible footsteps sounded from outside.
The person in the bath suddenly opened his eyes, as dark as a thousand-year-old ice pond, captivating and stealing one's breath, filled with a bloodthirsty, fatal chill.
Outside the door, the footsteps stopped, and a respectful voice inquired, "Master, has something happened?"
A fierce, chilling voice suddenly rang out, "What has happened?"
Within the bathroom, white mist billowed. A flash of light streaked through the room, filling it with brilliance. When the radiance subsided, the man who had been in the water was now perfectly clad in a loose, oversized bathrobe.
And that exquisite, bewitching face was now covered by a butterfly-shaped mask, revealing only a pair of unfathomable eyes, as brilliant and captivating as glazed pottery. However, within their depths, the coldness was even more pronounced.
"Shangguan Yao has crippled the Empress and posted imperial decrees to announce it to the world."
"And her?" The lazy voice, deep and hazy, carried an indescribable sharpness, like a drawn saber.
With a splash, someone knelt down, followed by spoken words.
"This subordinate deserves death. We lost her. Originally, palace personnel were sent to escort them out of the palace. This subordinate remained hidden in the shadows. Later, for some unknown reason, Song Yuan led his men to pursue them. They discovered the carriage was empty. The Empress and her maids had vanished."
The person within the room slowly paced out, robes trailing. In the setting sun, he appeared both ethereal and demonic, possessing an unfathomable allure. After walking a considerable distance, he finally threw back a cold sentence, "Get up."
The person behind him became even more respectful, "Thank you, Master."
That person did not return to the room but instead leaned against the railing, gazing at the last lingering sunlight. His dark eyes were as deep as an abyss, and something seemed to melt within them, like ripples spreading across a calm surface.
In the twilight's final rays, a touch of warmth enveloped him, and a smile involuntarily curved his lips.
She was clearly a clever young girl. How could she not guess Shangguan Yao's next move? She had probably acted first, thus foiling all their efforts.
Thinking of the relief he felt at this moment, he suddenly felt a pang of wariness. Since when had she unconsciously captured his thoughts? His gaze was deep and far-reaching as he stared at the darkening night sky.
It seemed that ever since that night she had angrily cursed him, he had begun to enjoy watching her, unable to say whether he wished to be cursed again or simply to see her.
He, who had always disliked women, could now face a woman calmly – something he had never dreamed of.
In his childhood, his mother was as beautiful as a celestial being, like someone sacred and inviolable. In his heart, she was so unattainable.
Many times, he wanted her to curse him, but she was always so cold, so distant, as if she disdained to speak more than a word with him. Yet, he still followed her tirelessly.
Because she was his mother, his beautiful mother. No matter how cold she was to him, he still loved her.
Until that time...
His heart ached. His slender fingers pressed against his chest.
Just thinking about it made his heart shatter into a thousand pieces, tearing him apart, wishing he could die. But he still had unfinished business.
It was from then on that he began to hate women. The more beautiful a woman was, the more she resembled a poisonous flower, untouchable. To approach her meant only death, even if she was his mother.
He fell into deep thought, his eyes sharp and reddening, his breathing heavy.
Suddenly, a cup of wine was offered to him, a glazed goblet filled with ruby-red wine, exuding a rich aroma.
Behind him, the voice of his subordinate, Zhui Feng, sounded, "Master, have some."
Zhui Feng and Zhui Yue had followed him four years ago. At that time, they were being pursued, and he had saved them, so they pledged their lives to follow him.
They felt great pity for their master's pain but were powerless to help.
Because they didn't know what had wounded their master, causing him to suffer from sleepless nights, falling into nightmares from which he could not wake, his dreams filled with fierce, bloodthirsty slaughter.
This made people in the martial world live in fear, regarding him as a bloodthirsty maniac. In reality, only they knew how much suffering and pain he endured.
Since that night, when he entered the palace intending to kill that fool, an accident occurred. And whether it was a curse or a destined encounter, that woman had somehow dispelled the demonic energy within their master.
He had always disliked women, viewing them as insignificant. Yet, towards that particular woman, an exception had been made.
He truly wondered if his master would fall into another nightmare. Although he didn't know the past, he knew it was related to a woman. If this time it was still a calamity, could he bear it?
Zhui Yue quietly watched the man immersed in the night. His robes fluttered in the evening breeze, and his ink-black hair cascaded over his white bathrobe, like countless strands of dark silk, wild and unrestrained.
"Master, it's getting windy. Let's go back."
"Mm," Murong Chong softly responded, still standing straight by the railing, motionless. Although his face was not visible, he was still resplendent, like a lotus blooming in the silent midnight, awakening a pond of colorful carp.
His gaze was deep, suffused with the vastness of the twilight. Thinking of that exceptionally intelligent young girl, a warmth unexpectedly bloomed in his heart.
She was cunning when she moved, serene when still, fiery when cursing, helpless when timid, smiling when happy, and as if the world had collapsed when sad, yet she could recover in the shortest time and exact revenge for any grievance.
He wondered when she might one day be sad for him.
Thinking this, he tilted his head and drained the wine from the glazed cup. Turning back, his deep voice drifted in the wind.
"Let's go back."
He tossed the cup behind him with utmost nonchalance, as if the person who had been in pain moments before was not him at all.
Zhui Feng behind him caught the cup. He stared blankly at the departing figure. This time, his master's sorrow seemed to have lasted a much shorter time, and he had drunk less wine. In the past, he would have needed at least three cups of such wine to calm down.
Ten days later, in Wanshan Town, a carriage, not luxurious but exquisitely crafted, stopped in front of an inn. The inn's server, seeing its presence, immediately rushed out to greet it.
Such a carriage was rarely seen in this remote small town. In their eyes, this was the most opulent carriage, and its occupants must surely be people of noble status.