Chapter 11: Money Can Fix It, Right?

The nape of a cat’s neck was a fatal weak point. Meng Yiran struggled desperately, but she couldn’t break free at all.

Her heart raced in panic when the person behind her spoke, and only then did she realize how familiar the voice was.

“Don’t move around.” Jenny lifted the little white cat to her face. “You little troublemaker, do you have any idea how much chaos you’ve caused us?” She glanced down and used her free hand to nudge the vase—now teetering on the edge of the shelf—back into place. “You’ve been wreaking havoc all over the castle these past few days, haven’t you? Lucky for you I got here just in time.”

Meng Yiran froze, her struggles ceasing as she let out a series of innocent “meow meows.”

Jenny couldn’t understand cat-speak and had no intention of entertaining her excuses anyway.

She stuffed the little white cat into the silver cage she’d prepared ahead of time, then jabbed a finger at Meng Yiran’s nose in warning. “Today is the young miss’s coming-of-age banquet. We don’t have time to clean up your messes.

“Stay put and be quiet. Once it’s all over, I’ll take you back.”

Meng Yiran panicked.

She thrust a paw through the bars, waving it frantically to point at the golden vase Jenny had overlooked. But Jenny didn’t catch on and strode away without a second glance. She carried Meng Yiran back to the servants’ living area—the same spot where Meili had stashed her before—left out plenty of food and fresh water, then turned on her heel and left.

Today was Tong Yuwu’s coming-of-age banquet, the castle’s busiest day of the year. The servants’ dorms, usually buzzing with activity, stood eerily empty. Meng Yiran meowed at the top of her lungs for what felt like ages, her throat growing parched, but not a single soul came to check.

She gave up on crying for help and focused on escaping by herself.

Unfortunately, Jenny had secured the cage’s latch with a sturdy iron lock. It was small but well-made. Meng Yiran pawed at it endlessly, even extending her razor-sharp claws, yet she couldn’t budge it an inch. Still, she refused to give up, clenching her jaw in stubborn determination.

Gradually, a strange heat began to build inside her body.

At first, Meng Yiran chalked it up to her own agitation, but soon the sensation turned unnatural—like a wildfire igniting from within, spreading from her limbs to her mind until her thoughts grew foggy.

Meng Yiran shook her head in discomfort and unleashed a plaintive yowl.

A flash of white light burst across her vision. She blacked out for a moment, and when awareness returned, the cage door hung wide open.

The little white cat blinked in stunned disbelief, her gaze snapping to the lock. The iron padlock, once firmly fastened, now lay on the floor—its bolt snapped clean in two.

She could hardly believe she’d done that. Instinctively, she rubbed her eyes and double-checked several times before accepting the truth.

Meng Yiran stared at her paw, her expression a tangle of bewilderment.

But this wasn’t the time for pondering. She shook it off quickly and prepared to head back for the golden vase.

To her shock, she hadn’t taken two steps before the heat flared up again.

This time, it hit far harder. Agonizing pain wracked her entire body, catching her off guard and nearly sending her tumbling to the floor. She barely steadied herself, realizing she couldn’t walk far in this state. Inch by inch, she dragged herself to the wall and slumped against it, mouth gaping open as she gasped for air like a fish stranded on dry land.

Her labored breaths mingled with humid mist—sweat or tears, she couldn’t tell. Meng Yiran blinked furiously, desperate to confirm she was still alive.

In the wavering blur of her vision, for fleeting instants, she glimpsed her plump cat paw shedding its fur to reveal the smooth human hand she once knew. She raised it before her eyes and clenched her fist experimentally—only for it to revert the next second to a paw complete with soft pink pads.

The pain drowned out all thought. Meng Yiran curled into a tight ball and slipped into unconsciousness.

~~~

Master Bedroom.

The tip of the masked man’s dagger hovered less than an inch above Tong Yuwu’s heart. Yet that single inch stretched longer than every twisted path he’d wandered in his life. Veins bulging across his hand, cold sweat pouring down his face, he still couldn’t drive the blade into her flesh.

His two companions sensed something amiss and crowded in to assist, but no matter who tried, none of them could truly touch Tong Yuwu.

Tong Yuwu slowly pushed herself upright with her arms. As she moved, the three masked men were shoved back by some unseen force.

The noble miss’s face wore an expression of childlike bewilderment, disarmingly innocent and cute—yet in this grim moment, it sent shivers through the three hardened killers who lived by the blade.

Her gaze drifted to the maid slumped nearby. “Is she dead?” she murmured.

The bedroom fell deathly silent. No one replied.

Tong Yuwu paid it no mind. She slipped from the bed and rose to her feet at a leisurely pace. The hem of her pristine white skirt whispered against the floor as she glided forward, ethereal as a cloud adrift on the breeze—impossibly light. In a few steps, that cloud settled before the maid. Tong Yuwu crouched down and reached out to check for breath.

That breath was faint, yet undeniably real, carrying a subtle warmth that belonged to life.

Tong Yuwu frowned, muttering to herself, “Tch, not yet.”

The three masked men were already trembling uncontrollably.

As Tong Yuwu put some distance between them, they finally caught their breath. The trio exchanged quick glances and silently agreed to retreat first.

Tong Yuwu was still half-crouched on the ground when they seized the opportunity, bolting together toward the closed bedroom door.

They had assumed the job would be quick when they entered and hadn’t bothered locking the door behind them. But now, even though the lock turned freely, the entire door seemed braced by some impossibly strong monster. No matter how hard the three pushed and pulled, it refused to budge an inch.

In their panic, the man who had leered at Tong Yuwu with crude words turned around. There stood the delicate, flower-like noble miss, risen to her feet and watching them from across the room.

Muster some courage from who-knows-where, he stammered through his tremors, “Let, let us go. It wasn’t our idea—your uncle put us up to it.”

Tong Yuwu listened closely and let out an acknowledging “Mm.”

Seeing she was open to talk eased the man’s nerves a touch. “We didn’t kill anyone. These two maids, and the guards outside too—they’re just drugged and out cold. They’ll wake up before long…”

Tong Yuwu had no interest in excuses. She cut him off abruptly. “Did he pay you a lot?”

The man blinked in surprise, then nodded emphatically as realization dawned. “Yeah, your uncle shelled out a fortune. Otherwise, heh, we brothers wouldn’t risk our necks coming after a noble miss like you.”

“So money makes it all right, doesn’t it?” Tong Yuwu mused thoughtfully, strolling over to the vanity.

Atop it sat a wooden box intricately carved with rose motifs, brimming with dazzling jewelry of all kinds—every piece a small fortune.

She didn’t even glance at them before scooping up a handful at random and holding it out to the three. “Is this enough?”

The masked men froze, abandoning their efforts at the door.

They couldn’t fathom what this young mistress of the castle wanted from them. Shock etched their faces, but none dared take a step closer to Tong Yuwu.

“You… what do you want us to do?”

Tong Yuwu curved her lips into a smile—the first she’d shown since they burst into the room.

It wasn’t forced; it lit her eyes with sincere delight. Yet to the three assassins, it carried an indescribable eeriness.

Before they could react, Tong Yuwu opened her fingers. The jewelry spilled to the floor in a cascade of tinkling chimes.

Purple light flickered in the noble miss’s eyes. She gathered her skirts on either side and dipped into a slight curtsy. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

The man’s legs buckled beneath him as an inexplicable terror surged in his chest—like a slimy serpent coiling around his throat. He tried to protest, only to find the choking sensation all too real.

Instinctively, he clawed at his neck, feeling nothing but his own rough skin. Yet the struggle to breathe intensified.

Rasping, labored breaths echoed in his ears. He turned with effort and saw his two companions gripped by the same affliction.

That wasn’t the worst of it. The force grew relentlessly stronger, throttling their necks and hoisting the three grown men into the air like ragdolls.

They weren’t strangers to hanging—had even laughed at the victims’ misery in the past.

But this was the first time they truly grasped the visceral agony of breath and life being stolen away. They kicked wildly, desperate to touch solid ground again. All their thrashing proved futile, only making their plight more pathetic.

Tong Yuwu had already turned away. She retrieved a conical ornament from the bedside table.

Carrying it to a decorative painting on the north wall, she lifted the frame and inserted the ornament like a key. With practiced ease, she pushed the wall panel aside, revealing a dark, twisting staircase that plunged downward.

A handheld lantern waited at the entrance. She lit the wick, lantern in one hand and skirts in the other, and descended slowly.

Behind her, the three men dangled with feet off the ground, dragged along by the invisible force.

Once all four had vanished into the secret passage, the wall slid seamlessly back into place. Not even the painting showed a hint of misalignment.

The now-empty bedroom held only the two maids sprawled unconscious on the floor, lost in silent, peaceful dreams.