Sang Chencao clearly knew of the previous night’s events, effectively confirming Feng Yun’ai’s suspicions.
If she weren’t acutely aware that she often talked in her sleep, why would she have gone to such lengths to drug the room? The concoction was incredibly potent; even Sang Chencao herself had to swallow the antidote beforehand to avoid being knocked unconscious.
Feng Yun’ai pursed her lips and remained silent. She had no intention of prying into the shadows of Sang Chencao’s past, but she hadn’t expected to stumble upon these secrets so inadvertently.
After a long silence, Sang Chencao let out a sharp, mocking huff, her demeanor shifting back to one of casual indifference. She stood up and said, “Now that you know, what of it? Will you pity me and ache for my heart? Or will you decide I’m so wicked that whatever Wen Lanxin did to me back then was merely what I deserved?”
Feng Yun’ai shook her head, her eyes downcast. “I thought you drugged the room because you intended to go out alone at night. I only wanted to find the truth of that matter. I came across this by accident.”
“How can it be called an accident?” Sang Chencao asked, a half-smile playing on her lips.
Indeed. Feng Yun’ai’s eyes flickered. This woman had done it on purpose. She had made Feng Yun’ai believe she had easily outmaneuvered a “seasoned veteran” of the martial world, only for it to be revealed that she was merely being led along by someone beating her at her own game.
But why would Sang Chencao do this on purpose? Did she truly want pity?
If so… she had indeed achieved it.
“It also saves you from continuing to think that Wen Lanxin and I are plotting something together,” Sang Chencao added. “No matter how treacherous her schemes are, they have nothing to do with me.” Whenever she mentioned Wen Lanxin, her tone was always filled with the same visceral contempt.
Outside, the rustling sounds of people waking up filled the air. A heavy thud echoed from the well; it seemed someone lacked the strength to hold the rope, and the water-filled wooden bucket had plummeted back down.
No one spoke in the courtyard. Those who had risen went about their business in silence, as if they were all strangers to one another.
Feng Yun’ai watched Sang Chencao for a long time. Unfortunately, hidden behind that unfamiliar disguised face, she couldn’t tell how much of the annoyance flickering in the woman’s eyes was genuine.
Sang Chencao sat there with perfect composure, arms crossed, allowing herself to be scrutinized. After a moment, she suddenly raised a hand and tapped her eyelid twice in a suggestive gesture.
Coming back to her senses, Feng Yun’ai understood. She pulled the vial of eye-coloring drops from her sleeve, tilted her head back, and let the liquid fall into her eyes.
The moment the medicinal fluid touched her eyes, a sharp, searing pain exploded within them. It was incredibly stinging, causing tears to stream down her face uncontrollably.
It was only a disguise, and her body remained her own, yet she flinched. Her slightly stiffened posture betrayed a hint of vulnerability.
Sang Chencao watched her close and then open her eyes, her pupils now a deep, murky black. Only then did she lean over to crack the window open slightly. Seeing that the people in the courtyard had departed one by one, she spoke. “If this continues, every application will be more painful than the last. When you can no longer endure it, you will go blind.”
Feng Yun’ai lifted her sleeve to cover her face, wiping away the moisture on her cheeks. This wasn’t the first time Sang Chencao had warned her, and she had noticed it herself—her eyes were finding the stinging pain increasingly difficult to withstand.
“Are you afraid?” Sang Chencao asked leisurely.
“Of what?” Feng Yun’ai weighed the vial in her hand, silently calculating that there should be enough for more than ten more uses.
“Of blindness,” Sang Chencao said.
Feng Yun’ai’s thoughts drifted, imagining the various consequences of losing her sight. Her world would likely be a void of pitch black where she could see nothing, and walking would inevitably lead to stumbles and collisions.
However, Feng Rong had once told her that a swordsman should use their sword as their eyes and ears. Even if their vision was obscured, they must always know where the blade was pointed.
Feng Yun’ai shook her head. “There is nothing to fear.”
Sang Chencao’s brow arched as she stared intently at her. Her gaze was like a serpent’s—steeped in a subtle, probing curiosity, as if she wanted to dig the word “fear” out of Feng Yun’ai’s mouth.
Outside, the last person stepped out of the courtyard.
Abruptly, Feng Yun’ai asked, “Why exactly did you come to Cloud City?”
Sang Chencao leaned against the wall, her gaze dropping as a nearly imperceptible “tsk” escaped her lips.
Feng Yun’ai continued, “I truly do not dare to trust you completely. Do not blame me.”
“Little Xiuxiu is quite sincere, at least.” Sang Chencao stood up from the daybed. With a single stride, she was standing right next to Feng Yun’ai, leaning in so close that their conversation felt like a whispered secret against her ear.
