Chapter 7: ◎Blood Flows Up Along the Shattered Porcelain’s Edge to Kiss Her Fingertip.◎

After a dizzying whirl, the pain Meng Yiran had braced for never came. She groggily opened her eyes and suddenly realized she had somehow ended up back in Tong Yuwu’s arms.

A thunderous “Bang!” rang in her ears, accompanied by the boy’s agonized scream. Meng Yiran whipped her head around to look and saw him sprawled flat on his back across the nearby lawn, as if someone had kicked him flying.

Kicked him?

The only ones here were her and Tong Yuwu. She hadn’t done a thing, but Tong Yuwu… hadn’t Tong Yuwu been confined to a wheelchair?

The little white cat stared blankly downward, trying to peek at the woman’s legs, but all she could see was the still, unmoving hem of that yellow skirt. In the next instant, Tong Yuwu pinched her chin and forced her head up, making her lock eyes with those icy purple irises.

The owner of those purple eyes leaned in slightly, her tone teasing yet laced with overwhelming pressure as she said, “You’re so useless. All you know how to do is run.”

Meng Yiran let out a weak “meow,” her body going rigid as she braced for a scolding.

But Tong Yuwu didn’t press on. Instead, she released her grip and gently scratched at Meng Yiran’s cheek, rubbing in a way that made the little cat want to purr with bliss.

In a soft voice, she asked again, “If you’re going to run away, then why come back?”

Meng Yiran responded with a string of anxious “meows” and whines, not caring whether Tong Yuwu understood or not as she desperately tried to convey her worry.

She was genuinely terrified that Tong Yuwu might be corrupted by that little pervert—and even more afraid of fleeing and leaving Tong Yuwu alone to be bullied by the brat. Sure, the kid was only ten while Tong Yuwu was on the cusp of adulthood, but the wheelchair-bound woman would surely come out on the losing end in any confrontation!

To Meng Yiran’s astonishment, Tong Yuwu actually laughed. Her curved eyes cradled purple full moons.

She issued no further rebuke. Instead, she drew Meng Yiran into her embrace with one arm.

Meng Yiran felt the softness beneath her paw pads, and her entire feline body went stiff. She let out a couple of soft “meows,” then shamelessly buried her whole head inside, rubbing against it in utter bliss.

The little boy finally staggered back to his feet. He pointed an accusing finger and yelled, “You kicked me?! I’m telling Father! Just you wait… Urgh—”

His words cut off midway, his voice dying in his throat. Meng Yiran turned to look and saw him clutching his neck and chest, his chubby face twisted in agony as he rolled on the ground like a man possessed by madness. His shrill screams choked off, replaced by hoarse, guttural groans.

Meng Yiran jumped in fright, wondering if the kick had somehow triggered some hidden affliction, when her viewpoint suddenly lifted.

Amid the swaying motion, she was shocked to discover that Tong Yuwu had risen from her wheelchair!

The heavy black book lay abandoned on the seat, its open page frozen on that eerie illustration. From a distance, bizarre crimson lines traced across the human form outlined a perfectly symmetrical pattern, faint bloodlight flickering within—an ominous portent hanging in the air.

But Meng Yiran had no attention to spare for it. She craned her neck downward and watched as Tong Yuwu’s pristine round-toed boots—untouched by a speck of dirt—descended lightly as drifting clouds, finally brushing the sullied earth for the first time amid the swaying skirt hem.

She took measured steps, moving slowly but with perfect steadiness.

Meng Yiran recalled how, in the novel, the male protagonist had sworn after meeting Tong Yuwu that he would find a cure for her legs. But in truth… could Tong Yuwu walk all along?

The next moment, however, Meng Yiran looked up and caught sight of Tong Yuwu’s delicate collarbone and slender neck, so fragile it seemed one hand could encircle it. The Noble Miss’s frail form was swathed in an elaborate court gown, a small expanse of exposed skin at her chest gleaming with a pallid luster—unhealthy from its lack of color. As she glided forward, the corset accentuated her graceful silhouette, now visible, now veiled. Meng Yiran rested her head on the woman’s shoulder, her gaze trailing down the proud spine to the slim waist that swayed ever so slightly with each step.

The girl was just on the verge of womanhood, delicate and aristocratic as a sunflower’s bloom in a greenhouse.

In a daze, Tong Yuwu had already reached the boy’s side.

She halted, bending down to squat on the lawn and peer closely at his condition. Her pale yellow skirt hem floated above the grass, draping over her entire lower half.

Meng Yiran had just been thinking what a kind soul the Doll Lady was, so caring toward her little brother—when Tong Yuwu raised that shard of porcelain.

She pressed its razor-sharp edge against the boy’s wrist. As she sawed into the flesh, she murmured, “It’s a bit dull… going to take a while to cut through.” Her expression was one of utter focus, her grip on the shard steadier than any butcher’s hand on a well-worn knife. Blood welled up, flowing backward along the jagged edge to kiss her fingertip, lending her originally pallid skin a bewitching allure.

Fear flickered into the boy’s eyes, forcing its way through the deep abyss of pain. Crimson blood welled up from the gashes on his wrist, dripping into the black soil and staining it with dark patches. His body convulsed uncontrollably, drenched in cold sweat from head to toe, shaking as if stripped naked and thrown into an icy cavern during the depths of winter.

Yet even so, he lay motionless on the ground, playing the part of a lamb awaiting slaughter. The only flaw in his act was the tears gushing from his reddened eyes like a floodgate unleashed.

Tong Yuwu was momentarily distracted by this. She yanked the silk handkerchief from the boy’s chest and pressed it over his sweat-and-tear-streaked round face, sneering, “How unsightly. It’s not even that painful.”

In the blink of an eye, a bizarre triangular wound appeared on the boy’s wrist, like a blood-red brand seared into his flesh. The metallic tang of blood radiated outward from that point, draping a crimson veil over everything nearby. Though it was a mild afternoon in the garden, the flowers and grass beneath the blood’s reach wilted feebly, as if their vitality had been forcibly drained away.

Meng Yiran recognized that triangle—it was identical to the blood-red seal on the human illustration.

For several seconds, she didn’t move a muscle. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to; her mind had gone completely blank, unable to process what she’d just witnessed. When she finally snapped out of it, she let out a piercing wail. Her limbs went limp, and she tumbled from Tong Yuwu’s arms. After hitting the ground, she stared in confusion for a moment but remembered her need to flee from this stranger wearing the Doll Lady’s face. She staggered away unsteadily.

Once she’d put some safe distance between them, she turned back. Tong Yuwu was holding that bloodstained shard of porcelain, her deep purple eyes fixed on Meng Yiran.

Normally, locking eyes with her would captivate Meng Yiran with the Noble Miss’s beauty right away. But this time, the blood was too glaring; it felt like sand had gotten in her eyes. As she blinked, Tong Yuwu’s exquisite face blurred further in her vision.

Tong Yuwu frowned slightly and leaned forward, extending her clean hand toward Meng Yiran. For the first time, she called out in a commanding tone, “Come back.”

Meng Yiran instinctively lifted a paw, only to realize her body was trembling too violently to obey. Her paw pads barely touched the ground before she nearly toppled over.

The little white cat simply collapsed onto the ground, too drained to flee farther or return to Tong Yuwu’s side. In her damp eyes, Tong Yuwu’s figure was reflected—close yet impossibly distant.

Tong Yuwu froze, watching her silently.

In the sunlit garden, the lovely Noble Miss and her prized white pet cat gazed at each other across two or three meters, the scene picturesque enough for a painting—if one ignored the bloodied form sprawled at the Noble Miss’s feet.

Time ticked by slowly. It dragged on until the boy on the ground finally fainted, his body going utterly still. Only then did the young Noble Miss let out a soft sigh. She rose to her feet, tossed the porcelain shard aside, and flicked the blood from her fingertips. Then she walked over to Meng Yiran, scooped her up from the ground, and cradled her in her arm.

Meng Yiran felt cold. She let out a few weak “mewls,” enduring her shivers as she pressed herself closer to Tong Yuwu, seeking the faint warmth of her body.

Tong Yuwu stroked her gently, one hand after the other, murmuring just once, “Coward,” before falling silent again.

She carried the little white cat back to the wheelchair, closed the black book, and set it on the armrest. Then she wheeled away with Meng Yiran.

Near the castle gates, they ran into Jenny, who was hanging bedsheets out to dry. Jenny looked surprised to see Tong Yuwu. “Miss? Heading back inside already?” She glanced up at the sun. “The weather’s so nice—why not stay in the garden a bit longer?”

Tong Yuwu tapped lightly on the black book with one hand while petting Meng Yiran with the other. “No point,” she replied flatly.

Jenny didn’t press the issue. She handed her chores off to the other maids and stepped forward to push the wheelchair, escorting them back to the study.

Later that evening, a small commotion erupted in the castle. Meng Yiran overheard Tong Rencheng trying to force his way into Tong Yuwu’s bedroom but being turned away. The steward came to report: the underage guest had been attacked by an unknown assailant and had fainted in a corner of the garden from severe blood loss. The castle doctor had examined him, but the psychological trauma seemed far worse than his physical wounds. Once awake, the little boy curled up on his bed, screaming silently and refusing to let anyone near—not even his own father.

“What a shame,” Tong Yuwu said by candlelight, closing her book with an impassive expression.

“It’s too late tonight. I’ll visit him tomorrow.”

The steward murmured his assent.

After he left, Jenny patted her chest in relief. “Thank goodness you were in the garden this afternoon too and stayed safe, Miss. We must bolster the defenses to keep ill-intentioned people from harming our precious young mistress inside the castle.”

Meng Yiran twitched her ears, pretending to be utterly absorbed in the teething toy beside her paw. Tong Yuwu curved her lips in a faint smile and hummed in agreement.