Feng Xiyan waited until nightfall, but Lang Huan still hadn't returned. The knot in her chest tightened with growing jealousy and resentment. She no longer cared about principles or ethics—she just wanted Lang Huan.
All she could think about was possessing her completely, making her sister suffer, all to protect her wounded pride.
Unable to sit still any longer, she rose and left the room. Just beyond the house, she spotted Lang Huan sitting on a bamboo chair beneath the open sky. She was humming a small tune, her face peaceful, as if nothing was wrong. It made Feng Xiyan even more upset.
Why is she so calm? Doesn't she care about me at all?
Feng Xiyan was about to walk toward Lang Huan—until a quiet noise from the kitchen caught her attention. It was like someone moving around. Her heart tightened with suspicion. She turned and made her way cautiously to the back of the house.
Peering into the kitchen, she saw Duo Ji. He was hunched over the stove, holding a small bottle. Just as he uncorked it and leaned over the pot, ready to pour in the liquid, he noticed a pair of eyes watching him. His hand froze. The bottle slipped from his fingers.
A look of relief crossed his face—it wasn't Lang Huan.
He stared at Feng Xiyan. It had been a long time since he'd seen a woman, let alone touched one. The hunger that had been festering inside him surged forward.
"Madam," he said, stepping closer, he looked around—Lang Huan wasn't there. Slowly, he moved toward Feng Xiyan, thinking this was the perfect chance to satisfy his craving.
Feng Xiyan didn't say anything. Her silence only provoked his impatience. He grabbed her arm with one hand and pulled her skirt with the other. Feng Xiyan struck him hard. The blow sent him crashing into the table behind him. His face turned pale, then flushed with shock and fear.
Duo Ji struggled to get back on his feet, but Feng Xiyan stepped forward and grabbed his arm, twisting it hard until a scream tore from his throat.
She looked down at him with disgust. "Give me the bottle," she snapped.
"You disgusting rat! You're not even worthy of licking the dirt off my shoes!"
"Please—please forgive me…" Duo Ji whimpered, handing her the small bottle.
"Your ankle….?" In that moment, he realized the truth: Feng Xiyan had been pretending all along.
Footsteps echoed from outside. Panic flashed in her eyes. If Lang Huan saw her like this—everything would be ruined.
She grabbed the kitchen knife and drove it into Duo Ji's body. Feng Xiyan tore her clothes, raked her fingers through her hair, and collapsed, sobbing uncontrollably. She wanted her to feel guilt.
And just as planned, Lang Huan appeared at the kitchen door. Her eyes widened in horror at the sight. She saw Duo Ji lying in a pool of blood—and Feng Xiyan, half-naked, her hair disheveled.
Lang Huan's heart dropped. She rushed forward and pulled Feng Xiyan into her arms, holding her tightly. "What happened?" Lang Huan shook her gently, panic rising in her voice as she looked at the bruises and torn fabric. "Did he hurt you? Did he do something to you?"
Feng Xiyan didn't respond right away. Her tears fell silently, one by one, soaking into Lang Huan's shoulder. "Where were you? I hate you… why did you leave me alone?"
Guilt gripped her like a vise. Tears welled up in her own eyes as she held Feng Xiyan even tighter. "It's my fault… my fault…" she murmured, over and over.
Feng Xiyan smiled inwardly. Lang Huan was soft-hearted and sentimental. Seduction might not work on someone like her—someone who had devoted her entire heart to her sister. Guilt was the perfect weapon.
Lang Huan carried her into the bedroom. Seeing Feng Xiyan curled up on the bed in silence broke something inside her. She could no longer hold back her tears. Leaning closer, she whispered, "I'm sorry… I'm so sorry for leaving you alone."
Feng Xiyan looked up at her. Lang Huan's eyes were red and full of tears.
She gently reached out and ran her fingers through Lang Huan's hair. The anger had faded; she let out a quiet sigh. Lang Huan was too easy to fool. Maybe Feng Yao had deceived her the same way—made her fall so deeply in love.
Feng Xiyan was about to tell the truth. The words were already on the tip of her tongue, but she changed her mind. "Lang Huan… help me take a bath."
Lang Huan nodded right away. "I'll go boil some hot water."
After she left the room, Feng Xiyan reached into her sleeve and pulled out the small bottle she had taken from Duo Ji. She looked closely at the label. Aphrodisiac. Her hands shook with anger. "Damn you, filthy bastard! May your soul rot in hell."
While Lang Huan dragged Duo Ji's body away, a terrible thought kept coming back to her mind. Her hands trembled. Lang Huan hated herself for leaving Feng Xiyan alone.
Lang Huan gently helped her undress and led her into the wooden tub. The eighth princess watched her closely—but she didn't see even the slightest hint of desire in Lang Huan's eyes. There was only pity and heartache. It was different from how she looked at Feng Yao.
Feng Xiyan leaned back in the tub with a small huff. "Hmph…"
The thought of Lang Huan falling into the hands of the eldest princess made her feel unwilling and restless. Her eyes drifted toward the small bottle she had hidden under the bed.
Lang Huan checked her body carefully. Aside from a bruise on her arm, she was relieved there were no signs of assault.
Since Feng Xiyan still refused to talk about what had happened, she didn't push her.
Being around her was mentally exhausting; Feng Xiyan's moods shifted without warning. Somehow, her silence was eating Lang Huan alive.
After a long silence, Feng Xiyan finally spoke. Her voice was soft, but her words struck like a stone.
"Lang Huan… since you feel guilty toward me, and you've already seen my body… you need to take responsibility."
"…Huh?" She turned to look at Feng Xiyan, completely confused.
"Wait—what are you talking about?" she said, letting out a small laugh, trying to lighten the mood. "You know I'm a woman too, right? I helped you take a bath. That's not a big deal. Your maid is also a woman—don't tell me you'd say the same thing to her?"
Lang Huan took a deep breath and looked at her seriously. "Did Duo Ji... hurt you?"
Feng Xiyan's eyes flared with emotion. "No! He didn't succeed—because I fought back. But what if I didn't know martial arts? Can you even imagine that?"
Her voice rose, shaking with anger. "I hate you! I hate you!" She pointed to the door, her face twisted in pain and rage. "Go! Get out! Go find my sister, since she's the one you care about!"
"I'm sorry... I won't leave you alone again." Lang Huan stood there like a statue.
Feng Xiyan grew more furious. She stormed out of the bathtub, water dripping from her body, and shoved Lang Huan hard toward the door.
"You even faked having a twisted ankle," Lang Huan shouted. "You really are a good actress!"
Feng Xiyan's face turned red. She grabbed a flower pot from the table, ran to the door, and threw it at her.
"Get out!" she screamed. "I don't need you!" The pot shattered against the wall, just inches from Lang Huan's head.
After slamming the door shut, Feng Xiyan quickly got dressed. Then she reached under the bed and pulled out the small bottle she had hidden.
She walked over to the table, opened the teapot, and carefully poured the liquid inside. With this, you'll have no choice but to marry me. A sly smile appeared on her lips as she imagined Feng Yao's heart breaking.
"Lang Huan... don't blame me. It's your fault for being stubborn."