The man’s face darkened abruptly.
Listen to what she was saying—because the man she loved was missing a finger, no one else deserved hands?
“Ronghua, do you find me pleasing to the eye?”
Di Ronghua looked at the smile that didn’t reach his eyes, thought for a moment, then said, “Actually, not really. What’s this? Are you offering me your hand?” She laughed, “Your hands are quite beautiful, though. If they could be swapped for my Fenghua’s, that would be splendid.”
[My Fenghua.]
Twice she mentioned this person, twice she emphasised those words, whether intentionally or not.
Xiao Hanjin’s gaze darkened several shades, “You kept Mu Qingshuang in the palace just for this?”
“Not quite,” she said, blinking to clear her vision, “I was just tending to Fenghua’s wounds earlier and felt a bit sad. Then at dinner, you upset me again, so I couldn’t help but want to take it out on someone.”
Her face was streaked with blood and a pure smile, yet it carried an boundless chill as she spoke the most cutting words.
It was almost… deranged.
Xiao Hanjin’s chest suddenly tightened, a bitter ache spreading through him.
She was so ruthless—striking without even blinking. The Di Ronghua of the past wasn’t like this at all.
Yet at this moment, what rose in his heart wasn’t disgust, but… a strange pang of pity.
What had happened to her over these years?
His distinctively jointed hand reached out instinctively towards her. In the blink of an eye as Di Ronghua fluttered her lashes, his palm was already pressed against her face.
When she opened her eyes, she froze for a moment, then giggled, “What are you doing?”
She didn’t dodge. Her charming laughter curved her brows and eyes, her joyful tone laced with a playful tease that stirred ripples in one’s heart.
The man’s gaze deepened.
His fingertips wiped the blood from her face, and fearing she might pull away, his other hand steadied her waist, “Your face is covered in blood.”
Di Ronghua’s smile grew even brighter and clearer, “You forcibly kept Miss Mu here, and now that she’s in this state, you don’t even care. Wiping my blood right in front of her—are you trying to ensure she doesn’t die fast enough, insisting on stabbing her heart as well?”
Mu Qingshuang’s body shuddered.
It was unclear whether it was from the pain of her severed hand or from Di Ronghua’s words.
She struggled to lift her head, staring in disbelief at the man’s gentle, almost cautious movements.
From start to finish, he… hadn’t even glanced at her once.
“Xiao Hanjin,” she said, her eyes red-rimmed as she glared at him, her voice trembling, “She kept me here to take my life. Do you regret it?”
The man continued wiping the blood from the woman before him, his movements uninterrupted, his gaze never shifting even slightly, “When I left Beixi, you entered the palace without my permission. You brought this on yourself.”
“Ha… hahaha, cough, cough…”
Intermittent laughter mixed with coughing erupted. Mu Qingshuang’s heart throbbed with pain, “I brought it on myself… I deserve it! Xiao Hanjin, I’ve waited for you all these years, and you say this to dismiss me?”
The man’s movements paused briefly, and he finally turned to look at her.
A spark of hope flared in Mu Qingshuang’s eyes.
But his indifferent voice rang out, devoid of any inflection, “If saying such things worked, I’ve been waiting for her since the moment I fell in love with her. But clearly, she won’t be moved by it in the slightest, and I can only watch her drift further and further away from me.”
