Chapter 135: Acting
For the next three days, Chen Xingcai visited the dungeon daily. She spoke no words, only sitting silently opposite the woman, watching her toy with the tattered cloth doll while listening to her incessant murmurs of "Chan'er, be good."
Hong Ang stood watching from the shadows, his heart heavy as a stone. He saw Chen Xingcai bring a small packet of pastries each time, gently placing them by the woman's hand; saw her tuck stray strands of the woman's hair behind her ear; saw the inexplicable emotion hidden in her eyes as she stared at the woman.
On the evening of the third day, the dungeon fell unusually quiet. The woman suddenly looked up, clouded eyes fixing directly on Chen Xingcai. Her cracked lips trembled, voice as light as a feather: "Chan'er... is that my Chan'er?"
Chen Xingcai's fingers stiffened.
She slowly shook her head, tone chillingly calm: "I'm sorry. I'm not. Your Chan'er... is already dead."
But the woman suddenly grew agitated, bony hands clutching the iron bars. She shook her head wildly, disheveled white hair swaying: "No, no... I can feel it, you are Chan'er..." She reached out a trembling hand, wanting to touch Chen Xingcai's face, "You've come back, haven't you? Mother knows..."
Chen Xingcai stepped back half a pace, leaving the woman's hand hanging in midair.
She watched the woman's expectant gaze, the sudden radiance lighting up the wrinkled face, and remained silent.
"Look," the woman suddenly smiled, pointing at Chen Xingcai's earlobe, "Right here... a small mole, identical to my Chan'er's..." Tears suddenly streamed down, tracing deep laugh lines, "You hate Mother, don't you? That's why you won't acknowledge me..."
Chen Xingcai stood rooted as the woman rambled on, alternating between laughter and tears, calloused hands clutching the ragged doll.
"That day... when they took you away, you were still smiling at me..." The woman's voice faded to a whisper, "Mother was useless... couldn't protect you..."
The dungeon grew so quiet one could hear water dripping.
Chen Xingcai suddenly turned to leave. Behind her, the woman's heart-wrenching cry echoed: "Chan'er! Don't go! Mother will protect you this time!"
...
Hong Ang stood in the shadows, tears blurring his vision.
Dazedly, he seemed to see her as she was twenty years ago.
She had been the Hong family's eldest miss then, a peerless beauty renowned throughout Central State.
In memory, she loved wearing flame-red gowns, a gilded bell at her waist that chimed like a cheerful tune with every step.
She had speaking eyes, slightly upturned at the corners. When she smiled, they became like crescent moons, captivating all who gazed upon them.
Hong Ang remembered most clearly the spring banquet that year—her sword dance: hair like a waterfall, golden hairpins glittering in the sun, sword tip scattering blossoms, pearl-embroidered shoes flashing beneath fluttering skirts.
How many scions of Central State's great families dreamed of her...
"Yue Chan..." Hong Ang took a deep breath, mustering courage to speak, when Chen Xingcai's lips suddenly curved into a cold sneer, freezing his blood.
A flash of cold light!
Chen Xingcai spun abruptly, the Ice Soul at her waist like a silver viper striking. With a sharp whistle, it thrust straight at the woman's heart behind the bars!
Hong Ang's face paled. Everything happened too fast—he had no time to think, instinctively striking Chen Xingcai's back to force her to withdraw. Yet Chen Xingcai ignored it, choosing to take the blow rather than halt her thrust.
In that split second, the woman's clouded eyes suddenly cleared like mirrors. Her form flickered, a withered hand precisely striking the blade.
A clear clang rang as the sword deflected, grazing her shoulder. Simultaneously, Hong Ang's palm strike arrived. Though he pulled most of his strength at the last moment, it still sent Chen Xingcai staggering back, a trace of blood at her lips.
"Third Sister..." Hong Ang stared in shock at the suddenly lucid woman, his voice trembling.
The woman's eyes were now sharp as knives—no trace of madness remained. Chen Xingcai wiped the blood from her lips, sneering: "Done pretending?"
"When did you see through it?" The woman's voice was hoarse yet steady.
"Day one." Chen Xingcai sheathed her long sword. "Don't take me for a fool. A parent's doting gaze toward their child cannot be faked."
She recalled childhood scenes of being punished for secretly reading storybooks—her foster father's hand trembling while holding the rattan cane, his eyes filled with more concern and worry than anger, disappointment, or frustration at her lack of progress.
But this woman before her, when crying out "Chan'er," no matter how mournful her voice, held only deathly stillness in her eyes.
"I don't know why you're pretending to be mad and staying in this wretched place." Chen Xingcai turned toward the cell door. "But I only have three days—no time for your act."
Her fingers traced the rust on the iron bars. "Besides... I've already found the answer I sought."
Hong Ang watched Chen Xingcai's resolute back, then looked at the woman's complex expression, suddenly realizing something as his face turned deathly pale.
The damp dungeon air seemed to solidify, leaving only the fading sound of Chen Xingcai's footsteps, each strike echoing against their hearts.
"Third Sister... why?" Hong Ang stood in the dim corridor, fingertips trembling uncontrollably.
The woman suddenly smiled—a breathtaking beauty reminiscent of the enchantress who once captivated countless scions of great families.
"Second Brother, you've always loved me, haven't you?" She reached through the bars, fingertips lightly brushing Hong Ang's lapel. "Free me, and we'll overthrow Hong Tianque together. I'll support you as Hong family head..."
Hong Ang stepped back, shaking his head in disbelief: "Why..."
"Why?" The woman's voice rose sharply, her exquisite features twisting. "I bore both Supreme Holy Bodies! Why is Hong Tianque the family head while I remain merely the wife standing behind him?"
She shook the iron bars frantically. "In what way am I inferior? When I left the Hong family, how many direct heirs and sect saints knelt before me? I could lead the Hong family to new heights!"
Her nails scraped against the bars with a piercing sound: "Yet you all supported him... On what grounds? I refuse to accept! I refuse!"
Hong Ang gazed at this woman who once captivated his heart, now feeling only estrangement.
He turned silently, walking away with heavy steps.
"Second Brother! Second Brother!" The woman suddenly threw herself against the bars, crying out hoarsely. "Free me... I'll marry you, alright? We can be together, alright? Just like you wanted back then..."
Hong Ang paused but didn't look back. Deep in the dungeon, the woman's cries gradually turned into manic laughter, echoing long in the cold stone walls.
...
When Chen Xingcai emerged from the dungeon, the sunlight was blinding. She tilted her head toward the dazzling light, a sneer curling her lips.
The woman holding her in memory never held genuine warmth in her eyes. Those beautiful eyes contained only calculation and ambition. She and the man who ordered the extraction of her Supreme Holy Blood were cut from the same cloth—unscrupulous in their pursuit of power, even treating their own flesh and blood as pawns.
"Imprisoned here..." Chen Xingcai murmured softly, "merely because you lost the battle for family head, isn't it?"
Everything these past three days had been a meticulously staged play. Those seemingly mad ravings, those deliberately displayed "maternal affections," were merely attempts to use her connection to the Hong family, treating her as a pawn for resurgence.
Chen Xingcai suddenly found it laughable. She raised a hand to shield her eyes from the glare, sunlight filtering through her fingers onto her icy gaze.
"What a pity..." she whispered into the void, "Your calculations are wrong."
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