The morning mist hadn't lifted yet, and the faint scent of herbs lingered in the Apothecary.
Zhou Hanqing stood deep in the storeroom, his fingers lightly brushing over a yellowed ledger. The ink was faded with age, but each word cut like a knife.
"One Blood-Cold Ice Herb, stored for exactly three years."
His gaze lingered on that line, knuckles tightening slightly.
"Father."
Zhou Zhilán's voice came softly from behind him. Zhou Hanqing didn't turn, simply dipping his brush in ink and lightly striking across the ledger.
The words "three years" were covered with fresh ink, then, with a turn of his brush, he wrote: five years.
"Seventh Uncle has sent someone to fetch the herb," Zhou Zhilán said in a low voice.
"Let him wait." Zhou Hanqing closed the ledger, his tone calm but edged with coldness.
Zhou Zhilán lowered her gaze, her eyes falling on the modified record—five years, just before Patriarch Zhou Xuanshan took full power.
"The thing he wants…"
Zhou Hanqing pulled a brocade box from a hidden compartment. Intricate cloud patterns adorned the surface, yet a faint chill seemed to seep from it. He handed it to his trusted aide and whispered, "Deliver it carefully, don't arouse suspicion."
The aide bowed, received the box, and stepped back three paces before turning to leave.
With only his daughter left, Zhou Hanqing finally turned to face her.
"Are you sure you want to go through with this?"
Zhou Zhilán looked up, her eyes clear yet unfathomable.
"Father, rest assured." She spoke softly, "This herb will only appear where it's meant to appear."
Zhou Hanqing studied her, brow furrowed. His daughter had been brilliant and meticulous since childhood, yet even he felt a chill down his spine at the intricacy of this plan.
"Zhilán," he said finally, his voice low, "once this begins, there's no turning back."
Zhou Zhilán's fingers brushed over the modified line in the ledger, lingering on the ink for a moment before retracting.
"Father," she lifted her gaze, a cold spark shimmering in her eyes, "we've long passed the point of no return."
Her fingertip traced the altered record once more, a faint smile playing at her lips. "Seventh Uncle thinks this herb will help him succeed, but he doesn't know…it will also become his death warrant."
Zhou Hanqing was silent for a moment before sighing. "And you plan to deal with the Patriarch how?"
"I'm not the one dealing with him." Her eyes went cold, "Seventh Uncle…will hand him his fate himself."
The brocade box soon reached Zhou Moxuan.
The chilling aura emanating from the box made a smile creep onto his lips.
"Checked it?" he asked quietly.
"Yes, it's definitely the Blood-Cold Ice Herb," Zhou Huan, his aide, bowed. "Its potency is intact, perfectly suited for Seventh Master's needs."
"Good." He closed the lid and said to Zhou Huan, "Go, act according to plan. I want Zhou Xuanshan…never to see the rising sun again."
Zhou Huan obeyed and withdrew.
Zhou Moxuan stood at the window, hands behind his back, eyes fixed on the Patriarch's estate, murderous intent glinting in them.
"Zhou Xuanshan…let's see how much longer you can resist me."
That night, at Zi hour (11:00 PM–1:00 AM),
The moon was hidden behind black clouds, shrouding the Zhou residence in complete silence.
A shadow crept silently into the Apothecary's secret herb vault. It was Zhou Huan, familiar with every corner. He opened a hidden compartment but froze suddenly.
Inside, a pitch-black wooden box had appeared.
"This…?"
He cautiously lifted the lid, and an icy chill slammed into him. His body stiffened, almost causing him to cry out.
Soul-Biting Nail!
Horrified, Zhou Huan didn't dare hesitate. He snapped the lid shut and hurried away.
From the shadows, Zhou Zhilán watched everything quietly.
Standing in the darkness, a faint smile curved her lips, and a glint of coldness flickered in her eyes. "Seventh Uncle, you really…can't wait, can you?"
Once Zhou Huan disappeared completely, she turned and melted silently into the night.
"Excellent! Excellent!"
Zhou Moxuan stared at the Soul-Biting Nail Zhou Huan had delivered, joy flickering in his eyes.
"Zhou Hanqing has been hiding evil artifacts, his crime deserves death!" He sneered, caressing the black nail emitting a faint glow. Then he suddenly turned to Zhou Huan. "Go, gather the men immediately, advance the plan! We strike tonight!"
Zhou Huan knelt, but didn't move instantly. "Seventh Master, what about Xu Changming—"
"Fool!" Zhou Moxuan kicked the table, scattering ink, paper, and brushes across the floor. "By the time they react, we'll have already—" His words cut off as he squinted, leaning close to Zhou Huan. "Are you questioning my orders?"
Cold sweat beaded on Zhou Huan's forehead. "I dare not! I'll arrange it immediately!"
After the study returned to silence, Zhou Moxuan noticed faint incense ash clinging to the bottom of the brocade box. He brushed it casually, unaware that the nearly invisible trace was the tracking powder Zhou Zhilán had deliberately sprinkled the night before.
As he began implementing his plan, Zhou Zhilán received news.
"Miss, Seventh Master has moved ahead of schedule," a maid whispered.
Zhou Zhilán paused mid-combing, her reflection in the bronze mirror showing a meaningfully sly smile. "Looks like Seventh Uncle is even more impatient than I thought."
She murmured after a moment, "Go tell Steward Xu, just say…" Her voice dropped slightly, deliberate with hesitation, "suspicious object found, please come by at Chou hour (1:00–3:00 AM)."
After the maid left, Zhou Zhilán walked to the window.
The night was as dark as ink, with faint lights flickering across the estate. She smiled faintly, shaking a small jade bottle in her sleeve. The powder inside rustled softly.
"The scent of the tracking powder…" she murmured, "Xu Changming should recognize it well."
Zhou Moxuan had planned everything perfectly, but plans never outrun change.
At Chou hour, a violent surge of spiritual energy erupted from the Zhou estate's inner yard, followed by intense tremors.
A blinding spiritual light shot from the Patriarch's mansion, then came a deafening explosion.
Boom!
Zhou Zhilán swayed, gripping the windowsill to steady herself.
The roof of the Patriarch's residence had been ripped off completely. Countless tiles and debris rained down like hail, followed by a heart-wrenching scream cutting through the night.
"Patriarch! He's gone mad—"
"He's dead—"
The cry hit like a boulder thrown into calm water, sending ripples through the Zhou estate. Lights flared, and countless figures poured out from all directions, panicked, rushing toward the estate.
Zhou Moxuan's teacup shattered in his hand, hot tea soaking the hem of his robe. He snapped upright, face ashen. "Impossible?!" His poison was deadly, but it wouldn't kill instantly!
Then a realization struck him—if the Patriarch died, who stood to gain most? Xu Changming, who had been struggling to find an excuse to meddle in the estate, suddenly…
"Damn it!"
Without hesitation, he stormed out, only to see chaos engulfing the mansion.
"What happened?!" Zhou Moxuan grabbed a stumbling steward, voice icy enough to terrify.
The steward's legs buckled, and he fell to his knees. "Se-Seventh Master… Patriarch… he… he suddenly—"
"Get out of my way!"
Zhou Moxuan kicked the steward aside and sprinted toward the mansion, halting abruptly at the threshold.
Zhou Huan knelt in a pool of blood, cradling the limp body of the Patriarch. His eyes were wide, a strange black froth clinging to his lips.
"Re…report to Seventh Master…" Zhou Huan stammered, "Patriarch's meridians are completely severed… he's… already dead…"
Zhou Moxuan felt the world spin. Staggering back, he slammed against the doorframe, fists clenched so tight the nails cut into his palms, blood seeping unnoticed.
"Someone tampered with it!"
He gritted his teeth, murderous light blazing from his eyes.
"Who?! Who did this?!"