Chapter 25: Paper Crane

Han Ziheng had drunk a bit too much; the beauty before his eyes appeared hazy and even more exquisite.

"Zhilan, have a drink with me."

A large hand wrapped around the beauty's waist, and his breath, heavy with the scent of alcohol, brushed against her snowy neck.

Zhilan merely knit her brows for a fleeting moment before quickly masking it, smiling as she lifted her wine cup.

After a few cups, Han Ziheng pulled Zhilan toward the soft couch. The pale red gauze curtains fell, enclosing the faint fragrance within the canopy.

...

Han Ziheng fell into a deep sleep. Perhaps due to the excessive drinking, he let out loud, heavy snores.

Zhilan quietly observed the sleeping man, thinking to herself: *He is sleeping very soundly this time.*

She raised her hand and touched the orchid hairpin in her hair bun. It was a gold-plated copper pin; the other end, buried deep within her thick black hair, had been polished to a fine, sharp point—sharp enough to serve as a lethal weapon at certain moments.

For instance... now.

Her fair, soft fingertips lingered on the cold tip of the pin for a long time. Zhilan bit her lip, preparing to pull the pin out, when the man beside her suddenly stopped snoring.

"Water—"

The courage she had painstakingly gathered receded like a tide, leaving only wretchedness behind.

Zhilan hurried to the table to pour tea. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a servant guarding the outer room peek inside, causing her hand to tremble involuntarily.

She had thought that once she lured Han Ziheng into a trap, she would eventually find an opportunity to strike, but only when the moment truly arrived did she realize how terrified she was.

It wasn't that she feared death, but rather that she knew clearly she had only one chance; once she failed to seize it, she would have no second chance to reclaim her life.

After serving Han Ziheng half a cup of water, Zhilan lay down beside him and closed her eyes.

She could not sleep. Echoing in her mind was the memory of her younger brother, who had died a tragic death under horse hooves.

Her brother was so young; not long ago, he had been sweetly calling her "Sister," yet when she saw him again, he was bloodied and breathless. Her father had gone to the capital to file a complaint and had since disappeared; her mother had wept herself blind before hanging herself from the jujube tree in their courtyard.

She and her brother had both loved that jujube tree. Whenever the fruit ripened, she would use a long pole to knock them down, and the jujubes would scatter across the ground, some even landing on her brother's tiger hat. He would always rub the large, red jujubes against his clothes before being the first to give one to her.

She hated him so much—hated that arrogant, unrestrained face, and hated those heavy hooves that had been raised high only to fall with such force.

She did not go to the capital immediately; she went south first. In those misty water towns, she cultivated an air of graceful elegance before finally entering the capital.

She had thought finding someone would be difficult, perhaps even impossible until she grew old and faded, but she never expected it to be so simple. She had even seen that person riding a horse through the streets with his eyes, with no one daring to provoke him.

How could a person like that escape retribution?

Perhaps, arsenic would be safer...

The next morning, as the patrons gradually departed, the small buildings along the Xiangsha River fell into a slumber, leaving only waves of powder fragrance drifting upon the water shimmering with scattered gold.

Zhilan could not sleep. She walked out of her fragrant boudoir and stood by the railing on the second floor, looking down at the main hall.

The hall was also silent, looking like the bare, unsightly branches of an autumn tree after its heavy fruit had been stripped away.

A sense of loathing rose within her. Zhilan turned to return to her room, but her hand paused at the door as she looked down at her feet.

It was a paper crane.

A very small paper crane, more than enough to rest quietly in a woman's palm.

Zhilan took the paper crane into her room, examined it, and then unfolded it to reveal the writing inside.

The handwriting was powerful and vigorous, carrying a sense of sharpness. The content was like a piercing arrow, striking directly into Zhilan's eyes: *I know who you want to kill.*

Zhilan instinctively recoiled, and the slip of paper fluttered to the ground.

Her face turned deathly pale and her body trembled. In that brief moment, many thoughts raced through her mind: Who sent the paper crane? Was it a trap, or had they truly sensed her intentions? Was it Han Ziheng—no, no, it couldn't be him; if it were him, she wouldn't be standing here unscathed.

Could it be Hanfang? Hanfang hated her for stealing her spotlight, so it would be normal for her to try to threaten her, but how did Hanfang know?

Zhilan's mind was in total chaos. She clutched her head as large beads of sweat broke out. It took a long while before she picked up the paper and read it word by word.

Having stayed in the south for several years, she had learned to read and write. Though her own handwriting was poor, she could tell that the words on this paper must have been written by a man.

Could it be one of Hanfang's patrons?

Zhilan could not figure it out. She spent the entire day in a daze, and by nightfall, she barely managed to muster the energy to receive guests, only to oversleep the following day.

This time, the paper crane appeared by her window.

Was this paper crane a living thing, quietly flying in while she slept?

In the midst of immense fear and confusion, Zhilan even tossed the paper crane into the air to see if it would fly.

The paper crane drifted down slowly, and she caught it with her hands. Upon unfolding it, there were indeed words: *You will not succeed.*

*You will not succeed*—Zhilan gripped the paper tightly. In this instant, even her fear vanished, leaving only rage.

After the rage came a sense of self-loathing and grievance: she was a cowardly, useless person. Her brother was dead, her parents were gone; why was it that she was the one who refused to die?

If it had been her who died under those hooves, perhaps her parents and brother could still be living well.

That day, Zhilan thought listlessly: *It doesn't matter who sent the paper crane. She only has one life left, and it isn't worth much.*

By the third day, when Zhilan unfolded the paper crane, she actually felt a sense of urgency. The content on the paper made her breath hitch: *I can help you.*

*Help me, it says help me*—Zhilan paced back and forth in her room, clutching the paper, tears streaming down her face without her even realizing it.

Perhaps because the paper cranes always appeared by her side so mysteriously, Zhilan felt an irresistible trust toward the person who wrote them.

Since he was so mysterious and unpredictable, perhaps he truly could do it?

If he were deceiving her—heh, she had already said it; she only had one worthless life, what was there to deceive her about?

Zhilan waited for the fourth paper crane with an impatient heart.

And that paper crane, emitting an extremely faint fragrance, arrived exactly as expected.

...

Qiu Heng once again slipped into the small building. Seeing an unskillfully folded paper crane by the window of Zhilan's boudoir, she knew that the plan she had been plotting for many days had moved one step forward.

This time, she did not leave a paper crane; instead, she took away the one Zhilan had folded. Only after returning to Lengxiang Residence did she open it, finding a date inside.

The date was the key message sent by Zhilan; as for the location, that was chosen by her.

What she needed Zhilan to do was to lead Han Ziheng to that place, thereby completing her plan.

Zhilan—a female courtesan too insignificant for the vastness of history—would die a tragic death after a failed assassination of Han Ziheng, leaving behind only a faint trace in the dusty archives.

After arriving in the capital, Qiu Heng spent many nights sneaking out of the Marquis's estate to familiarize herself with the streets, alleys, and pleasure districts, until she finally found her.

That day arrived quickly.

Qiu Heng called Fangzhou over and told her calmly, "Fangzhou, I am going to avenge my father."

Fangzhou, who spent every day earnestly making delicacies and watching everyone enjoy the pastries happily, showed not a hint of surprise.

She raised her hand to wipe the tears welling at the corners of her eyes and asked Qiu Heng, "Miss, then what can I do?"

(End of Chapter)