Chapter 3: 第三章:第一个手下

Mo Lian looked at the composed and steady Song Xixi atop her horse, remaining silent. As expected, the most effective way to change a person is to let them suffer until they are powerless to resist, and then leave them to decide their own future. At thirteen, Song Xixi’s expression was ordinary; had it not been for the terrifying hatred in her eyes, others would have found it difficult to discern her emotions.

That night!

It was as quiet as a ghost. Night had only just fallen; only a short while had passed since Mo Lian’s group had set out, and the sky had already turned dark.

There was an inn ahead named Yuelai. Yuelai Inn? How cliché!

"Will these guests be stopping for a meal or staying the night? Our shop's service will surely satisfy you all." Just as they stepped through the door, an enthusiastic waiter came out to receive them, taking the horses in stride.

"Staying the night. Do you have three quiet upper rooms?" Qishuang said, glancing at the hate-filled Song Xixi and the ice-cold Mo Lian.

"Yes, yes, yes. This way, please, guests." The waiter was quite tactful; he did not act perfunctorily just because the three of them were children.

Naturally, the three stayed at the Yuelai Inn, with three adjacent rooms. Qishuang returned to her guest room, while Song Xixi followed Mo Lian into Mo Lian's room. Mo Lian did not stop her, because she also had things to do.

Inside the room.

Song Xixi looked at Mo Lian, her eyes full of gratitude. She was, after all, from a family of military officers, even if they were merely an insignificant branch. However, they still had some standing. Through their contact that afternoon, she knew these two would not easily meddle in others' business; after all, they were so detached from the world and so averse to trouble. Song Xixi understood very well that she was only alive because of them. She thought that if she had listened to her father back then and studied martial arts and horsemanship seriously, instead of thinking of relying on her father and mother, her mother would not have died saving her, and her father would not have been so heavily injured that he lost his life. Looking at Mo Lian, Song Xixi had already accepted her as her master in her heart.

"Since you have lent your assistance, Xixi is infinitely grateful. Just as my father said, Xixi's life belongs to you."

Song Xixi spoke these words with proper decorum; there was no falsehood, only sincerity.

Song Xixi was a person of great potential.

"What use would I have for your life?"

Compared to Song Xixi's serious respect, Mo Lian's indifference seemed quite abrupt. But because she was Mo Lian, everything seemed only natural.

"I want revenge, and you can help me! At the same time, I truly wish to follow you, even though I am older than you."

Song Xixi looked at Mo Lian once more, very serious and very determined.

"I never need useless trash!" Mo Lian gave Song Xixi a cold, indifferent glance.

"I will work hard. I am not afraid of any hardship."

"Good!" Mo Lian had actually just wanted to test her temperament; it seemed she was acceptable.

"Since this subordinate is now Master's person, Song Xixi shall disappear from this day forth. Please, Master, grant me a name." Looking at Mo Lian, Song Xixi understood.

"Jiu Chou."

"Thank you, Liege, for granting me this name. Jiu Chou is willing to serve Liege unto death." Song Xixi—no, she should now be called Jiu Chou—knelt toward Mo Lian, her brow filled with resolve.

"Fine, go back! Also, call for some water for a bath." Mo Lian waved her hand and spoke no more.

"Yes." Jiu Chou exited the room, leaving Mo Lian alone.

Watching Jiu Chou's departing figure, Mo Lian closed her eyes, then suddenly snapped them open. Within her blue eyes, a killing intent flashed; if someone harmed the person she had taken an interest in, they could forget about living in peace. She admitted she disliked trouble, but that did not mean she would allow others to live carefree lives. Even if it had nothing to do with her beforehand, she would meddle regardless; the concept of "enduring" did not exist in her philosophy. To run into her was simply their misfortune.

Suppressing her killing intent, Mo Lian sneered. *Just wait to receive my pressure! But it doesn't matter, you still have time to prepare. Jiu Chou, do not let me down, otherwise... I don't want to ask, but I hope you are smart enough.*

A moment later, the waiter delivered the bathing water and exited the room.

Mo Lian closed the doors and windows, then stripped off her clothes and stepped into the tub filled with rose petals. As she revealed half of her back, a purple butterfly could be seen crawling upon her left shoulder. It was lifelike, as if it were a living creature; the tips of its wings were long, thin, and curved, exceptionally enchanting and soul-stirring. This purple butterfly tattoo had been there since Mo Lian was born—unfathomable and inscrutable. There were no traces of carving; it looked more as if it had formed naturally.

Shadows occasionally flickered behind the screen, and the sound of water echoed from the room from time to time.

Finally, the sound of water stopped, and everything fell silent.

***

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