Chapter Eleven: A Hero Saves the Beauty
Shen Qianmo left Jade Pavilion and made her way to Supreme Gallery.
Supreme Gallery sat at the end of Vermilion Bird Street. As it specialized in antiques and paintings, the atmosphere was notably tranquil. Shen Qianmo retained the previous manager, Wu Guo, whom she had investigated thoroughly. Though Wu Guo hadn’t achieved notable success, he had committed no errors either—just as his name implied. His professional competence was high, and Shen Qianmo found no better candidate. After a measured display of authority and kindness, she decided to keep him, assigning a bookkeeper alongside him so they could supervise each other. She required regular reconciliation of their accounts, detailed records of all inventory movements, and periodic reports directly to her.
By the time Shen Qianmo finished reviewing Supreme Gallery’s finances, dusk had fallen. Remembering her promise to accompany Old Madam Shen for dinner that evening, she feared she might be late. Guided by Green Bamboo, her servant, the two took a shortcut through a quiet alley at the end of the street, halving their journey.
The alley was secluded, rarely frequented. As Shen Qianmo and Green Bamboo reached its depths, a group of ruffians blocked their path. The leader, a leering man with a scarred face, advanced upon Shen Qianmo, grinning wickedly. “Well, well, whose little lady is this? Such delicate skin—why not lift your veil and let me have a good look?”
Green Bamboo, trembling but resolute, shielded Shen Qianmo and rebuked them fiercely. “How dare you! Do you know whose daughter this is? Leave at once!”
The scarred man spat disdainfully. “I don’t care whose lady she is. If Third Master takes a fancy, she won’t escape these hands.”
The other three laughed, echoing his bravado. One, with a large black mole, suggested, “Third Master, this little maid looks fresh too. Why not give her to us as a reward?”
Green Bamboo paled but stood her ground, refusing to retreat.
Shen Qianmo patted Green Bamboo’s hand reassuringly, signaling her not to be afraid. She was moved by the girl’s loyalty. In her modern life, Shen Qianmo had been an orphan, bereft of family and friends, distant in relationships and unfamiliar with the nuances of human interaction. She cherished the genuine affection of Green Bamboo and Nurse Xu.
Seeing her mistress’s calm gaze, Green Bamboo’s panic eased. There was something about the current Shen Qianmo—a quiet strength that inspired trust and peace.
Shen Qianmo regarded the scarred man coldly. She drew a small willow-leaf dagger from her sleeve, gripping it secretly.
She had bought this dagger earlier beside Jade Pavilion, admiring its lightweight shape and sharp edge. It would serve well as a scalpel, and she intended to commission a full set from the ironworks later. Now, it found immediate use.
She addressed the scarred man. “Third Master, is it? Who sent you? Was it a man or a woman? Young or old? Was it one person or two?” She fired off several questions. While he was stunned, she stepped forward lightly, pressing the dagger to his throat, her voice steady. “Did that person send you to humiliate us, or to threaten us—or both?”
The scarred man, caught off guard, stared at Shen Qianmo in disbelief. How could such a delicate young lady wield a blade so decisively? He was momentarily at a loss.
When he failed to answer, Shen Qianmo tightened her grip. A thin line of blood appeared on his neck. The cold pain angered him and he barked, “Let go! No one sent me—we were just passing by. Remove the knife! If you dare harm me, you’ll regret it!”
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Shen Qianmo snorted, preparing to press him further, when suddenly Green Bamboo cried out, “Miss, help me!”
She turned to see the other three ruffians clutching Green Bamboo tightly. The girl struggled, only to receive several slaps from the mole-faced thug, blood seeping from her lips. The scarred man, though a scoundrel, had grown up fighting. His experience far surpassed Shen Qianmo’s. When her attention wavered, he seized the opportunity, knocking the dagger from her grasp and kicking her to the ground.
“Miss! Miss, are you all right?” Green Bamboo shrieked, tears of frustration and guilt streaming down her face. She blamed herself for being useless—not only failing to protect her mistress, but becoming a liability.
Shen Qianmo lay on the ground, unharmed but disappointed. Indeed, her combat experience was lacking, and she had grown too lax in her training—how weak she had become.
The scarred man picked up the dagger, touching the bleeding wound on his neck, and strode over to Shen Qianmo with a sinister look. He used the dagger to lift her veil, revealing her scarred face, and sneered, “I thought you’d be some heavenly beauty, but you’re just an ugly freak. That scar’s worse than mine. I told you—hurt me and you’ll regret it.”
A murderous glint flashed in his eyes as he raised the dagger, aiming to slash Shen Qianmo’s face. She was ready to retaliate, but someone moved faster—a powerful kick sent the scarred man flying several meters, crashing into the wall and bouncing back onto the stone pavement, coughing blood before collapsing unconscious.
Shen Qianmo marveled at the force behind that kick. She looked up and saw a tall, blue-clad man standing in the last golden rays of dusk, his posture upright and dignified as a pine tree. The word “hero” flashed through her mind.
The hero gazed down at her, concern on his face. “Miss, are you hurt?”
As she recognized his face, Shen Qianmo’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Yuan Lie!”
It was astonishing—the hero’s features were identical to those of Yuan Lie, the stoic police captain from her modern life, differing only in attire, one ancient, one contemporary.
The other ruffians released Green Bamboo, rushing to the scarred man and calling out, “Third Master!” Green Bamboo hurried to Shen Qianmo’s side, anxiously checking for injuries. Relieved to find none, she picked up the fallen veil, intending to tie it for her mistress, but Shen Qianmo stopped her. This man had already seen her true face; there was no need for further concealment.
After repeated cries, the scarred man finally regained consciousness. When he saw who had kicked him, he nearly fainted again.
He had been around the capital long enough to recognize the imposing man before him—General Feng Ze, famed for his martial prowess. The scarred man cursed his luck; his reckless desire for women had led him astray, hearing of two beauties wandering the deserted alley and hoping to take advantage, only to end up battered and, worse, offending General Feng Ze. Could anything be more tragic?
Knowing when to yield, the scarred man knelt before Feng Ze, begging, “I was blind to greatness, didn’t recognize General Feng. Please spare my life! I have an eighty-year-old mother and an eight-year-old child—please, General, have mercy!”
Feng Ze frowned, clearly impatient. He despised men who begged without dignity, seeing them as disgraces to their gender. He waved his hand dismissively. “Go. Don’t let me see you again.”
His bronzed skin, sharply chiseled features, and furrowed brow reminded Shen Qianmo so much of Yuan Lie. She felt an unexpected sense of familiarity, delighted to encounter a known face in this strange world. She bowed to Feng Ze. “Thank you, General, for your rescue.”
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Feng Ze noted her lack of the usual maidenly shyness and her unabashed display of her facial scar. Such openness was rare among women of the Great Sheng Dynasty.
He admired her conduct. Although her face bore a fierce scar, it did not diminish her charm. As a soldier, Feng Ze valued sincerity and despised pretense and excessive coyness; looks mattered little to him. He found himself warming to Shen Qianmo and softened his tone. “No need to thank me, miss. Are you hurt anywhere?”
Shen Qianmo shook her head. “I am fine. May I ask where your residence is, General, and how I may address you? I would like to return your kindness someday.”
Feng Ze replied carelessly, “It was nothing. I am Feng Ze, living at the Marshal’s Estate. May I ask where you live, miss? Night is falling—allow me to escort you home.”
For once, Feng Ze felt protective.
“I am Shen Qianmo, of the Shen Marquis’ residence. Thank you, General, for your trouble.” Shen Qianmo accepted graciously. With darkness approaching and a long journey ahead, having a bodyguard was reassuring. Moreover, she was eager to get to know this familiar face in an unfamiliar world.
They walked and talked, Green Bamboo trailing behind, and soon the trio vanished into the depths of the alley.
Unbeknownst to Shen Qianmo, after she and Feng Ze departed, a wheelchair appeared at the alley’s entrance. Meng Yuanheng sat in it, caught between day and night, his figure shrouded in shifting light and shadow, his expression unreadable.
A gust of wind lifted a white veil, letting it drift to his feet. He lowered his gaze, bent forward, and picked up the white scarf, contemplating it for a long time.
It was the veil she had worn; she had removed it in front of another man, openly displaying her scar. Though he himself had seen it before.
He had heard her call him “Yuan Lie.” He wasn’t sure if those were the words, but it sounded like a man’s name. Who was this Yuan Lie?
Meng Yuanheng realized his future bride harbored many secrets. He regretted his request to delay the wedding, and regretted not appearing sooner.
After a long silence, he murmured, “Changdong, find those men. Kill them.”
The scarred man once thought offending Feng Ze was the worst fate imaginable. In truth, the greater misfortune was provoking a man far more terrifying than General Feng—a fact he would never live to learn.