Chapter 3: The Origin of the Cold Poison and the Mysterious Black Mole

“What Young Lady of the Yang family, martial arts prodigy—she’s nothing but a demon wearing human skin.” Shen Yan gritted his teeth, his hatred towering to the heavens.

Yet power dictated all. In the Duke’s manor, Yang Yun’s word carried more weight than even the royal decree. Shen Yan had no choice but to obey; there was no other path for him.

“I understand,” he forced out, jaw clenched so tightly it ached. Confronted by Yang Yun’s demands, he felt as though a boundless fury was burning within his chest, threatening to consume everything. But he could only nod and acquiesce. Only by staying alive would he have a chance for revenge. If he died now, all hope would be lost.

“Excellent! That wretched brat is finally going to suffer!” Steward Liu was inwardly beside himself with joy. He had thought Shen Yan had lucked out, but it turned out that three years hence the young mistress would see him cooked alive.

Imagining Shen Yan stewing into a pot of soup, Steward Liu nearly trembled with excitement.

But in the next moment, he was struck as if by lightning, for Mingyue’s gaze settled on him.

“The young mistress has decreed: as the outer house steward, you have failed even your most basic duties, resulting in a blunder of this magnitude,” Mingyue scolded, her eyes cold as she faced the quivering steward. She turned to a burly man beside her and ordered, “Give him ten lashes to teach him a lesson. If there’s a next time, he’ll be sent to the Blackstone Mountain mines!”

Blackstone Mountain was a notorious mine within Jinzhou Prefecture, and it was said that no servant sent there ever returned alive.

Steward Liu broke out in a cold sweat, wanting to protest but not daring to speak.

The burly man at Mingyue’s side snatched the whip from Liu’s hands with a wicked grin and brought it down on him mercilessly.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

The whip tore into Liu’s fancy clothes, shredding them to rags and leaving bloody welts crisscrossed on his back—a ghastly sight.

The other servants, terrified, fell to their knees like startled birds, scarcely daring to breathe.

But Shen Yan felt no satisfaction. First, he had not wielded the whip himself. Second, in his heart, only by killing Steward Liu with his own hands would his hatred be appeased.

“Steward Liu, you are to assist Shen Yan. Within three years, another Crimson Gold Silver-Eyed Fish must be offered. Should you neglect your duty again, you will not remain in the outer house,” Mingyue threatened, her words leaving no room for mercy—she meant to drive him out completely.

“I will do my utmost to supervise Shen Yan’s fishing,” Steward Liu stammered, his body trembling.

“Hmph! Remember your words. Don’t say you weren’t warned,” Mingyue snorted, waving her small hand dismissively as she strode off with several burly men in tow.

“Mingyue is truly the young mistress’s right hand, so authoritative in her rule,” one of the men following her said flatteringly.

“There’s no other way. Our household is vast and wealthy—dealing with these servants requires both kindness and severity,” Mingyue replied, clearly pleased by the praise, a subtle smile on her lips. “The young mistress is busy cultivating day in and day out. As her confidante, it falls on me to share her burdens.”

…

When Mingyue and her entourage had left, the servants who had cowered like quails scrambled to their feet to attend to Steward Liu. Bloody and battered, he waited silently until they helped him up, then hobbled over to Shen Yan with a venomous glare.

“This is all your fault, you little bastard. If not for your blunder, how would I have suffered this pain?” he spat, but then recalled Mingyue’s command and hesitated.

She had warned him to oversee Shen Yan’s fishing with diligence. If he let personal grudges interfere and Mingyue found out, she might think he was slacking.

As a steward ambitious for promotion, Liu knew the minds of the household’s nobility all too well. Petty conflicts among servants meant nothing to the gentry, but should they interfere with their affairs, the consequences would be dire.

So, though his hatred for Shen Yan gnawed at him, he dared not punish him on the spot. Still, he reasoned, if not today, he could find an excuse to punish him later. So long as Shen Yan wasn’t beaten so badly he couldn’t fish, Mingyue was unlikely to care.

Thinking thus, Liu’s courage returned. He gave Shen Yan a vicious kick. “From now on, you’ll live in the sea. If you can’t find another Crimson Gold Silver-Eyed Fish in three years, you’ll end up stewing in a pot yourself!”

With that, he gasped from the searing pain in his wounds. He glanced at Shen Yan’s chest, knowing there was a precious Blood Ginseng Pill there. But it had been bestowed by the young mistress—he, as a steward, dared not force Shen Yan to hand it over.

Seeing Liu’s distress, one of the cleverer servants sidled up and whispered in his ear, “Steward, Mingyue hasn’t gone far. Later, I can help you get that elixir…”

He didn’t finish, but Liu understood the implication and nodded approvingly.

The servant, pleased with himself, continued, “Steward, you’re injured—you shouldn’t upset yourself further. Why not rest and recover?”

Hearing this, Liu felt his wounds grow even more painful. He grunted, “If you know that, why aren’t you helping me?”

After venting a little, Liu snarled at Shen Yan, “Why are you still standing there? Get to fishing at once!” Then, supported by two servants, he limped away, cursing under his breath.

Now that Shen Yan had made a grave mistake and offended the steward, none of the other servants dared to speak to him. Before long, the courtyard was deserted.

Shen Yan remained where he was, unmoving, waiting for the black mole on his chest to work its healing magic.

That black mole was Shen Yan’s greatest secret, his one lifeline in the Duke’s manor. Whenever he suffered an external wound, a warm current would flow from the mole, gradually healing him.

But this healing came at a price. Each time, soon after the wound healed, the cold poison in his body would flare up again.

After so many years, he had come to understand the mole’s nature. The medicine and food he consumed contained energy the mole needed; once ingested, the mole would immediately draw it away.

He had even tried to remove it, gouging the skin from his chest in agony, but still the mole remained. That was when he realized the so-called cold poison illness originated from this very mole.