Chapter Two: The Mad Second Brother

For so many years, the Yu family had never acknowledged her, and now, out of the blue, they wanted her to return to her roots. Even if Yu Youwei thought with her toes, she knew nothing good awaited her. “I have nothing to do with the Yu family,” she said, turning away and heading toward the Egret River.

Two of the Yu family’s guards quickly blocked her path, but Yu Shiyu waved them aside, signaling for them to step back. “Let me try to persuade her,” he said, dusting off his robes and following her at a leisurely pace.

The torrent surged against the riverbank as several egrets drifted downstream with the returning fishing boats, occasionally diving into the water to snatch up plump, silvery fish. Watching the fish struggle, Yu Youwei suddenly felt a kinship with its plight.

“You don’t care for the status of the Yu family’s daughter?” Yu Shiyu asked, not waiting for a reply. Suddenly, he struck at the back of her neck with a flick of his finger and, without warning, kicked her straight into the river.

She hadn’t expected this madman to act so abruptly. Struck by the force, she found herself paralyzed from the neck down, utterly defenseless. Plunged into the churning waves, she was tossed about, river water flooding her mouth and nose, her legs seizing with cramps.

“Youwei can’t swim—she’ll drown!” Mu Yuqi shrieked from afar, rushing to save her, but was met with a resounding slap from his second uncle, blood instantly streaming from his nose and mouth. His grandfather, heart aching at the sight, quickly had him taken away.

At the riverbank, an octagonal pavilion with hanging tassels was soon erected, complete with tables and chairs. Dishes from the Eastern Tomb Yu family, each covered with silver lids engraved with birds, insects, and fish, were arrayed on the table.

As consciousness ebbed into darkness, Yu Youwei was certain she would become a water ghost, suffocating on her grievances, when someone rescued her and brought her into the tent. Gasping for breath, she saw Yu Shiyu savoring his wine with infuriating ease, yet she dared not voice her anger at this lunatic.

Yu Shiyu, in high spirits, drained his cup and smirked, “Still holding a grudge?”

“If you have the guts, kill me. I imagine you, Young Master Yu, are no stranger to butchering women,” Yu Youwei said, her eyes blazing like freshly washed stars.

“You’re cleverer than I thought. Still, you’ve no right to show temper,” Yu Shiyu replied, not angered, rather with a hint of appreciation.

Like ice dousing a flame, Yu Youwei’s gaze grew cold as water. “You may drive me from Mu Manor, even kill me, but you’ll never force me to do your bidding.”

Yu Shiyu laughed heartily. “Is that so? My brother is certain you’ll obediently return home.”

A pale moon climbed above the willows on the riverbank, casting its chill, silvery glow over the waters that surged like a silver dragon. The cold wind off the river lifted the tent flaps, making Yu Youwei shiver involuntarily.

“Didn’t your mother teach you the Yu family’s ‘Dragonfire Art’? Can’t you use your breath to dispel the cold?” Yu Shiyu drawled, focusing instead on the wine in his cup. It was sweet-scented osmanthus wine from Egret Isle, gentle and mellow, leaving a lingering fragrance on the lips, uncannily similar to the scent that clung to Yu Youwei herself.

So the technique her mother taught was actually the Yu family’s ‘Dragonfire Art’? Yu Youwei gave a cold laugh. She’d rather freeze than use it—not out of willful stubbornness, but because she didn’t want him to see she was actually practicing the ‘Emberfire Art.’

“Do you want your second brother to help you circulate your energy to drive out the cold?” Yu Shiyu turned to look at her, his handsome face wearing an odd expression.

Even after two lifetimes, Yu Youwei couldn’t help but flush with anger and shame. “Why don’t you go to hell!”

As if her words were prophetic, a wall of water suddenly surged from the river, barreling toward the tent. “Assassins!” one of the guards at the front shouted, brandishing his blade at the oncoming wave. The wall split, and a shower of cold glints shot into the tent.

Clang!

Yu Shiyu flung his empty wine cup, catching the flying darts with its rim. The crisp impact rang out as the cup paused before Yu Youwei, giving her a clear view of the blue-glinting caltrops inside, then spun away in a swift arc.

Outside, a black-clad figure appeared, struck in the forehead by the wine cup’s ring and collapsing with a scream. Instantly, three more waves of assassins attacked from different sides. They broke through the Mu family cultivators’ defenses with ease, clashing with the guards at the tent’s edge. The ornate pavilion, battered by water, was soon set ablaze by fireballs from afar.

Yu Youwei moved to escape, but Yu Shiyu grabbed her. “With your pitiful skills, you’d just be courting death out there. These assassins are after you, aren’t they? You really do attract a lot of hatred.” Hearing the chaos outside, Yu Youwei couldn’t help but gloat.

A glint of viciousness and bloodlust flickered in Yu Shiyu’s eyes as he replied offhandedly, “Life is only interesting like this.”

This man was truly out of his mind. Yu Youwei grabbed the wine jug from the table and took a long swig. Refusing to use the Yu family art for warmth, she found that the osmanthus wine, mellow and fragrant, quickly warmed her from within.

In just a moment, many assassins had reached the tent. They fought like fanatics, trading life for life, causing heavy casualties among the Mu family cultivators. The Yu family guards, formidable as they were, held their ground outside the blazing tent, forming an unbreakable line.

The fire grew fiercer, and Yu Shiyu, for reasons known only to his deranged mind, refused to budge. Even as the guards tore away the burning pavilion, he calmly poured himself another cup and sipped.

If Yu Shiyu died here on Egret Isle, the entire Mu family would be buried with him. The Mu family fought all the harder for it, terrified but too afraid to retreat, while reinforcements from the clan’s stronghold poured in.

“Yuqi!” Yu Youwei’s sharp eyes spotted Mu Yuqi amidst the melee, just as an assassin lunged at him with a sword. Her heart leapt to her throat. With a flick of her right arm, a streak of blue light shot from her sleeve. Then, slipping away like an eel, she wove through the chaos, swiftly closing in on Mu Yuqi.

“Impressive footwork!” Yu Shiyu murmured, his gaze burning into Yu Youwei. “So it was she who inherited Fourth Uncle’s Frostblade.”

The cold light struck the assassin’s blade with a crisp ring, snapping its tip. Hearing the sound behind him, Mu Yuqi ducked and rolled away, gaining distance from the assailant.

By then, Yu Youwei had reached his side, the cold light returning to her hand—a sword as thin as paper, usually worn around her wrist like a bracelet. With a flick, the blade snapped straight, and she shouted, “To give and not return is discourteous—take this!”

Her sword flashed, a cold stream of light piercing straight through the assassin’s left shoulder. Surviving by a hair, Mu Yuqi exclaimed, “Youwei, you’re amazing!”

“Less talk, help me finish him!” Yu Youwei barked. Mu Yuqi rushed in with his blade, and together they pressed the assassin hard, leaving him flustered and desperate. Hearing his companions scream, the man faltered, revealing an opening. Yu Youwei seized the moment, driving her sword home, and Mu Yuqi followed with a blow that nearly split the assassin’s head in two.