Jiang Rao was almost overwhelmed by the attention, nodding in agreement.

With two preserved plums in her mouth, she didn’t dare ask for more in front of him. She obediently held them in her mouth and said. “It’s not bitter anymore.”

The result of agreeing it wasn’t bitter was that she was fed two more bowls of restorative medicine.

In the end, Jiang Rao gestured with her hand, feeling like her stomach was about to burst.

The care from a future great leader was so heavy.

…

One hour ago, at Miaoshi Pavilion.

Turning his wheelchair, Rong Ting arrived at the place.

Yesterday, after seeing Jiang Rao’s reaction to the medicine, he knew that she was someone who couldn’t handle bitterness.

It was only one bowl of medicine, yet her face contorted as though she had bitten into a small walnut.

He kept this in mind, but since he was never fond of sweet foods, he didn’t know which sweet treats were good. Frowning, he stared at the assortment of dried fruits and pastries in the cabinet for a long while.

Rong Ting, usually decisive and sharp-eyed in his demeanor, had a gaze that was unusually cold and filled with a hint of hostility. Despite staring at some simple, cute pastries, his expression seemed to treat them as a serious problem.

Fortunately, the shopkeeper made a recommendation that spared him from the dilemma of choice. Rong Ting picked the sweetest plums and left.

A customer in a wheelchair always stands out more than others.

Wang Zhou, who had just bought some medicine from the pharmacy, spotted Rong Ting entering Miaoshi Pavilion from a distance. He frowned in confusion, then hid in a corner, keeping his eyes fixed on the pavilion.

When Rong Ting came out with a bag of plums, Wang Zhou’s mood soured immediately.

Miaoshi Pavilion was the best pastry shop in Ye City, but he had never once been inside. Now, with his body badly injured and all his money spent on medicine, he was struggling financially. Buying pastries was out of the question.

He was living in poverty, while Rong Ting seemed to have it easy.

But as he thought more about it, a deep frown creased his brow.

Where did Rong Ting get the money?

Wang Zhou had clearly only left him eight hundred wen.

Eight hundred wen was barely enough to cover his meals—how could he possibly have spare money for pastries?

Wang Zhou frowned deeply, thinking hard. While Jiang Rao often helped Rong Ting, he had never seen her leave any silver for him.

The more he thought about it, the more suspicious he became. Turning on his heel, he headed back to the west side of the city.

In the small house in the west, it was empty now.

Wang Zhou narrowed his eyes, a glint of malice flashing in them. He slipped into Rong Ting’s room and began rummaging through everything.

The room’s furnishings were sparse, and before long, Wang Zhou had dug out a small box from under the bed.

He weighed it in his hands, and feeling its heaviness, something seemed off. When he opened it, his entire body froze.

Inside the box were sixteen taels of silver.

The silver bore the seal of Jinling Silver Bank, which was rare in Ye City.

These sixteen taels of silver were clearly the same ones that had been stolen from him by thieves not long ago!

Wang Zhou was overjoyed.

But alongside the ecstatic thrill of recovering what was lost, there was a chilling sense of dread creeping down his spine.

If the silver was here with Rong Ting, then that meant Rong Ting must have known about the money he had pocketed last month.

Perhaps, all along, none of his actions had escaped Rong Ting’s notice.

It was as if an invisible thread had extended from the air, wrapping around his neck and tightening, making him feel suffocated.

Since Rong Ting already knew, why hadn’t he confronted him?

For all this time, Rong Ting had shown no signs of suspicion or anger.

Wang Zhou couldn’t help but wonder: What was Rong Ting waiting for?

The realization that someone else had control over his weaknesses made Wang Zhou anxious, his eyes bloodshot with frustration.

Previously, in his eyes, Rong Ting had been nothing more than a frail, dying cripple—an easy target for manipulation.

But at this moment, he began to sense that the young man, despite his age, had a depth to him.

Rong Ting must have already known about Wang Zhou’s actions. Any ordinary person would have been furious and confronted him by now.

But Rong Ting had shown no sign of anger, no emotion at all—he must have been suppressing his feelings, as if he were waiting for the right moment to bring Wang Zhou to his ruin!

Wang Zhou shuddered violently at the sudden thought.

The realization filled him with dread.

A wave of malicious intent surged through him, and a ruthless, desperate resolve flickered in his eyes.

…

Afterward, Wang Zhou spent his time collecting firewood.

Inside and outside Rong Ting’s house, several large piles had accumulated.

On the first day, Wang Zhou was collecting firewood.

On the second day, after setting down the wood he had gathered, his dark gaze swept across the cramped room. He then brought in a bucket of oil and secretly hid it in his own quarters.

On the third day, he received his monthly wage from the main household, bought some sleeping powder, and spent the evening roaming the streets. He kept a fire starter in his hand, fiddling with it absentmindedly.

As night fell, he returned to the west side of the city.

Outside Rong Ting’s house, Wang Zhou used a bamboo tube to blow the smoke from the sleeping powder inside. Then, stealthily, he returned to his own house.

He brought out the bucket of oil, tiptoed around, and splashed the oil on the outer walls of the room. Using the fire starter, he ignited the pile of wood outside.

Flames erupted immediately, spreading quickly in all directions.

The fire leaped and twisted, shaped by the north wind into terrifying forms, tearing apart the night and casting a red glow over the area. Within a few miles of the small house in the west city, the entire area was engulfed in a fiery sea.

The blinding light of the flames woke Jiang Rao from her sleep. She rubbed her eyes, still haunted by the massive fire she had dreamed about.

Her chest ached terribly, and she couldn’t tell from the dream whether Rong Ting had been rescued. All she saw was a sea of flames.

Ming Shao came over with water and gently wiped Jiang Rao’s face. “Miss, why did you sweat so much last night? Was the charcoal fire too strong in your room? Should I have someone reduce it?”

“There’s no need to reduce the fire,” Jiang Rao pinched her palm, her delicate brows furrowed tightly as she thought about the blazing fire in her dream. Uncomfortably, she said, “I had a dream… there was a fire.”

“Winter is dry, and it’s easy for fires to start. But don’t worry, Miss. There are always servants keeping watch at night, and the house will definitely not catch fire.”

Ming Shao spoke softly to reassure her, but Jiang Rao’s expression darkened.

Her thoughts slowly cleared from the haze of sleep, and a surge of anger rose within her. She hadn’t expected Wang Zhou to dare set a fire to kill someone!

After a brief wash and freshening up, she immediately called for a few servants and instructed them to quietly go to the west side of the city, especially cautioning them not to alarm anyone.

She wanted to catch Wang Zhou in the act while he was setting the fire.

She had thought that after teaching Wang Zhou a lesson last time, he would have learned his lesson, but she had forgotten that evil knows no boundaries.

The more she thought about it, the angrier she became, and the more she realized something was terribly wrong.

In a noble family, everything from daily allowances to servants and attendants are usually decided by the mistress of the household.

Just how much did that mistress despise Rong Ting to assign him such a vile servant?

Why didn’t his father or biological mother intervene?

Jiang Rao sighed in frustration, her heart aching for Rong Ting.

She felt both stifled and angry, her thoughts burning with fury that she couldn’t suppress.

The more she thought about it, the more she felt that catching Wang Zhou in the act and handing him over to the authorities wouldn’t be enough to satisfy her.

This thug, who plotted to steal money and endanger lives, truly deserved death.

Jiang Rao propped her chin in thought, furrowing her brows. After a moment, her eyes suddenly brightened.

She called for Jiang Ping and gave him a few instructions.

As she watched Jiang Ping leave, the suffocating feeling in her chest lightened a little.

However, there was still a trace of anger in her eyes, her small hands clenched into fists.

Until she saw the villain receive their just punishment with her own eyes, the fire of anger in her heart would never subside. Unconsciously, she turned the table in front of her into a target, slamming it twice with force, as though it were Wang Zhou.

…

Wang Zhou, completely unaware that Jiang Rao had discovered his plan and had no idea that his every move was being closely watched.

He still believed his plan was flawless, and he was carefully plotting to burn Rong Ting alive in the fire.

However, he had no intention of starting the fire tonight.

He was anxiously waiting for three days from now.

Once Rong Ting was dead, it would mean that his source of wealth would be cut off as well. Wang Zhou, driven by greed, was already calculating in his mind, thinking that the killing could be delayed until then.

In three days, he could go to the local treasury and wait for the master’s people to deliver Rong Ting’s monthly allowance to him.

At that point, with Rong Ting’s money, he could buy the fire scythe for setting the fire. That way, Rong Ting would die using his own money.

The cold and dry winter was already the perfect season for fires. Wang Zhou planned to claim that Rong Ting’s death was an accident—that he had been chopping firewood at night and accidentally set the house ablaze—thereby clearing himself of all guilt.

If Rong Ting died, Wang Zhou could rush into the fire, theatrically “rescue” his body, and possibly gain a reputation for being a “loyal protector.”

With his plan fully formed in his mind, Wang Zhou, carrying a bundle of firewood, entered the room.

Previously, Wang Zhou had only used the firewood to warm his own room, never once caring whether Rong Ting was cold or warm, alive or dead.

He carried the firewood outside and placed it in a sheltered spot where it would catch fire easily. Through the window, he saw Rong Ting’s back.

Rong Ting was sitting at the table, seemingly grinding something, with the sound of the pestle pounding rhythmically in the air.

Wang Zhou squinted and walked in, only to find that Rong Ting was using a mortar and pestle to prepare medicine.

Next to him was a prescription.

A prescription for bruises.

Wang Zhou sneered inwardly. After all, in three days, Rong Ting would be dead. Watching him now, trying to concoct medicine for his own injuries, seemed almost laughable.

Upon a closer look at the prescription, Wang Zhou realized it was intended for women.

He furrowed his brow, as if realizing something. “The medicine you’re grinding… it wouldn’t be for that young lady, would it?”

Rong Ting remained silent, a thin layer of sweat forming on his pale forehead.

Seeing him stay quiet like that only made Wang Zhou more irritated. A person who looked so close to death, yet still scheming against him? He’d be sending him straight to the underworld!

He reached out, swiping the stone mortar off the table. It fell heavily to the ground, cracking with a loud sound. Wang Zhou sneered, “That young lady, with her noble status, can get any medicine she needs. Do you really think she’d be interested in this worthless stuff you’re making?”

Rong Ting’s hand, holding the pestle, paused for a moment.

But he quickly resumed grinding the medicine, as if he hadn’t heard Wang Zhou’s words at all.

“Even if she came down from her lofty position to help you find medicine, what does that mean? She’s just being kind. Don’t go acting like a miserable stray dog, clinging to her just because she throws you a scrap of meat.”

Wang Zhou, growing more frustrated by being ignored, continued with more spite.

“Besides, you, a cripple, no matter how nice you are to her, all she’ll do is pity you. What makes you think she’d ever look at you?!”

His gaze swept over Rong Ting’s legs, resting on the wheelchair. He scoffed, “A man with broken legs—what kind of man is that? That girl is fresh, just waiting to blossom into someone stunning. How could she possibly choose you, a cripple? She’d be better off with someone like me, strong and healthy, someone who could actually—”

In an instant, the pestle clattered to the table, the sounds of movement and struggle mingling together. The sharp screech of the table scraping across the floor pierced the air, nearly causing one’s eardrums to burst.

Wang Zhou was thrust against the wall, his throat firmly gripped. He couldn’t make a sound, his back pressed against the wall as his face turned pale, almost blue.

He didn’t even have time to comprehend how Rong Ting had moved before his throat was tightly squeezed, pinning him to the wall. A dagger was pressed to the side of his neck, its blade nearly touching his skin. A slight shift, and it would slice through the blood vessels in his neck.

The cold gleam of the dagger reflected in Wang Zhou’s trembling chin.

Unable to speak, he used both hands to try and pry Rong Ting’s right arm off his neck, but it was useless—he couldn’t move Rong Ting’s arm at all.

Despite being half a head shorter and crippled with two useless legs, Wang Zhou found himself completely powerless against this boy’s single-handed strength! The more he struggled, the tighter Rong Ting’s grip became!

Rong Ting’s eyes darkened with murderous intent. His long fingers tightened on the dagger, and the blade slowly sank into Wang Zhou’s skin.

A small bead of blood appeared around the tip of the knife.

Wang Zhou’s legs weakened, and an overwhelming urge to urinate surged through him. He froze, too terrified to move.

A few drops of blood splattered onto Rong Ting’s handsome face from Wang Zhou’s neck.

The corners of his narrow, elongated eyes were tinged with a hint of red, and his face, beautiful to the point of being otherworldly, exuded a fierce, cold gaze. His eyes were as sharp as blades, staring down mercilessly, as if he had just crawled out of hell like a vengeful demon. His fingers tightened, choking Wang Zhou’s breath, and his face turned even more blue. “Have you forgotten who the master is?” he coldly spat.

=^_^=