Chapter 10

In the middle of the night, Wen Yan woke up thirsty.

The venison roasted for dinner was heavily seasoned with oil and salt, tasting exquisite. Having been hungry for seven days, Wen Yan couldn’t restrain herself and ate a bit too much.

At that time, the other six members of the Wen family probably didn’t expect her to show up, nor did they anticipate she would eat so much. Thus, this entire venison feast proceeded in an unusually quiet manner.

Wen Yan recalled their expressions back then and smiled slyly to herself. Then, propping herself up, she sat up, intending to get out of bed for a drink of water.

The water in the kettle was cold. Without disturbing the others, Wen Yan stood by the table, holding a porcelain cup and slowly sipping the chilled water.

It was still early before dawn. She didn’t light a lamp, so the room was very dark. Outside, faint moonlight spilled down, offering just a trace of illumination.

The night was hazy and silent.

The entire mansion had settled into stillness. Occasionally, a gentle breeze rustled the branches, the swaying shadows cast by the trees flickering on the walls under the moonlight.

At midnight, in the absence of people, it carried an eerie, ghostly atmosphere.

After finishing her water, Wen Yan was about to return to bed, but at the moment she released the cup, she paused and looked toward the window.

Outside, it remained quiet and soundless.

Yet, upon closer listening, some faint, almost imperceptible sounds were amplified by the night’s stillness.

Suddenly, the noise was strikingly out of place—it did not belong to the Wen estate.

Wen Yan circled the table and approached the door, raising her hand...

Creak.

The tightly shut door opened.

The ordinary sound of the door opening was unusually sharp and impossible to ignore.

Both inside and outside the door, people froze and stared silently at each other.

But compared to Wen Yan inside, the two figures outside stiffened for a moment, clearly surprised by her presence.

Wen Yan seemed to meld with the darkness. Her voice was soft, almost ethereal:

“Were you planning to strike tonight?”

The two exchanged a glance without a word, then slowly drew their long knives, their eyes coldly fixed on Wen Yan.

“I’ll give you a chance.”

Wen Yan stepped out from the shadows, a faint smile curling on her lips.

“Leave now, and I won’t kill you.”

The two remained silent. As assassins, their perception was razor-sharp.

Though Wen Yan appeared harmless, just like any other woman from a noble household,

they sensed something amiss.

An indescribable chill ran down their spines, instinctively warning them of grave danger.

Suppressing the urge to flee, they exchanged a look, then gripped their long knives and advanced step by step toward Wen Yan.

Her light chuckle was sparked by their reaction:

“You can still talk when you kill.”

As soon as she finished speaking, the two sprang into action.

They leapt forward, toes barely touching the ground.

Their raised blades flashed with a chilling gleam under the moonlight. The descending blades carried a biting coldness, oppressive and threatening.

Wen Yan barely lifted her eyes, remaining still. Only when the knives were about to strike above her head did she step back and tilt her head, narrowly evading the blows.

Missing their target, they quickly adjusted, using momentum to strike again—one aiming for her neck, the other for her chest.

They were assassins, sent tonight solely to kill.

Like the young servant who had moved flowers seven days ago, they had no fancy moves; every strike was aimed at vital points.

This time, Wen Yan did not dodge. Just as the knife approached, she pinched the blade’s back firmly with three fingers.

Though it seemed effortless, the attacker could not advance an inch.

He looked at Wen Yan, his gaze flickering rapidly.

A sharp sound rang out—the blade’s tip, about half a finger in length, snapped under her soft yet unyielding grip.

Within a blink, she seized the broken blade fragment and, rushing in front of the other man, slashed his neck.

The man’s face beneath his mask froze, a searing pain tearing through his throat!

He instinctively clutched his neck but his hands were soaked in sticky, warm blood.

Due to the proximity, Wen Yan’s face was inevitably splattered with the blood.

She arched an eyebrow lightly, her voice still tinged with lingering amusement:

“I said, you can talk when you kill. Shame you didn’t listen.”

So you never get to speak again.

The man clutched his neck, disbelief and shock in his eyes as if unable to accept his imminent death.

“You…”

The other man, still alive, opened his mouth to speak, but Wen Yan turned and flicked the blade fragment from her fingers.

The blade flew and cut his throat as well.

“Now that you want to speak—it’s too late.”

Two dull thuds sounded, and two bodies fell one after another.

Crimson blood soaked the ground, thick with the metallic scent of death.

Wen Yan felt the surge of power within her once more.

This was the third person she had killed since arriving in this world.

She felt a long-lost exhilaration.

Though many feared her, Wen Yan had never denied it—she enjoyed killing.

But this was only the beginning; it was far from enough.

Her previous laziness vanished from her face, replaced by a serene glow and relaxed brows.

She glanced sideways toward the pitch-dark bedroom behind her:

“Hide well. Don’t come out.”

With that, she stepped over the two corpses and walked away.

Behind the door, Qing Yun covered her mouth tightly, eyes wide with horror.

...

The uninvited guests at the Wen estate were far more numerous than Wen Yan had expected.

Not long after she left Cuihua Courtyard, she smelled a strong scent of kerosene.

Assassins had infiltrated the mansion under cover of night, dousing the place with oil.

Clearly, they intended to leave no survivors.

Wen Yan regretted that Wen He and Wen Ning hadn’t taken her warnings to heart, and she was also disappointed by her father’s lack of vigilance.

If Wen He and Wen Ning had remembered her words at the start and set traps to catch the "mice," or if after she killed that fake servant the Wen patriarch had investigated more thoroughly,

they might have uncovered some clues.

They wouldn’t be caught so unprepared now, awaiting death helplessly.

Wen Yan had warned them twice, both openly and covertly, yet they failed to seize the opportunity.

Now, they were doomed to suffer this calamity.

And not a moment too soon—just as Wen Ruxu returned.

Was tonight’s venison feast the last meal for every member of the Wen family?

Wen Yan pondered as she walked.

Many assassins had entered the estate, but their primary targets were the masters of the house; they had not deliberately hunted the servants.

Along her path, except for a few unlucky watchmen who encountered assassins and were killed, she saw no others dead by the roadside.

She even managed to save a few along the way.

By the time she followed the sounds to the main courtyard, her clothes were stained with quite a bit of blood.

But she had arrived just in time.

In the clearing before the main hall, Wen Yan’s father and Madam Lu were thrown to the ground, surrounded by blazing torches.

Numerous figures clad in black, wielding long knives, encircled them in the center.

Wen Yan stood in the shadows, motionless, observing carefully.

Soon, several assassins appeared, escorting the four Wen siblings.

Among them, Wen Ruqing and Wen Hening bore obvious wounds, likely sustained during resistance before capture.

The other two appeared uninjured.

Wen Ruxu looked composed; Wen Changning did not cry but her pale face resembled white paper.

Madam Lu’s expression darkened at the sight; if not for the knife pressing above her head, she might have lunged toward her children.

The four siblings called out to their parents, some softly, some loudly.

Their voices betrayed their worry and fear, impossible to conceal.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Wen Yan slipped silently among them, unnoticed by all.

“How are you all?” Madam Lu’s eyes glistened with tears as she looked at her children.

Except for Wen Changning, who was too scared to speak, the other three quietly comforted her.

In the firelight, Wen Yan’s bloodstained figure was the most striking.

Everyone was startled by her appearance.

Wen Yan’s father shouted angrily toward the front:

“I said, no harm must come to my family, or you will get nothing!”

Madam Lu dared not approach Wen Yan; she crouched before her, shielding the other four siblings behind her.

The couple, like two enraged beasts, stared fiercely at the people ahead.

Wen Yan knelt, peering through the gap between them, spotting a figure not far off.

Like the other assassins, he wore black, but he was smaller in stature and also armed.

Yet his silent footsteps and composed demeanor revealed him as the leader of this group.

He paid no heed to Wen Yan’s father’s fury, merely turning to his companions:

“All the Wen family are here?”

“Yes. The second son and three daughters are all present.”

Satisfied with the answer, his gaze fixed on Wen Yan’s father.

“Wen Youzhi, your family is all here. Now, speak.”