CHAPTER TWELVE — HER EDGE
"Let go."
Tang Ke Xin halted mid‑step and turned her head. Her voice was soft—barely more than a breath—yet it carried a chill sharp enough to make the blood run cold. Her eyes, calm and steady, held a glacial clarity that could make even the bravest man falter.
Mu Shaoyi did falter.
For a fleeting moment, something like fear flickered across his face. This was not the foolish girl he had once dismissed. This was someone else entirely—someone he did not understand.
"Hand over the antidote," he said, drawing a slow breath to steady himself, "and I will let you go."
But even as he spoke, he could not hide the tremor of shock beneath his words.
Tang Ke Xin regarded him with a faint, almost bored expression. Then she shifted her gaze to Dong'er, as though Mu Shaoyi were nothing more than an inconvenient gust of wind.
"Was I unclear?" she asked mildly.
"The young lady expressed herself perfectly," Dong'er replied at once, her voice crisp and obedient. She understood her mistress's intention and followed it without hesitation.
"Tang Ke Xin, do not provoke me," Mu Shaoyi growled.
His patience snapped. His fingers tightened around her wrist, the pressure sharp and merciless. It was a warning, a threat, and a desperate attempt to reassert control.
Tang Ke Xin did not flinch.
She did not struggle.
She did not cry out.
She did not even blink.
Her gaze remained cool, detached—almost contemptuous. As though the man crushing her wrist simply did not exist.
Mu Shaoyi's fury surged. His grip tightened further, strength born of martial training and blind anger. In an instant, her wrist darkened to a bruised purple. A faint crack sounded—bone protesting under pressure.
Dong'er trembled, her heart twisting painfully. She knew how strong Mu Shaoyi was. A little more force and her mistress's bones would shatter.
Yet Tang Ke Xin's expression remained unchanged. Not a flicker of pain crossed her face.
Mu Shaoyi stared at her, stunned.
He knew his own strength. Even a seasoned soldier would have cried out under such pressure. But she—this slender woman—stood as though carved from stone.
"Young Master Mu," Dong'er said quickly, her voice tight with urgency, "you should take Miss Liu to the physician at once. If you delay any longer, it may be too late."
Her words were a lifeline, a distraction—an attempt to pull Mu Shaoyi's attention away before he caused irreversible harm.
Mu Shaoyi stiffened. His grip loosened, though he did not release her entirely. His gaze flickered, uncertain.
"Brother Yu," Liu Ruyue called weakly, her voice trembling with carefully crafted fragility, "my uncle is a physician. He understands poisons. He may be able to cure me…"
Her eyes darted toward Tang Ke Xin, fear and jealousy warring in their depths. The thought of Mu Shaoyi lingering near Tang Ke Xin terrified her far more than the poison in her veins.
Mu Shaoyi's jaw tightened. Without another word, he released Tang Ke Xin with a violent flick of his wrist, turned, and swept Liu Ruyue into his arms before striding away.
Dong'er exhaled shakily.
"Miss, are you hurt?" she asked, her voice thick with guilt. When she saw the bruising on Tang Ke Xin's wrist, her heart clenched painfully.
"I'm fine," Tang Ke Xin replied lightly, as though the injury were nothing more than a passing inconvenience.
She turned toward the carriage, lifting the curtain with her uninjured hand.
But the moment she stepped inside, her breath caught.
Someone was already seated within.
A man.
A man whose presence alone could freeze the blood in her veins.
A man whose aura was so cold, so powerful, that it seemed to swallow the very air around him.
A man who could make her tremble—body and soul.
And he was waiting for her.