Chapter 2: The Curse of Blood

“No, Sister, they are Anrong’s children, they are Anrong’s children, you know that… you know it… Anrong, I beg you, spare them…” Cold Yiran gritted her teeth and endured the pain as she crawled before Lu Anrong, just as Cold Yiyun had said—like a dog, she pleaded for Lu Anrong’s mercy, begging for her children’s lives. Yet, even facing the woman who had shared his bed for ten years, Lu Anrong showed no softness, cold and indifferent as though she were his enemy, his gaze filled with tenderness only for Cold Yiyun.

“Husband, you know they’re your children…” Cold Yiyun’s filthy hands clung to the hem of Lu Anrong’s robe, her cries tearing at her soul.

Never had she imagined that her husband of ten years, on the very day he ascended to the position of Prime Minister, would burn the bridge behind him—raiding the General’s Manor, killing the elder brother who had aided him for years, and sparing only Cold Yiyun.

Now she understood: she too had been nothing more than a chess piece! A pawn to ensure Cold Yiyun’s survival!

“What do I know? That you deliberately caused Yiyun to fall at the temple gates? Cold Yiran, you venomous woman! If not for your schemes, Yiyun and I would have been watching our second son take his first steps!” Lu Anrong, who had been silent, kicked her aside in disgust, his eyes brimming with loathing. He had never imagined Cold Yiran could be so ruthless!

“Anrong, Cold Yiyun deceived you—it was her plot, she harmed me… you must believe me…”

The memory of that incident at the temple was vivid in Cold Yiran’s mind. That fall had left her infant daughter frail and sickly, and robbed Cold Yiran of the ability to bear children ever again… All of it, a gift from her half-sister!

Only now did she realize that the husband who had once been endlessly gentle, and the sister who had worn her mask so flawlessly, had long since conspired together—while she had been left in the dark!

“Don’t you dare slander Yiyun again, you wicked woman! Hmph!” Lu Anrong, as if unable to bear another glance at her, kicked her again with a viciousness, then turned his head away.

Cold Yiyun covered her lips, laughing softly. To see the once-proud daughter of the General’s Manor reduced to this—she was utterly delighted!

“Someone come, flay that wretch and break her bones, let her mother have a good look!” Cold Yiyun, in that moment, cared nothing for how Lu Anrong saw her; for in his eyes, whatever she did was gentle and right. Such is a man: when he loves and dotes on you, whatever you do is justified!

“Yes, madam!” Immediately, a burly man emerged from the shadows, the torchlight flickering over his cruel features, making him seem all the more menacing.

“No… don’t…” Cold Yiran screamed, her voice hoarse and desperate, but two old maids summoned by Cold Yiyun pinned her down, rendering her unable to move, forced to watch as the brute approached her young son with a knife.

“Aaaah—!” The child shrieked, the agony of being torn apart alive struck Cold Yiran’s heart like a hammer. Blood trickled down her son’s pale skin, drop by drop onto the floor… It was enough to drive her mad.

“Anrong, even a tiger will not eat its cubs—please, I beg you, let him die quickly! Anrong…” She no longer dared hope Cold Yiyun might show mercy, only pleading that Lu Anrong, their father, would grant them a swift death!

Yet Lu Anrong only frowned slightly. Any trace of pity was crushed by the word “bastard.” They were the proof of Cold Yiran’s betrayal, the source of his humiliation. Standing beside Cold Yiyun, he was unmoved.

As the child’s wails pierced her ears and the stench of blood assaulted her senses, she saw the husband she had loved for ten years holding his beloved wife, coldly watching her suffering. When her child’s life slipped away, when flesh and bone were torn apart and drenched in blood, her heart turned to ash, leaving only endless hatred in her eyes.

“Mama Gu, smash that little wretch to death!” At that moment, Cold Yiyun was like a demon risen from hell, her smile grotesque and twisted.

But Cold Yiran seemed deaf to all this. She picked up the dagger, slick with her son’s blood, and without hesitation plunged it into her own heart. Her tragic smile bloomed like a poppy—brilliant and poisonous. “Lu Anrong, Cold Yiyun, I, Cold Yiran, swear by the blood of my heart—if there is another life, I will never forget today’s vengeance. I will tear you limb from limb and let you die miserably!”

Lu Anrong heard that resolute curse, each word like a blade flaying his soul. He turned his head and met Cold Yiran’s lifeless gaze—those dim pupils still burned with endless hatred, sending a chill straight down his spine.

“Anrong, this…”

Cold Yiyun watched as Lu Anrong snatched the child from Mama Gu’s hands, a flicker of unease in her heart. But with Cold Yiran dead and Lu Xuechen gone, her own son was now the legitimate heir of the Lu family, the future master of the house. What was there to fear?

“Clean up here and go rest early.”

Cold Yiyun assented, watching Lu Anrong’s retreating back with a triumphant smile. “Someone, clean this place thoroughly! Throw the bodies deep into the mountains for the wolves!”

“Yes, madam!”