A figure in black emerged from the shadows behind Bai Rui, clothed in night-walker’s garb that seemed to melt into the darkness itself.

He stepped hard on Bai Rui’s leg, and when he spoke, his voice was warped and unnatural—clearly disguised. “The Duke of Ying really is fearless. You came alone—truly admirable.”

He let out a sharp, chilling laugh, then pointed at the short dagger that had just been hurled into the ground. “With your left hand, stab your own leg. Do that, and I’ll let him go. What do you say?”

Bai Rui thrashed violently on the ground but was silenced by a kick to the stomach that made him curl up like a wounded animal. Bai Jinghuai lunged forward in rage, but the man jerked his blade to Bai Rui’s throat, forcing him to halt.

“Hurry up! If you don’t want him dead, then do it—now!”

Bai Jinghuai stared at his son, still convulsing on the ground. His eyes turned bloodshot as he slowly bent to pick up the dagger.

One glance told him the blade was already bloodstained. His head snapped up. “What have you done to Rui’er?”

The man cackled again. “Ah, I would have liked to—but sadly, that blood isn’t his. Though if you keep stalling, it might be soon.”

“Do it! Or I’ll slit his throat!”

With each shout, the urgency sharpened. Bai Rui blinked through the sweat stinging his eyes, watching his father raise the bloodied dagger high with his left hand, aiming at his own leg.

Bai Rui’s fingers clawed into the dirt, nails tearing open. In desperation, he tried to throw himself against the blade at his throat, but the man caught the motion and struck him hard on the head with the hilt.

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Dazed, Bai Rui’s mind spun. Why was he always causing trouble? It was because he knew—deep down—that with his father and big brother there, nothing would ever really fall on him. He could always be the carefree, feckless second young master of the Bai family, never needing to carry the weight.

He regretted it—truly, deeply regretted it. He would rather die as the insignificant second young master of the Bai family than drag his father down with him.

The moment he saw the blade plunging downward, Bai Rui exploded with a strength he’d never known before, lunging forward with all his might. The man restraining him nearly lost his grip. Furious, he raised his hand, ready to beat him half to death—but then, with a sharp clang, the dagger in Bai Jinghuai’s hand flew through the air.

The man froze, a chill shooting up his spine. He hadn’t sensed anyone approaching—how?

A figure burst in like the wind. In a flash, the attacker released his hold and twisted away, but not fast enough; the blade caught his wrist. He barely registered the pain, already fleeing into the depths of the woods with everything he had.

Ning Yan didn’t give chase. Who knew what traps might lie deeper in the trees? Instead, he turned back and saw Bai Rui crawling like a caterpillar across the ground, inching toward his father. With one swift motion, Ning Yan slashed through the ropes binding him.

Bai Rui scrambled to Bai Jinghuai’s side, half crawling, half stumbling. “Father, are you all right? You really stabbed yourself just because he told you to? I’m such a disgrace of a son—why would you—”

His words were cut off as Bai Jinghuai reached out and ruffled his hair. He turned away, eyes red, shoulders trembling almost imperceptibly.

Ning Yan sheathed his blade. “Did you recognize the man who tied you up?”

Bai Rui steadied his breath and shook his head. “No. I tried to get him to talk, but his mouth was tight—he didn’t let a single word slip. But—oh! Father, they killed someone back there, using that very same dagger!”

Ning Yan’s eyes narrowed. “Where?”

“Not far. I’ll take you.”

The three of them quickly made their way to the spot Bai Rui had mentioned. Just as he’d said, a man lay there on his back, a gaping hole in his chest. He’d been dead for quite some time.