“Mmm…!” The yellow-robed woman’s eyes widened in shock, her mind blank. She had considered countless possibilities, but never anticipated this. Renowned for her martial prowess and revered status, she was accustomed to being treated like an immortal goddess wherever she went. Most people didn’t even dare meet her gaze—let alone violate her personal space the way Song Qingshu just had.
“What are you doing?!” she finally managed to shove him away, her face burning crimson.
“After serving you tirelessly all this time and being bullied relentlessly, I deserve some compensation, don’t I?” Song Qingshu lounged lazily beside her, grinning with smug satisfaction. “Ah, I feel much better now.”
“Why don’t you just die?” The yellow-robed woman snapped. Her delicate fingers suddenly lashed out with razor-sharp force—none other than the famed Nine Yin White Bone Claw, a technique that had shaken the martial world.
Unfortunately for her, Song Qingshu was intimately familiar with this skill. He effortlessly blocked her strikes with one hand, taunting, “If you don’t stop, I’ll kiss you again. Want to test me?”
“You shameless rogue!” she spat, but the threat worked. She immediately withdrew to the corner of the bed, eyeing him warily.
“Yingluo… just what is your relationship?” The courtesan, who had been watching the entire scene unfold, was utterly dumbfounded.
“We have no relationship!” The yellow-robed woman snapped, furiously wiping her lips with her sleeve.
Song Qingshu gasped in exaggerated betrayal. “How cruel! After living under the same roof for so long—and even that time we…”
“That time?!” The yellow-robed woman nearly choked on her rage. “What ‘that time’ are you talking about, you scoundrel?!”
Song Qingshu shrugged. “You know, that time. Do I really have to spell it out?”
“Say it!” Her teeth ground together audibly.
“Fine, but don’t blame me later.” He cleared his throat theatrically. “That day, you dragged me onto the bed and begged me to take off your clothes. I refused, but you kept insisting. Eventually, I had no choice but to undress you—”
“You bastard!” she exploded. “I thought you were a eunuch that day! And I only did it because—!”
Song Qingshu cut her off. “Did I or did I not say it was inconvenient at the time?”
“You did, but—”
“And did you or did you not ask me to undress you?” he pressed, not letting her explain.
“I did, but I was trying to—”
“Then that settles it.” He clasped his hands in mock courtesy. “This humble Song Qingshu greets Fifth Sister!”
“Huh?!” Both the courtesan and the yellow-robed woman were stunned into silence, momentarily forgetting their fury.
The courtesan blinked. “What did you just call me?”
“You’re Yingluo’s fifth sister, so naturally, you’re my fifth sister too.” He nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I didn’t bring a gift for our first meeting, so consider those 200,000 taels of gold your gift.”
The courtesan’s expression twisted. That money wasn’t even yours to begin with! The man’s audacity was truly boundless.
“I’m going to kill you!” The yellow-robed woman had never imagined herself—a woman of poise and composure—reduced to such fury. Right now, all she wanted was to chop this bastard into pieces.
“Stop!” Seeing her brandish her sword again, Song Qingshu raised a hand. “You’re injured—you’re no match for me. Hell, even at full strength, you couldn’t beat me. Uh… ignore that last part if it upsets you.”
She ignored him entirely, slashing wildly. After dodging a few strikes, Song Qingshu finally lost his patience. “Do you still want to save your sisters in the Laundry Courtyard or not?!”
The words struck like lightning. She froze, her grip tightening on her sword. “What did you just say?”
“You heard me. Do you want to save them or not?” He rolled his eyes.
“You… know who I am?” Her face darkened.
“You kept calling her ‘Fifth Sister.’ I’d have to be an idiot not to figure it out.” He sprawled casually on the bed, motioning for the courtesan to relax before turning back to the yellow-robed woman. “So, should I call you Miss Yang… or Miss Zhao?”
“I used to be a Zhao. Now I’m a Yang. Call me whatever you like.” She sat beside the courtesan, her anger slowly cooling.
“Zhao Yingluo… Huh. That’s a much prettier name than your fifth sister’s ‘Fujin.’ No offense, Fifth Sister.”
The courtesan responded with an eye-roll.
Smirking, Song Qingshu continued, “So, where do you rank among your sisters?”
“Why should I tell you?” she huffed.
“Because I can help you rescue them.” His tone was light, almost playful. Truthfully, he could have taken a gentler approach to win her and her sister’s favor. But after posing as a eunuch for so long—suppressing his true self—he no longer had the patience to grovel.
Now, as a ruler commanding tens of thousands of elite soldiers, a peerless martial artist, and a man surrounded by beauties, his mindset had shifted. He refused to debase himself like Duan Yu groveling after Wang Yuyan. Every word and action now flowed from sheer whimsy.
Of course, Song Qingshu wasn’t stupid. He deliberately provoked the yellow-robed woman because he knew he held something she desperately needed. No matter how much she raged, she wouldn’t truly turn against him.
Her solo infiltration of the imperial palace, her high-stakes attempt to kidnap the empress—it all made sense now. After seeing Zhao Fujin, he understood: the yellow-robed woman’s goal was to rescue the Song Dynasty princesses trapped in the Laundry Courtyard.
“Why would you help me?” she asked coldly. Personal grudges paled in comparison to her sisters’ freedom.
“It’s a long story…”
Saving the Laundry Courtyard’s women was no small feat. He couldn’t do it alone. Knowing that true cooperation required honesty, he laid everything bare—his mission to rescue Song Yuanqiao and the others, their near-success, and the… incident involving the three princesses.
As Zhao Fujin’s face fell with sorrow, the yellow-robed woman’s rage reignited.
“Every last one of you Wudang Sect members are shameless scoundrels!”