Chapter 8

Chapter 8: He Has the Mind-Reading Art, This Buddhist Scion Isn’t Proper

The bluestone beneath her knees was cold and unforgiving. Kneeling too long, Xiao Man’s legs went numb, as if they no longer belonged to her.

Fine sweat gathered on her brow.

Old Madam never punished people. Yet today she made Xiao Man kneel without end.

Had she discovered something?

Impossible.

It was only a ridiculous dream. Who would take it seriously?

And Lin Qing Xuan asking for her—surely that was only coincidence.

“Enough,” Old Madam said at last, her voice drifting down like falling ash. “Get up.”

“Eldest Young Master is coming. Go brew tea yourself.”

Xiao Man braced on the ground and pushed up, wobbling. Her legs prickled as if pierced by needles.

Head lowered, she shuffled into the tea room.

Lin Qing Xuan arrived soon after.

He stepped through the gate in plain monk’s robes, and for a moment it felt as if the sunlight itself quieted to make room for him.

Xiao Man carried the tea tray with both hands, eyes lowered, trying to become invisible.

“Xiao Man refuses to go to your courtyard,” Old Madam said, accepting the hand warmer a maid offered and warming her hands as if this were an idle afternoon.

“Her contract has less than a year left. She keeps thinking of leaving the manor to be filial to her only aunt.”

Old Madam’s eyes lifted, mild and testing. “How about it? Shall I choose you another capable one?”

Xiao Man’s fingers loosened. The teacup nearly slipped.

Inside, joy burst bright as flame.

Yes. Choose another.

Choose someone breathtaking—someone who would swallow him whole in softness until he forgot she existed.

A sharp gaze pinned her.

Xiao Man froze and lifted her eyes—straight into Lin Qing Xuan’s.

Those eyes caught her like hooks, as if they could strip away flesh and read every secret cheer in her bones.

He looked… displeased.

“Eldest Young Master, please have tea,” Xiao Man said quickly.

She set the cup down too hard. A few drops splashed onto the table, hissing faintly against warm wood.

She turned to flee.

A hand clamped around her wrist.

Iron.

Cold, unyielding iron.

“Picking beauties won’t help,” Lin Qing Xuan said.

His voice was low, but it struck Xiao Man like thunder.

That voice—too familiar.

The same voice that had tangled with her in her dream, the same voice that had said her name like a sin and a prayer.

Worse—how could he know what she was thinking?

“Eldest Young Master!” Xiao Man went pale and struggled.

His grip didn’t move.

Right in front of Old Madam, they tugged—her pulling back like a trapped animal, him holding her as if she were nothing more than an object in his hand.

Xiao Man’s mind went white. She dropped heavily to her knees.

“This servant served the tea improperly,” she blurted. “Please punish this servant, Eldest Young Master!”

Old Madam sat upright and watched, cold and still.

Xiao Man’s terror didn’t look like an act.

“Xiao Man,” Old Madam said, “tell Eldest Young Master yourself. Do you want to leave the manor, or do you want to go serve in his courtyard?”

Xiao Man hardened her heart. She lifted her head and met Lin Qing Xuan’s gaze.

“This servant wants to leave the manor.”

Old Madam sighed, soft as a blade slipping free.

“But your contract hasn’t expired.”

Xiao Man’s heart sank.

So that was it. No escape. Not yet.

Old Madam coughed twice, breaking the tension as if tapping a chess piece into place.

“Qing Xuan,” she said, calm and measured, “let go first. This matter must be discussed with your mother. This manor is under her hand.”

Xiao Man’s breath caught.

If First Madam knew…

She wouldn’t be leaving the manor. She might not even be leaving alive.

Lin Qing Xuan’s grip stayed on her wrist for one more beat, cold as a shackle.

Then he released her.

The place he’d held burned red, a ring that looked almost obscene against her skin.

“Grandmother is right,” Lin Qing Xuan said, stepping back. The hem of his robe skimmed the floor without sound. “This should be decided by Mother.”

He agreed.

He agreed so lightly, as if her life and death were a trivial matter.

Xiao Man’s strength drained away. If she hadn’t already been kneeling, she would have collapsed.

Lin Qing Xuan turned and walked toward the door.

Each step felt like it landed on her heart.

As he passed her, he paused.

A shadow fell over her bowed head.

A voice slipped into her ear—quiet, edged with frost.

“I’ll wait for you.”

Then he was gone, taking the room’s light with him.

Silence returned, thick enough to choke on.

Only the faint scrape of Old Madam’s nails against the copper hand warmer broke it—slow, patient, relentless.

“Get up,” Old Madam said.

Xiao Man tried. Her knees refused, dead weight beneath her.

Cold sweat slid down her temple and dripped onto the stone, darkening it in a small stain.

“First Madam values rules above all else,” Old Madam said, unhurried, each word tapping against Xiao Man’s nerves like a tiny hammer.

“If you behave like this in front of her, it won’t be as simple as kneeling.”