Chapter 12

Chapter 12: Prime Suspect (Part 3)

She stepped toward him instead, chin lifted, eyes locked on his—like she’d finally decided she would rather break than bend.

“You can kill me, but you can’t humiliate me.”

Mo Ting Feng’s smile was thin, sharp with bitterness. “Do you really think that because Gu Cang Yue called you his woman, he’ll definitely clear your name and shield you?”

Song Wei Chen closed her eyes for a heartbeat, fury rising so fast it made her hands shake. When she opened them again, her voice was steady—held together by sheer will.

“I’ll say it one last time. Before today, I had never met him. I’m not his woman. He saved my life. That’s all.”

Hearing her deny it, something inside Mo Ting Feng loosened—subtle, involuntary. He didn’t let his mouth soften. “If he didn’t know you, why would he save you?”

She laughed, sharp with disbelief, until her eyes stung. “Then what about you? You saved me too. Before you saved me, did you know me?!”

The words hit like a bell, ringing clean through his anger.

Yes. He had saved her.

If this truly was a trap, then he had been the one to step into it first.

He replayed the past events, piece by piece. From her angle, parts of it did make sense. Could it be she really didn’t know?

For the first time, doubt crept in.

Song Wei Chen trembled with rage. Mo Ting Feng reached for her on instinct, but she shoved him away.

“If you need a scapegoat, I’m enough!” Her voice cracked, furious and raw. “Don’t drag innocent people into it!”

“I’ll take whatever ‘crime’ you want to pin on me, but don’t be so disgusting—trying to kill me and smear me at the same time!”

She swayed. For a second, it looked like she might fall.

Mo Ting Feng’s heart clenched despite himself. He stepped in, lifted her, ignored her struggle, and set her down on a chair. Then he turned, poured tea, and came back to press the cup into her hands.

“Who said I’m going to kill you?” His voice was low, rough around the edges. “Who said I’m smearing you?”

“Then why drag me back?” She glared over the rim of the cup. “Don’t tell me you brought me here to throw me a welcome banquet.”

Mo Ting Feng stared at her, expression tangled, as if making a decision he hated.

Letting her go was impossible. Especially not when she could wear that White Robe.

But keeping an unknown woman in the manor would draw eyes and tongues. Better to put her to work in Dust Warden Manor and keep her close. If she truly had hidden motives, time would pry them loose.

And if she was bait, then fine—he would let the net tighten.

He exhaled once and spoke again. “What’s your name?”

She narrowed her eyes, suspicion bristling. “Does the case clerk not even know what name to write down?”

“My name is Song Wei Chen.” She spoke slowly, like she was carving each word into him. “It means tiny as dust. It fits how people like us look in your eyes—born like dust, living like grass.”

“Wei Chen,” Mo Ting Feng repeated softly, testing the sound. “In this world of wei chen, I’d rather love and hate.” The corner of his mouth tugged. “Not a bad name.”

Song Wei Chen froze.

In her entire life, no one had ever spoken the origin behind her name so cleanly, as if it mattered.

Under her breath, she muttered, “A kindred spirit. My parents would say you really know your stuff.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.” She looked away. “Friends call me Wei Wei. It’s none of your business.”

Mo Ting Feng’s face settled back into calm.

“If you stood where I stand,” he said, “you’d understand how suspicious you look.”

“If you stood where I stand,” she shot back, “you’d understand how hateful you look.”

“Whether I’m hateful doesn’t matter.” His gaze didn’t waver. “What matters is that I’m willing to give you a chance to clear your name.”

“You said you wanted to stay and work.”

“I agree.”

Song Wei Chen blinked hard. “What did you say?”

“Song Wei Chen, I won’t pretend I’m not still suspicious. But I’ll give you time—and a chance—to prove yourself innocent.”

“Is that true?”

“I don’t joke about this.”

Relief washed over her so openly it was almost comical. She was that kind of person—an ENFP sort of happy puppy, quick to empathize, quick to bounce back, quick to feel satisfied over a small mercy.

She set the teacup on a side table and sprang to her feet, dusting her clothes. “So what do I do next?”

“Come with me to the Dust Division Hall.”

“Yes, Boss!”

He strode forward without waiting. She hurried after him, almost trotting.

Then Mo Ting Feng seemed to remember something and turned back abruptly—

Only to have Song Wei Chen crash into him again before she could stop.

He lifted a hand to block, hesitated at the last second, and ended up catching her instead.

For a heartbeat, the air went awkwardly still.

Song Wei Chen’s ears went hot. She sprang back like she’d been burned and cleared her throat. “S-sorry, Boss. I was walking too close.”

Mo Ting Feng felt it again—his heart stirring, a ripple so faint he hated it for existing.

It made no sense. Why could she always do this to him?

He steadied himself, face turning even more severe. Then he gave her a long look and said, “Song Wei Chen. Put on your White Robe.”