Chapter 367: The Fiery One

Li Shu’s four simple questions hadn’t directly accused anyone of poisoning her sweet soup—but when one connected those questions together, then combined them with the servant girl’s earlier answers, the implication became glaringly clear. No matter how one looked at it, this bowl of poisoned dessert was inseparable from the Sixth Young Miss.

At that moment, silence spoke louder than words.

The reasoning was straightforward—trivial even—certainly not enough to stump the Sixth Miss.

And so, the Sixth Miss’s indignation swelled all the more. Her heart burned with both grievance and fury. Do they think I’m a fool? she fumed inwardly. How could I possibly poison the very dessert that I sent over myself? If I truly wanted to poison someone, I’d never choose a time when the trail could so easily lead back to me!

“Fifth Sister, you’re wronging me!” she protested, her round face full of wounded innocence. “I went with our elder sisters to watch Brother-in-law’s ceremonial parade today. Thinking of how tired everyone must be, I simply had the servants make several bowls of sweet soup—one for each of you.”

Her soft voice trembled, and her eyes darted toward the other sisters for support. “Elder Sisters, please, tell me—did any of your bowls taste of poison?”

Second Miss and the others all shook their heads, murmuring that their portions had been perfectly fine.

That was all the proof Sixth Miss needed. Her confidence returned, puffing up her delicate chest. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes glistening with tears that brimmed just enough to make her look heartbreakingly wronged. “Fifth Sister, you see? Everyone else’s sweet soup was just fine. So why—why was yours the only one poisoned? Why is it that others are unharmed, yet trouble only finds you?”

Indeed—why only her? Why was she so special?

Her words, honeyed yet sharp, turned every gaze in the room toward Li Shu.

Li Shu tilted her head slightly, her long lashes fluttering. “Yes,” she said softly, her voice laced with quiet wonder. “I find it strange too. Why would my dear sister’s dessert be perfectly fine for everyone else, yet only mine turns out to be poisoned?”

She had clearly anticipated this line of defense. Her tone was light, even innocent, but her eyes gleamed with sharp intelligence. Following Sixth Miss’s reasoning, she sighed softly, a note of sorrow in her voice.

Then, as though a sudden thought struck her, she turned her dark, expressive eyes upon Sixth Miss and asked with feigned hesitation, “Sister, have I ever done something to displease you? If I’ve offended you somehow, please tell me. I’ll change—truly, I will.”

The shift was subtle but devastating. What had begun as Sixth Miss’s attempt to clear her name had been turned against her, her own words wielded as a weapon.

“You—who said I poisoned you?” Sixth Miss sputtered, panic rising in her throat.

“Oh? So the soup isn’t poisoned after all?” Li Shu widened her eyes, her lips curving into a bright smile. “Then it must be that I, a country bumpkin, mistook something harmless for poison. Why don’t you try it, dear Sister? If it tastes fine, I’ll kneel and beg your pardon.”

Her black eyes gleamed with sly amusement as she lifted the bowl. The silver spoon inside had already blackened from contact with the poison, but her tone was as sweet as spring blossoms as she offered it to Sixth Miss’s lips.

The younger girl’s eyes widened in horror. The spoon—its darkened surface glinting ominously under the lantern light—was proof enough. She stumbled backward, shaking her head furiously.

Even the other young ladies grew tense, their faces pale.

“Why shy away, Sister?” Li Shu’s laughter chimed like a silver bell. “Didn’t you say it was harmless? Come now, have a taste.”

“Shu’er, stop this nonsense!” cried the Marchioness of Linhuai, her voice edged with worry.

But Li Shu acted as though she hadn’t heard. The bowl in her hand edged ever closer to Sixth Miss’s trembling lips—so close that the scent of the sweet soup mingled with the girl’s terrified breath.

Sixth Miss went completely white. Death was suddenly so near she could almost taste it. Reflex overtook reason—she screamed and slapped the bowl away.

It crashed to the floor. Porcelain shattered. The poisoned soup splattered across the polished wood—and before everyone’s eyes, the floorboards began to sizzle and corrode, leaving dark, ugly marks.

A collective gasp filled the air.

If it could eat through the floor like that—what would it have done to someone’s insides?

The young ladies shrank back, their painted faces drained of color. Sixth Miss, sheltered and pampered all her life, was struck dumb by horror. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she stared at the ruined floor, trembling from head to toe.

“No wonder you refused to drink,” Li Shu said coldly, her lips curling into a mocking smile. “You already knew the soup was poisoned, didn’t you, Sister?”

“I—I didn’t know! It wasn’t me!” Sixth Miss sobbed, her tears tracing silver lines down her flushed cheeks.

“Oh? Not you?” Li Shu’s gaze flicked toward the trembling maid tied to the tree. “Then it must’ve been her, hmm?”

“Shu’er, don’t be rash.” The Marchioness stepped forward, trying to calm the storm. “Let your aunt investigate properly. I’m sure the sweet soup passed through many hands before reaching you. We’ll find the truth, I promise.”

“Dear Aunt,” Li Shu replied evenly, bowing respectfully, “when it’s a matter of life and death, how can I not be anxious? Today it was a poisoned dessert—tomorrow it could be the food or even the water. I can’t gamble the life my parents gave me on someone’s mercy.”

She straightened gracefully after her bow, her expression composed but her eyes gleaming with quiet fury. Then she turned toward her small maid. “Hua’er, bring me my riding whip.”

The onlookers exchanged puzzled glances—until realization dawned.

The young maid quickly fetched the whip. Li Shu took it in hand, the leather coiling and snapping as she flicked her wrist. The crisp crack of it striking the ground sliced through the tense silence. Then, step by deliberate step, she walked toward the bound servant girl.

“Tell me,” she said softly, lifting the girl’s chin with the handle of the whip. “Who poisoned the soup?”

Sixth Miss tensed immediately, her heart pounding. If that girl names me…

“I don’t know! No one poisoned it!” the servant stammered, shaking her head violently.

Sixth Miss exhaled shakily, relief washing through her. It was the same instinctive fear that an innocent person feels when the police enter a bus after a theft—terrified that guilt might somehow land on them regardless of the truth.

But before her relief could settle, the whip cracked again.

A scream tore through the courtyard.

And there stood Li Shu—smiling, calm, her riding boots gleaming under the sun as she wielded the whip with easy grace.

In that moment, every young lady present would forever remember her not as the gentle, lovely Fifth Miss, but as a figure both fierce and unforgettable.

They had all punished servants before—slaps, pinches, the prick of a hairpin—but this… this was something else entirely. Li Shu’s whip drew blood and fear alike.

“Another chance,” Li Shu said, voice smooth as silk. “Who poisoned the soup?”

Her tone was soft, but her eyes were cold. She even used the handle of her whip to tuck a loose strand of hair behind the servant’s ear, a gesture of such false tenderness that it made everyone’s blood run cold.

The girl whimpered, shrinking back as far as the ropes allowed, shaking her head and sobbing. “I—I really don’t know… please…”

Li Shu smiled faintly. “So stubborn. Very well, let’s ask a different question—was it you who poisoned it?”

The girl’s eyes widened in terror, then she cried out, “No! It wasn’t me!”

“Oh? Not you?” Li Shu nodded thoughtfully, her smile never wavering. Then she turned to Sixth Miss. “Sister, she says it wasn’t her.”

The meaning in her words was unmistakable.

If it wasn’t the servant… then who else could it be?

Sixth Miss froze. Her body trembled as Li Shu advanced, the whip trailing behind her, its tip tracing a thin black line along the ground. The memory of the crack of that whip, the scream that followed—it all came rushing back, suffocating her.

How can someone from the countryside be this terrifying? she thought wildly. When Brother-in-law once joked that he could ‘whip poetry out of her,’ I thought it was just a jest—but now… now I’m not so sure.

No, no more. I can’t take this—she’s too violent, too frightening. Forget the status, forget the scholar—just give me a gentle man like Young Master Wei…

The Sixth Miss broke down completely, her delicate face pale as snow, tears streaming down like petals in the rain—fragile, beautiful, and utterly pitiful.

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