The Valued Lady is Truly Dominant

Song Zhiqing looked at the ruins before him, his face ashen as he knelt on the ground, his face full of shock.

This wasn’t a dream; it was a real earthquake. No, the house had collapsed.

”You, you said the mistress is in there?” Song Zhiqing glanced at Hai Yan, who was crying with tears streaming down her face, and scolded harshly, ”How could the mistress be in there? If she was, how could you be standing here unharmed, you wretched maid?”

Hai Yan knelt down and cried, ”Mistress and Aunt Quan had something to discuss, they didn’t want me serving there, so I had to leave.”

Song Zhiqing’s heart skipped a beat. What could the two have to discuss that needed to be kept secret? Especially in a temple, what can’t be talked about in plain sight?

Somehow, he thought of what the eldest son had mentioned, and for a moment was filled with doubt. Yet faced with the ruins before him, emotion triumphed over reason, and he pointed at the monks who were rushing over, shouting, ”Dig, dig her out for me, you bald slaves! If she’s alive, I want to see her; if she’s dead, I want to see her body.”

The monks were too angry to speak, feeling guilty since the guest courtyard in the temple had collapsed, burying someone alive, and also feared the power of the Song Family.

Soon, someone started digging and went to report to the authorities.

The abbot, Master Hui Jing, apologized to Song Zhiqing, explaining that the eastern guest courtyard had been under disrepair due to the heavy snow. They intended to repair it because it was in a remote location so they wouldn’t allow guests and monks to rest here, even stationed guards. But unexpectedly, Bai Shuilian and the others chose to rest here.

Song Zhiqing’s mind was in a tangled mess, impatiently saying, ”Don’t say more than necessary, I just want to see the person.”

Hui Jing sighed and chanted Amitabha, instructing the monks to intensify their efforts, even inviting the gathering patrons to help by offering ten coins each, promising a hundred coins if they rescued someone.

Money makes the impossible possible, and more people joined the digging effort.

Hai Yan’s cries were heart-wrenching.

With more people, the work went quickly, soon uncovering a woman wearing a horse-face skirt.

”It’s Aunt Quan.” Hai Yan’s legs gave way, kneeling to the ground.

Song Zhiqing felt a chill in his heart, looking up at the falling snow, feeling a sense of desolation.

As time dragged on, Hai Yan furrowed her brow, logically thinking...

”Found her.”

Song Zhiqing’s legs trembled; he recognized the clothes as belonging to Bai Shuilian.

It was her.

Hai Yan felt a wave of relief and shouted sharply for the mistress, then began to sob miserably.

Song Zhiqing trembled as he approached, but when he was a yard away from the bloodied person lying on the ground, he dared not get closer to identify them, his body shaking uncontrollably.

How could this happen in such a short span of time? How could a healthy person end up like this?

Clearly they came to offer prayers for blessings, why did it turn into a fatal journey instead?

Song Zhiqing’s head felt dizzy, glaring at Hui Jing and the other monks chanting the Rebirth Scripture, ”You, I want you to pay with your lives.”

The scene turned chaotic.

Hai Yan quietly retreated and, when she reached the Zen Temple, she retrieved a bundle from a secret spot, changed into an old cotton jacket, altered her face, swallowed two pills, and her bones cracked and popped. Instantly, she transformed into an entirely different person, a girl around twenty years old with delicate features.

Then she dragged a person out from a cabinet, dressed them in the clothes she had just taken off—the breathless person with blood seeping from the mouth was actually the real Hai Yan.

The woman glanced at her, slipped out and under the guise of the commotion, headed down the mountain with a basket.

”Aunt Quan, where are you headed?”

The woman’s body stiffened.