Flower Stealing Master

Chapter 881: Do You Want To?

The reason Song Qingshu knew how to escape was because, in The Heaven Sword and Dragon Saber, Zhao Min had once trapped Zhang Wuji in a similar prison cell. In the end, Zhang Wuji had tickled the soles of her feet to force her to release him. Seeing that the current prison resembled the one from the story, Song Qingshu decided to try the same method—and surprisingly, it worked.

But how could he explain this reasoning? It was better to play dumb.

Wanyan Chongjie, worried about potential ambushes outside, cautiously stepped out, only to find the area deserted. After surveying the surroundings, she realized they were in the rear garden of a wealthy estate. Excited, she hurried back to the entrance and called out to Song Qingshu, “Come out, quick! There’s no one here. Bring her with you.”

“Bring her too?” Song Qingshu was taken aback.

“Of course. We’ll take her as a hostage, just in case,” Wanyan Chongjie replied.

“Uh… alright.” Song Qingshu was concerned that the longer he stayed with Zhao Min, the higher the chance she might see through his disguise. But since she had already witnessed his and Wanyan Chongjie’s martial skills, he couldn’t just leave her behind.

“Don’t touch me!” Zhao Min glared coldly as Song Qingshu approached.

Ignoring her, Song Qingshu scooped her up in a bridal carry. “And what if I do?”

“I’ll kill you.” Being held by a strange man filled Zhao Min with both humiliation and fury.

“Too bad your martial arts are too weak to kill me,” Song Qingshu chuckled.

“Then I’ll find someone who can.”

“Who? That Song Qingshu you mentioned earlier?” Song Qingshu deliberately provoked her.

Zhao Min turned her head away, refusing to engage further.

Seeing him carry Zhao Min out, Wanyan Chongjie gave him a strange look. “Lucky you. Now let’s go.” With that, she activated her Qinggong and, under the cover of night, leapt over the courtyard walls in a few bounds. 

Song Qingshu, carrying Zhao Min, followed closely behind.

“Huh? This is Prince Xu’s villa.” After clearing the walls and recognizing the surroundings, Wanyan Chongjie wore a puzzled expression.

“How do you know?” Song Qingshu glanced around. They were near the back gate, with no signs or plaques in sight.

“My home is nearby. I’ve lived in this area for over a decade—of course I’d know.” Wanyan Chongjie rolled her eyes. Just then, heavy footsteps echoed in the distance. “This area is full of high-ranking officials’ mansions, so security is tight. Patrols are frequent. Carrying someone like this will draw attention. Let’s hide at my place first.”

Not wanting trouble, Song Qingshu nodded. “Fine.”

Wanyan Chongjie led the way, with Song Qingshu and Zhao Min in tow. After a series of turns, they slipped into a refined pavilion through the rear door of a residence.

“Your boudoir?” Song Qingshu noticed the distinctly feminine decorations and layout.

Though he hadn’t meant anything by it, Wanyan Chongjie’s cheeks flushed slightly. “You’ve got a captive with you, and we can’t risk exposure. Where else would I stash you two?”

In this era, a maiden’s boudoir was an extremely private space. Aside from family, only close female friends were allowed inside—even fathers seldom entered. The only male peers permitted were potential husbands. Though the Jin Dynasty had nomadic roots, years of Han cultural influence had made their customs nearly identical to those of the Southern Song Dynasty.

“I see.” Song Qingshu nodded, but then footsteps sounded on the stairs. “Isn’t this your boudoir? Why would someone come here so late?”

“Probably my mother.” Wanyan Chongjie frowned, her expression darkening.

“Pucha Alihu?” Song Qingshu had heard about her before—the former belle of the Pucha clan, sister to Pucha Ahudie and Ahute, and once the most beautiful woman in the Jin Dynasty, second only to Gebi.

Though curious about this legendary beauty, Song Qingshu was more intrigued by Wanyan Chongjie’s reaction. Why did she seem so cold—even resentful—toward her own mother?

“Hide. Now.” Wanyan Chongjie motioned for him to conceal himself. 

Song Qingshu scanned the room and instinctively considered the bed—drawing the curtains would obscure them—but Wanyan Chongjie frantically waved him off. Realizing how inappropriate that would be, Song Qingshu instead leapt onto a roof beam with Zhao Min in his arms. To prevent her from making noise, he sealed her mute acupoint, earning himself a glare.

No sooner had they hidden than a stunning woman entered. Her dewy eyes, rosy lips, ample bosom, and voluptuous figure would make any man’s thoughts immediately turn to the bedroom.

 Even Song Qingshu, accustomed to beauties, had to admit this mature woman was captivating—worthy of her former title.

But that was all. Song Qingshu had enough women in his life; he was no longer the impulsive youth who chased after every pretty face. Now, he was only interested in two types: those he genuinely loved, and those who could aid his ambitions.

Suddenly, Song Qingshu wrinkled his nose. Even from a distance, he could smell the strong stench of alcohol. ‘Why was this woman so drunk?’

“Mother, you’re drunk again.” Wanyan Chongjie’s tone suggested this was a common occurrence.

“Wha—what do you know, little girl? Hic—wine… wine is the best thing in the world. They say… say it drowns a thousand sorrows.” The woman staggered toward the bed, making Song Qingshu sweat. So that’s why she didn’t want me hiding there—she knew her drunk mother would collapse onto it.

“Drowns sorrows? More like running from them.” Wanyan Chongjie shot her mother a look of frustrated disappointment.

“Hehe.” The woman chuckled, avoiding the topic. “Sweetie, where were you? I couldn’t find you all night. I was afraid some scoundrel had tricked you… sob…”

Song Qingshu frowned. Her sudden tears hinted at deep-seated pain. ‘What have these two been through?’

But Wanyan Chongjie remained cold. “You claim to worry about me, yet you drown yourself in wine. What a wonderful mother you are.”

The woman laughed awkwardly. “Because I know my clever girl… can outsmart anyone. No one takes advantage of you… so I had the maids watch your room. When… when your lamp lit up, I came right away.”

“You’ve seen me. Now go rest.”

“Dizzy… I’ll sleep here tonight…” Before she could finish, soft snores rose from the bed.

“You—!” Wanyan Chongjie stood frozen, torn between anger and helplessness.

Once Pucha Alihu was sound asleep, Song Qingshu dropped down. “Your mother is… unique.” If his own mother were like this, he wouldn’t want outsiders witnessing it either.

“Do you think she’s beautiful?” Wanyan Chongjie suddenly asked.

“Huh?” Caught off guard, Song Qingshu glanced at the sleeping woman. Even in drunken disarray, she was undeniably alluring. “Yes, very.”

Wanyan Chongjie nodded, then suddenly struck Zhao Min’s sleep acupoint.

“What are you doing?” Song Qingshu was baffled.

Ignoring him, Wanyan Chongjie sat on the bed, gently stroking her mother’s face and tidying her disheveled hair. Then, her fingers drifted downward, slowly loosening the woman’s collar to reveal a glimpse of pale skin. She turned back to Song Qingshu, her voice eerily calm.

“Do you want to f*ck her?”

Song Qingshu’s brain short-circuited. ‘Did I just hear that right?’ A young beauty invites him to her boudoir in the dead of night, undresses her own mother, and asks if he wants to… What kind of twisted soap opera is this?!

“Are you insane?” was the only response he could muster.

“I know what you’re worried about. Don’t be.” Wanyan Chongjie let out a hollow laugh. “She’s too drunk to remember anything. Even if she does, it doesn’t matter. She’s just a wh0re who’ll sleep with anyone.”

“How can you say that about your own mother?” Song Qingshu scowled.

“Because she doesn’t deserve to be called one!” Wanyan Chongjie’s voice was icy. “I refuse to acknowledge a s1ut as my mother.”

‘A wh0re who’ll sleep with anyone?‘ Song Qingshu pondered. Rumors about Pucha Alihu had long circulated among the capital’s elite, but without proof. Yet if even her daughter spoke this way…

Before he could dwell further, Wanyan Chongjie stood abruptly. “Come. Let’s go kill Wanyan Liang.”

“Whoa, slow down! Weren’t we just talking about your mother—?” Seeing the hatred in her eyes, Song Qingshu had a sudden realization. “Is your mother like this… because of Wanyan Liang?”

Wanyan Chongjie bit her lip, tears welling up. But this time, she couldn’t hold them back. Crystal droplets streamed down her jade-like cheeks.