Chapter 24: A Clear and Unequivocal Death

Lu Yao’s face was flushed dark red, her breathing grew increasingly labored, each inhale and exhale felt as if she were treading on sharp blades. Her delicate hands could not budge the grip at her throat.

The suffocating sensation of impending death flooded her entire body.

Her mind raced through the self-defense techniques she had once learned. Raising her hands again, she struck outward with her forearms at the hollow of the madman's arm, loosening his hold just enough. Seizing the opportunity, she wrapped both hands around the back of his neck and pulled, while driving her right knee fiercely into his groin.

He released her and tried to shield himself. Lu Yao pushed him with all her strength, not daring to hesitate for even a heartbeat, and dashed toward the door.

The madman hadn’t expected Lu Yao to know self-defense. Losing his balance, he slammed his waist against the edge of the desk with a stab of pain, but immediately gave chase.

In her panic, Lu Yao ran blindly and stumbled straight into a patch of deep mud.

Her legs sank into the mire; the harder she struggled, the deeper she sank.

She clawed at her legs with her hands, anxiously glancing back toward the cabin. Before she could free herself, she saw the madman already emerging.

Her heart plummeted into utter despair.

“Don’t waste your energy,” he sneered, standing at the edge of the mire, laughing coldly at her predicament.

Lu Yao ceased her struggle. “If I’m going to die anyway, at least let me die with some understanding.”

“You’re bold, trespassing where you shouldn’t,” the madman said, his face unmoved, his eyes in the moonlight filled with murderous intent. “Tell me, why did you steal that painting?”

“I…” Lu Yao lowered her gaze, staring at the scattered moonlight on the mud, her fingers digging into her palm as she reminded herself not to reveal her identity too soon. Her tone was cool and detached. “I heard others mention that there are few early ink paintings by Ye Hua left. The most famous, ‘Carps at Play,’ is in the cabin. Someone on the black market offered thirty million for it.”

“You want to steal the painting to sell it on the black market?”

“Something like that.”

He scoffed, his eyes black as night. “She’s nothing but a fraud, yet some fools think her paintings are worth thirty million. What a joke!”

Lu Yao frowned slightly, feeling a strange sense of unease. As Ye Hua’s husband, how could he speak so of her? Was he pretending to be ignorant for Ye Hua’s benefit?

“She is the country’s unrivaled master of ink painting. Naturally, collectors would pay a fortune for her work…”

He laughed coldly. “She doesn’t deserve that title. She’s trash.”

“Still, someone is willing to pay thirty million for happiness.”

“Young woman, you’re naive. The person spreading the news about buying the painting for thirty million is Ye Hua herself.”

Lu Yao was stunned.

He snorted. “I didn’t expect, after all these years, she hasn’t changed. She’s still using the tricks I concocted over a decade ago to build her reputation.”

Lu Yao saw the hatred carved into his features and let out an involuntary sigh of relief.

It was obvious—the madman and Ye Hua had parted ways bitterly. Ye Hua, afraid her shameful secrets would be revealed, tried to burn him alive; he, in turn, feigned madness to save himself.

She ventured carefully, “You must hate Ye Hua, don’t you?”

“Hate? I wish I could strangle her with my bare hands.” At the mention of Ye Hua, murderous rage radiated from his entire being, his eyes dark and cold. “But I don’t want that wicked woman to die too easily. I want to torment her slowly, make her wish she were dead.”

Lu Yao paused, considering, then dared to ask, “Those celebrated ink paintings from years ago—they weren’t actually created by Ye Hua, were they? She imprisoned and coerced others into producing them for her, right?”

A flash of panic crossed his face. He stared at her warily, the murderous aura intensifying, his gaze sharp as a blade. “Who are you?”