Earlier, Ningyan lay in the chamber with Wuhen asleep behind him, an arm wrapped tightly around his waist, spooning him possessively.
Ningyan stared at the red flute in his grip, turning it slowly between his fingers as everything that had happened that night replayed in his mind again and again.
The poison.
A poison meant for Wuhen.
He remembered it clearly now. He had drunk the first few jars without issue, but that last jar... the one he had taken from Wuhen before heading to the courtyard with Rong Chao. That one had been brought by a servant specifically for Wuhen.
And Wuyin...
Wuyin had tried to stop him from drinking it.
But Ningyan had ignored him.
Did Wuyin hate Wuhen?
Then there were the arrows.
The presence watching him.
Was it the same person? Had they planned everything from the start?
If he hadn't run into Rong Yue…
If Lan Meishan hadn't been in the manor that night…
Would he be dead?
His jaw clenched.
