Born to Be Either Rich or Noble - Chapter 54

Where would she “take him back” to, exactly?

She’d escaped from prison—risking her life and reputation—just to help escort Park Er-gongzi back to the magistrate? Shen Che didn’t believe a word of it. He warned Song Yunzhi, “Brother Song, be careful—she’s up to something.”

Song Yunzhi didn’t need the warning. He knew her too well. “Go back,” he ordered sharply.

But Qian Tong didn’t move. Holding the torch high, she said earnestly, “The Parks aren’t people you can underestimate, My Lord. They’re ruthless—and well-connected. The moment you captured Park Er, they’ll have noticed. You might be skilled, but the Parks have loyal dead-soldiers who’ll gladly die for them. If you hand him over to me, I can draw their attention elsewhere. They’ll never imagine Park Er would end up in the hands of a weak little woman like me.”

Her words flowed smoothly, perfectly logical—but the longer Shen Che listened, the less he trusted her.

He hadn’t known Qian Tong as long as Song Yunzhi had, so he hadn’t yet learned the full measure of her cunning. But Song Yunzhi had lived through it firsthand. To believe her again would mean he hadn’t learned his lesson.

Qian Tong sighed, as if wounded by their suspicion. “See? Didn’t I say they’d come?” she murmured.

No sooner had the words left her mouth than both men felt the killing intent rushing from behind them.

The night sky split open—five or six figures in black streaked across the rooftops, blades gleaming as they charged straight toward them.

Song Yunzhi’s expression darkened. He no longer had the patience for her games. Hidden guards burst from the shadows to meet the attackers. In the narrow alley, steel clashed against steel. The assassins weren’t here to fight the court guards—they were here for Park Chengjun. Every move they made aimed straight for his position.

Song Yunzhi saw their intent instantly. His sword flashed, blocking the path.

The lead attacker was a woman, fast and nimble, refusing direct confrontation. She ducked beneath his strikes, darting forward with desperate agility.

Song Yunzhi twisted, his blade slicing open her leg—but she didn’t even flinch, driving herself harder toward her target.

His eyes narrowed. No more mercy. He drew back his sword for the killing blow—

—and then a cry cut through the chaos.

“Yunzhi! Help me!”

That voice.

It hit him like a spell, dragging his focus instantly away. Qian Tong—who only moments ago had been all arrogance and bravado—was now in the grip of a masked man, a blade pressed to her throat.

Song Yunzhi hesitated, his sword hanging mid-strike. The woman before him seized the chance to slip away into the dark.

He didn’t chase. Lowering his blade, he turned toward Qian Tong. The torch she’d held had fallen to the ground, its light licking at her skirts as the shadows consumed her face.

Shen Che saw it too. “Leave her! She—” he started to shout.

He wanted to say she didn’t need saving. She’d proven with that first arrow she was far from helpless—certainly not the kind of woman who’d go down easily. Right now, the priority was to get Park Er back to the yamen.

But before he could finish, Qian Tong’s voice rang out again—clear, tragic, and far too dramatic:

“My Lord, don’t mind me! Take Park Chengjun and go! That man has done too much evil—he must face justice! Avenge the Lu family’s slaughter, restore my Qian family’s honor! If you can clear my name, My Lord, even in the underworld I will be forever grateful!”

Her voice trembled like a weeping heroine from a stage play.

Shen Che: …

So this was what people meant by femme fatale.

He didn’t even need to think to know what Song Yunzhi would do.

Sure enough, Song Yunzhi stepped toward her. “You won’t die,” he said simply. Then, to the man holding her, “Let her go, and I’ll spare your life.”

Blood stained his blade—some dried from Park Er’s wound, some fresh from the woman he’d just cut down.

He wasn’t the type to bluster or threaten. When he said he’d kill, he meant it. The assassin must have sensed that truth—the hand holding the sword trembled. “Don’t come any closer, or I’ll kill her!” the man barked.

Song Yunzhi kept walking.

The black-clad man began dragging Qian Tong backward—straight toward the edge of a cliff.

She was unlucky tonight; it happened to be a drop five stories high, with a roaring river below.

When Song Yunzhi saw her toes hit the edge, he halted.

Behind him, Shen Che had already drawn his bow, sighting along the arrow at the captor’s head.

At the same instant, Song Yunzhi flicked a hidden dart from his sleeve. Both weapons sliced through the air together—

—but Qian Tong suddenly shoved her captor. The motion threw them both off balance. Her foot slipped.

The man stumbled aside, just barely dodging both the arrow and the dart. By sheer accident, he survived—vanishing into the darkness.

Shen Che nearly swore aloud.

“Yunzhi!” Qian Tong screamed as she toppled backward, her voice breaking. “Save me!”

Shen Che’s temple throbbed.
If she’d just stayed still, would she even be falling right now?!

But it was too late. She was already tumbling, eyes wide, staring at Song Yunzhi as though willing him to jump.

The rocks beneath her crumbled. She dropped.

And then—he moved.

Ten steps away, against the night wind and black abyss, Song Yunzhi leapt.

The cold air sliced through her as she fell, and in that frozen instant, memories flashed like sparks—

“Do not use my power to suppress others,” he’d once told her.

“I’ll be there when you need me. Why don’t you?”

What a contradictory man, she thought, watching the light rush toward her.

But oh, how radiant he was.

She had never met anyone like him—so rigidly righteous, so painfully sincere. Despite everything she’d done to wound him, one engagement forged by family politics had shackled him to her.

She was his fiancée. And that, to him, meant duty—meant he must protect her.

He wanted to save her. To change her.

But the most laughable thing in this world was believing you could change another person.

She’d lived twenty years among the wicked; it was too late for salvation.

When his arm wrapped around her waist, Qian Tong caught the faint, clean scent of him and sighed softly. “Oh, Lord Song,” she murmured, “what am I to do with you?”

He didn’t see—because in the moment he dove after her, Shen Che and the hidden guards had turned their attention toward the cliff, and the remaining assassins took the opportunity to seize Park Er and escape.

Song Yunzhi didn’t notice. When he realized they hadn’t fallen into the raging river below but onto a platform hidden under the cliff—piled high with soft hay—his first shock gave way to clarity.

He understood everything.

He looked down at the girl in his arms. She looked back, hands gripping his shoulders, smiling faintly through the dim light. She was warm, soft, wickedly alive—like a demon who’d stolen someone’s soul.

Song Yunzhi had endured hardship before.

At sixteen, he’d gone to war and watched his comrades die beside him. He thought he understood grief. But this—this ache in his chest—was different. The pain had nowhere to go.

He clutched her shoulder, voice hoarse. “Why?”

Qian Tong said nothing. Seeing the anguish spread across his face, she almost pitied him.

“Those weren’t Park family men, were they?” he demanded. “They were yours.”

“The Lord is clever,” she murmured, resting her chin against his chest. Her voice softened. “Believe it or not, this is the first time anyone’s ever risked his life for me.”

She’d gambled again tonight—just as she always did with him. And she’d won again.

Not because she was smarter, but because Song Yunzhi was too honest. A man like him didn’t know how to deceive with affection.

Such men never won against people like her.

He didn’t want to hear another word. Flipping her beneath him, eyes burning in the flickering light, he growled, “You kidnapped Park Er. What are you planning?”

Still too soft, she thought. His grip, though strong, lacked the bite it once had.

“He can’t die yet,” she said evenly. “At least not by the court’s hand.”

“Absurd!” Song Yunzhi snapped. “If he doesn’t face judgment, how will the Lu family’s massacre ever be avenged? How will you clear your name?”

Something stung behind her ribs.

Of course. He wanted to give her back a spotless reputation.

A future princess consort could be clever, even mischievous—but never tainted by blood.

Once Park Er escaped the authorities, capturing him again would be near impossible. The Park family would deny everything. Even if Song Yunzhi knew Qian’s family was framed, without evidence, the world saw only one truth: the Qians had quarreled with the Lus, and Qian Tong had stormed the Lu residence covered in blood.

“It’s just a delay,” she explained. “I never said I wouldn’t settle accounts. Park Er is useful to me. For my greater plan, I can endure some false accusations.”

He didn’t know what new scheme she was weaving, but he knew one thing: her eyes saw only profit. Reputation meant nothing.

Song Yunzhi laughed coldly. “You’re quick to make peace with yourself. But I—Song Yunzhi—never let a murderer go unpunished. Your people took a state criminal. I don’t know where you’ll hide him, or why—but I’ll find out. Next time, if you obstruct justice, I’ll kill you myself.”

“You didn’t ask,” she said softly. “How do you know I wouldn’t tell you?”

That sly glint was back in her eyes. She slipped the answer in like a dagger: “I’m giving him to someone.”

His eyelid twitched.

Her voice turned cold, sharp as the edge of a blade. “Park Er wanted to ruin me. I’ll make him pay twice over—make him taste what it’s like to beg for death and find none.”

Then her tone softened again, almost wistful.

“Yunzhi, there are people in this world who don’t care about reputation,” she said quietly, meeting his gaze. “As long as someone up above stays pure—someone like you—that’s enough.”

(t/n: “Er-gongzi” refers to the second son of a prominent family; here rendered as “Park Er” for naturalness. )