Chapter 48 Cleansing

However, for now, this round of the game has been temporarily set aside.

Zhao Ang turned around, shook his head slightly, and said to Yang Mu standing behind him, "Uncle Yang, how have things been inside the Black Tiger Army lately?"

Yang Mu was clad in iron armor, his face resolute and his expression stern.

Hearing Zhao Ang's inquiry, he cupped his fists and replied, "Reporting to the Heir, the purge within the Black Tiger Army is nearing its end. According to your instructions, all members of Lu Chuan’s faction have been thoroughly eliminated, and other suspicious soldiers remain under covert surveillance."

Zhao Ang nodded, turned, and walked toward the Zhao Mansion, his tone nonchalant.

"Very well, then let's consider this matter temporarily concluded. As for the affairs of the Black Tiger Army, it is enough that we understand them in our hearts; let us not cause any more stirs, lest we give Emperor Jing a spectacle to watch."

Yang Mu frowned in thought for a moment, then asked in a low voice, "Heir, do those remnants of Lu Chuan require complete disposal?"

Zhao Ang paused in his steps, smiled without looking back, and said, "Killing too many people tends to soil our hands. Let them be, let them fend for themselves and perish on their own—though as for certain individuals, a proper reminder is still in order. You understand, don't you, Uncle Yang?"

Yang Mu was silent for a moment, then cupped his fists, "This subordinate understands."

After handling the military affairs, Zhao Ang changed into casual attire and leisurely stepped out of the Zhao Mansion.

The streets and alleys were as bustling as a weaving loom, with the cries of peddlers rising and falling in succession.

He strolled idly through the crowd, walking aimlessly while savoring the lively streetscape of the capital.

Dressed in brocade robes and a jade belt, his attire was opulent, yet his posture exuded a carefree, dissolute elegance.

He looked entirely like a wealthy young master out for a stroll, bearing not the slightest trace of the sharp, combative edge he had displayed just moments before in the Golden Throne Hall.

The street vendors, upon recognizing the heir of the Zhao Mansion, immediately flashed flattering smiles and chorused, "Greetings, Lord Heir!"

Zhao Ang merely waved a hand, his gaze sweeping leisurely over the crowd on the street.

As he walked up to the entrance of a teahouse, he suddenly came to a halt. For he laid eyes on a scene that was both grating to the sight and absurd—

A disheveled woman, covered in filth and clad in rags, tightly clutched a swaddle to her chest, sitting with a vacant gaze in a corner by the street while murmuring softly to herself about something incomprehensible.

Passersby covered their noses and detoured around her, frightened away by her crazed appearance, while some children nearby jeered softly.

"A madwoman!"

Zhao Ang narrowed his eyes slightly, observing the woman closely as a cold glint flashed across his eyes.

He recognized her: Wang Xiuyun.

Zhao Ang looked at Wang Xiuyun in the street corner, his gaze deep, revealing a hint of coldness mingled with a trace of pity.

She had once been the pride and joy of the Wang family, elegant in appearance and fierce in temperament. In terms of wit and sharpness, how was she inferior to any of those sheltered maidens of noble houses?

Yet now, Wang Xiuyun had been reduced to a disheveled, ragged madwoman, wandering the streets with a swaddle in her arms and muttering to herself.

Children on the street, seeing her, deliberately imitated her low murmurs while laughing and shouting, "Madwoman! Madwoman!"

Passersby covered their noses and gave her a wide berth, fearing that coming too close would bring bad luck.

Zhao Ang lifted his feet and walked slowly forward, the surrounding clamor seeming to have nothing to do with him as his gaze remained fixed on Wang Xiuyun.

Coming to a stop, he looked down at her from above, his tone flippant: "Well now, eldest Miss Wang, how did you manage to reduce yourself to this state?"

His voice was not loud, yet it carried clearly into Wang Xiuyun's ears.

Her movements paused, and she slowly raised her head to look at Zhao Ang. In those eyes, the pride of yesteryear was entirely gone, replaced only by numbness, agony, and deep resentment.

"Who are you...?"

Her voice was hoarse, carrying a trace of bewilderment.

Her hands clutched the swaddle against her chest tightly, as if guarding a final treasured possession. Her hands trembled, and her entire body curled into a ball.

Zhao Ang did not answer, instead looking at the swaddle in her arms, the playful amusement on his face growing richer: "Is that a child you're holding?"

This question seemed to strike a chord within her heart; Wang Xiuyun's expression suddenly turned frantic as she fiercely shielded the swaddle and screamed, "Don't touch it! This is my child! This is my child!"

Her voice was piercingly shrill, drawing even more onlookers.

People pointed and whispered among themselves, yet not a single person stepped forward to lend a hand.

Zhao Ang's gaze grew slightly cold as he stared a bit longer at the swaddle. Despite how tightly Wang Xiuyun held it, from the faint bloodstains visible on the wrapping, he had already guessed what the "child" inside truly was.

A stillborn fetus.

Zhao Ang slowly squatted down, meeting Wang Xiuyun's face at eye level, his tone remaining lazy and unhurried: "I heard the Wang family even sold off their official residence recently. Is your father so poor he's nearly unable to afford a meal?"

Upon hearing the words "the Wang family," Wang Xiuyun's body shuddered violently, and a fleeting moment of clarity actually surfaced in her eyes, though it was instantly swallowed by pain and hatred.

She lowered her head to look at the swaddle in her arms, muttering to herself, "He abandoned me... abandoned me... And Zhou Qi? Zhou Qi... where is he? He said he was going to marry me..."

Watching her demeanor, a cold glint flashed across the depths of Zhao Ang's eyes.

He slowly stood up, a hint of mockery in his tone: "Zhou Qi? He is living quite carefree right now, nothing like you staggering about."

Wang Xiuyun's gaze suddenly turned fierce, her voice sharp: "No! He will come find me! He promised me, he said he would marry me, he said the child was his!"

Zhao Ang let out a scornful laugh, finding the statement utterly absurd: "The child is his? Then why hasn't he come to look for you, leaving you to suffer here like this? He is currently busy climbing high branches in the Duke's Mansion; how could he possibly have the time to bother with you?"

Hearing this, Wang Xiuyun's complexion turned even paler, the hope deep within her pupils gradually shattering.

She clutched the swaddle in agonizing despair, tears silently streaming down her face as she muttered, "He said... he said... it wasn't his child... He said I was a slut... a base spawn..."

Her words were disjointed, yet they acted like a blade, slicing open the past wounds of the woman before Zhao Ang.

Only then did Zhao Ang speak in a measured, unhurried pace: "Wang Xiuyun, do you know that all of this was a trap set for you by Zhou Qi? He never intended to marry you at all; you were merely a chess piece he used to cozy up to the Wang family. What a pity, once the chess piece broke, he cast it aside without a second thought, not even deigning to look at you another time."

Wang Xiuyun's shoulders shook violently, and a broken sound escaped her lips: "No... it can't be... it can't be..."

Zhao Ang paid her no heed, continuing in a nonchalant tone: "In order to save the Wang family, your father forced you upon Zhou Qi. But Zhou Qi deemed you to have lost your utility, refused to even discuss the marriage, and went so far as to spread word that the child in your womb belonged to some wild paramour. Your father, consumed by rage, forced a bowl of abortive medicine down your throat—wasn't that how it happened?"

The moment these words fell, Wang Xiuyun was struck as if by lightning; she abruptly tightened her embrace around the swaddle, lowered her head, and wept bitterly in a raspy wail.

"My child... my child..."

Zhao Ang watched her weep coldly, without a shred of pity in the depths of his eyes.

He could have simply turned and left, but he knew that the woman before him had not yet been thoroughly awakened.

He needed to rouse even a sliver of sanity from her madness, enough at least to fan the flames of his own scheme.

"Wang Xiuyun, what you are holding is not your child. It is a stillborn fetus."

Zhao Ang's voice was chillingly devoid of emotion.

"You wander about every single day holding it just to find Zhou Qi, isn't that right? But do you honestly believe that even if you find him, he will care for you? He will only despise you all the more, casting you aside like dried mud even further away."

Wang Xiuyun did not answer, merely shaking her head frantically as she repeated over and over again, "It's not true... it's not true... Zhou Qi will marry me..."

Zhao Ang let out a soft sigh, leaned downward, and whispered, "You love him so dearly, yet he is the one who ruined your family, caused the death of your child, and drove you to this wretched state. Since you hate him so much, why not exact your revenge?"