At that moment, Hua Manting felt a gaze sweeping over her—not the boy who had been watching her all along.
She lifted her eyes to the left-front and caught the bearded man leering at her, that disgusting, lascivious stare. Her irritation flared instantly. She widened her eyes and demanded, "Why do you keep staring at me?"
"I—I…" The bearded man had already been flustered when she looked his way, and being confronted so directly only made him more panicked.
Yet, having spent time on the streets, he attempted to steady himself, facing a seemingly naive little girl. He put on his usual rogueish bravado: "You were looking at me first. That's why I noticed you. If you weren't staring at me, how would I know I'm looking at you?"
Hua Manting let out a cold snort, thinking, Trying to pull tricks on me? You've picked the wrong person! "First, I wasn't looking at you—I was watching the chicken. Second, I don't need to look at you to know that you're watching me."
"Little lady, don't be shy now. Has Brother bewitched you?" The bearded man got carried away, thinking they were in some desolate, seldom-traveled alley.
He misjudged.
Before he could finish speaking, his words were abruptly silenced. His lips were sealed together, his eyes glued shut. Panic didn't even have time to register before his body was lifted by the belt, hurled like a ragdoll, and slammed into the ground with a muffled thud, rolling several times before coming to a stop.
Dizzy and disoriented, he was then pinned face-down, hands bound behind his back, legs entwined, completely immobilized—upside down, his body twisted in an excruciatingly uncomfortable posture, especially cruel for someone with limited flexibility.
The entire maneuver was executed flawlessly, leaving him no chance to react. After a moment, he realized his predicament and let out muffled, strangled cries.
A cold female voice whispered by his ear: "Do you take me for blind, or have you lost your mind?!"
The bearded man desperately wanted to shout, Yes, it's me who has the problem!
But he could only whimper.
Regret flooded him—he had underestimated her. True, she was a little girl, but also a cultivator, a princess, a princess who had vowed to level this wretched place.
Fighting ordinary people, he might have gotten away by running eight times out of ten. Why antagonize a princess and a cultivator?
His mouth had been his own undoing.
The incessant whining finally vexed him enough for Hua Manting to summon a wisp of pale pink smoke in her hand. At the same time, Xie Ziyin sent forth a streak of white mist, instantly silencing him.
His tongue was sealed.
Hua Manting felt a deep sense of satisfaction. Her irritation vanished entirely.
She exchanged a gleeful glance with Xie Ziyin, raising an eyebrow; he returned the gesture with a matching smirk. Even when he's a bit angry, he'll still protect me.
Hua Manting had sealed the bearded man's mouth and eyes, while the rest was handled by Xie Ziyin—just the way she liked it.
Timing was perfect. As soon as the bearded man's words faltered, Xie Ziyin leapt up, abandoning cultivation techniques entirely, and struck with raw physical force.
Hua Manting agreed—fighting with magic wasn't nearly as satisfying.
Even without relying on cultivation, she could have sent the bearded man sprawling and teeth flying, yet she remembered her brother's teachings: in public, maintain propriety, and never abuse your status as a princess or a cultivator.
Well… as much as possible.
Returning to his seat, Xie Ziyin lifted his bowl of glutinous rice balls.
"Your Highness, the Imperial Noble Consort has forbidden you from eating too many sticky foods tonight, and dinner was already plentiful," Sichen cautioned.
Xie Ziyin shot him a sharp glance, and Sichen immediately fell silent, murmuring through his throat, "You'll get a stomachache."
Xie Ziyin ignored him and reached for his bowl—but a faint pink barrier now covered it, with three characters inscribed: "Stop eating."
Looking up, he saw Hua Manting playfully raising a finger and shaking it at him.
Mischievous.
She had transformed a defensive barrier into a playful writing board. Xie Ziyin chuckled, nodded, and set down both bowl and spoon.
"Oi," the black-clad woman descended the stairs, nearly stepping on the bearded man on the floor. "What's going on here?"
She inspected him and realized he had been tied with a binding immortal rope—truly a waste.
"He must have provoked the princess," she remarked, unclasping the rope and handing it to Xie Ziyin. "Your Highness, calm down. Let's play a game. If he fails, I'll administer punishment for you and the princess."
Xie Ziyin exchanged a glance with Hua Manting, waved his hand lightly, and the rope vanished.
The bearded man writhed on the floor, joints stiffened as if broken.
The black-clad woman scowled, grabbed him by the collar like a chicken, threw him back onto a chair, and removed the seals.
"Everyone, meals are done, desserts finished, tea served, digestion settled," she announced. "Let's play a game."
With a clap, several strong men rolled in a massive drum, resembling a war drum.
"Today, we play Pass the Flower, but not with drinking challenges," she instructed. "The game is called 'Do Not Lie to Me.' Simple rules: when the drum stops, whoever holds the flower draws a question and answers it truthfully."
The group exchanged anxious glances. Being captured in such a grandiose manner could not possibly be for mere amusement—there was surely some ulterior motive.
Fear of the unknown tightened everyone's hearts.
"Answer truthfully," the woman continued. "Lying will result in severe punishment."
Severe punishment?
Faces paled, recalling the thunderous cauldron earlier, and the old man dragged away. If not for the deafening sounds ceasing, anyone might have shared the same fate. Even cultivators can instantly lose their defenses amidst such chaos, rendering techniques useless.
Silent, bloodless execution—unprecedented, horrifying.
She tossed a large silk red flower to the bearded man, startling him.
"When the drum sounds, pass it left," she instructed. "If the drum stops, whoever holds it must answer a question, no exceptions. No tricks—I see everything, and I know if you lie."
"Begin!"
The slender woman with the drumsticks struck with commanding force: thud, thud, thud—like a relentless death knell.
The flower began its perilous journey around the table. Anxiety tightened every hand it passed through.
By the fourth round and a half, the drum abruptly stopped, with no warning. The little girl held the giant red flower, delighting in it as though it were a treasure, while her mother wept, begging to answer on her behalf.
"No," the black-clad woman said coldly, placing the drawing tube before the girl.
Tears streamed, but the child obediently drew a bamboo stick.
"Who do you like the most?" the woman read.
"The person I like most is my mother," the child answered without hesitation.
"Good," said the woman, resuming her circuit around the table. The game continued.
The drum thundered again. The little girl, fully recovered from her earlier tears, gleefully tossed the flower to Hua Manting, who startled. She passed it to the boy, and the flower careened chaotically from hand to hand.
Hua Manting muttered, "Always showing off, no matter the moment."
Xie Ziyin raised an eyebrow in amusement.
Suddenly, a scream pierced the air. The flower danced out of a girl's grasp repeatedly, eventually falling to the floor, leaving her sobbing in frustration.
Her mother consoled her, though the reasoning was clear: pick it up and continue—the game was not difficult. Yet emotion overruled logic.
As Hua Manting moved to help, the Nether Cauldron thundered, startling her back into her seat. The girl regained composure and bent to retrieve the flower—but as she stood, the drum stopped once more.
Annoying, infuriating.
The crimson flower clattered to the ground.
The girl, frozen, drew a bamboo stick without protest, answering with surprising swiftness.
"Do you have a sweetheart?" asked the black-clad woman.
"Yes," the girl replied plainly.
The drum thundered once more. The previously panicked tall, thin man hastily passed the flower, unable to linger.
Xie Ziyin's face, still pale from earlier events and bloodied, remained grave. The horrific scene had left the room tense, yet understanding the rules provided slight reprieve: truth would keep them safe.
The drum continued relentlessly, hearts pounding as the players endured the game of fear, each moment stretching longer than the last—like a sword suspended above their heads, ready to fall at any instant.
Then, without warning, the drum suddenly ceased.