Reborn Nine Times, the Tyrant Always Wants to Imprison Me - Chapter 20

Zhou Ling gazed at her for a moment, his mind instantly flashing to the western district. The so-called “small shop” was actually located in a somewhat desolate area near the western outskirts—a standalone courtyard with no complex alleys or residences nearby, offering an extremely open field of view.

He weighed the situation inwardly. With the capabilities of his shadow guards, even if he withdrew the visible protection, it would be no difficulty at all to firmly control that area and ensure complete safety.

The next day, a seemingly plain blue-canopied carriage departed from the palace grounds and headed straight for the western district.

The restaurant occupied a solitary three-story building with upturned eaves and corners, appearing rather quiet and secluded. True to his word, Zhou Ling only brought along Gao Xuan, the commander of his shadow guards. Dressed in dark, close-fitting attire, Gao Xuan moved like the emperor’s shadow, following a step behind in silent vigilance.

The only private room on the third floor facing the river had been prepared in advance. Elegantly furnished, opening the window revealed a view of the distant winding earthen city walls and the desolate outskirts.

A waiter respectfully presented several signature dishes, among which a steaming bowl of milky-white noodle soup was deliberately placed before Fangru, its aroma wafting enticingly.

Zhou Ling picked up his chopsticks and took a bite, his demeanor as leisurely as that of an ordinary wealthy young master. Yet his innate noble bearing and the sharp glances he occasionally cast toward the surroundings outside the window seemed utterly out of place in this common market eatery.

Fangru ate the noodle soup in small bites, finding it as tasteless as chewing wax, her entire focus fixed on the potential turning point that might arrive at any moment.

Her mind raced with calculations. If she could seize this opportunity to temporarily escape Zhou Ling’s control, even for just a moment, she could find a way to contact her father and gradually devise a plan. There would surely be a method to help Gu Zhou break free from that lightless prison.

Silence filled the room, broken only by the faint sounds of chewing and the occasional whisper of wind outside the window.

Suddenly, extremely light yet swift footsteps sounded from the staircase. Gao Xuan’s figure appeared like a ghost outside the door curtain, not entering but lightly tapping the doorframe twice in a specific rhythm.

Zhou Ling’s hand holding the chopsticks paused slightly.

Gao Xuan approached silently, bending down to whisper something extremely quietly into his ear.

Zhou Ling’s expression remained unchanged, but the casual laziness between his brows instantly vanished, replaced by a layer of icy severity.

He set down his silver chopsticks, producing a faint, crisp sound.

Turning to Fangru, his tone remained gentle but carried an undeniable authority: “I have some urgent matters that require immediate attention. Wait here for me and do not wander off.” His gaze lingered on her face for a moment, deep and inscrutable, before he rose and quickly left with Gao Xuan.

The door to the private room closed softly.

The previous facade of gentleness instantly crumbled. Fangru’s heart pounded wildly in her chest, almost as if it would break through her ribs.

An opportunity! This was the chance she had been waiting for—perhaps her only one!

She practically sprang up from the embroidered stool and rushed toward the street-facing window.

Pushing open the wooden window with force, the street scene below appeared in miniature. A cool breeze rushed in, lifting the stray hairs on her forehead.

The height from the third floor made her dizzy; jumping down directly was absolutely impossible.

Her eyes swept rapidly around and landed on the dining table covered with plain cotton cloth.

Without hesitation, she forcefully pulled off the tablecloth, her movements swift and silent, then grabbed the covering cloth from another tea table as well.

Her fingertips trembled slightly from tension, but she still worked as quickly as possible to tie the ends of the cloth together, forming a crude but sturdy rope.

She securely fastened one end of the cloth rope to the heavy rosewood window frame, tugging it firmly to confirm its stability, then without a second thought, threw the other end out the window.

The cloth rope swung in the air, its length just reaching below the second-floor eaves.

Immediately after, she swiftly removed one of her soft satin embroidered shoes, calculated the angle, and precisely tossed it out.

The shoe landed on the gray-tiled eaves extending from the second floor, positioned conspicuously as if it had fallen accidentally during a frantic escape.

After completing this, she took one last look at the fabricated escape scene, drew a deep breath to suppress the panic in her heart, and turned to survey the private room.

In the corner stood a spacious elm cabinet used for storing spare dishes and cushions. She quickly pulled open the cabinet door, squeezed inside sideways, and gently closed the door again, leaving only a tiny crack for observation and breathing.

The interior of the cabinet was cramped, filled with the scent of aged wood and faint dust mites.

Fangru curled up inside, holding her breath and concentrating, her heartbeat seeming to amplify infinitely, pounding against her eardrums.

She heard the door of the private room being pushed open abruptly, heavy footsteps entering, followed by a momentary, deathly silence.

“Where is she?” Zhou Ling’s voice rang out, no longer carrying its usual laziness or gentleness but instead sharp and cold as ice, with a barely perceptible tension.

“The window has a cloth strip! This subordinate will pursue immediately!” It was Gao Xuan’s voice, tense as a drawn bowstring.

Immediately after, a flurry of hurried footsteps rushed downstairs like a whirlwind, and the private room seemed instantly empty.

Fangru’s taut nerves relaxed slightly, a sliver of luck at her success beginning to surface. Cautiously, she peered through the crack in the cabinet door, confirming no one was there before pushing the door open ever so slightly and stepping out.

However, the moment she turned around, her breath caught in her throat.

The Emperor of Great Xia, who should have been in hot pursuit, was now sitting calmly at the rosewood round table where they had just dined, one hand resting idly on the table, his fingers tapping the surface intermittently.

He had even leisurely poured himself another half-cup of wine, his eyes dark as night, fixed unwaveringly on her as if he had long anticipated where she would emerge.

That gaze held the amusement and chill of a hunter watching a clever prey fall into the ultimate trap.

Overwhelming fear and the humiliation of being toyed with instantly flooded Fangru!

The days of caution, meticulous planning, longing for freedom, and despair at the prospect of being imprisoned again erupted within her at this moment.

“Zhou Ling!” she screamed, her composure completely shattered, as she grabbed the nearest white porcelain wine cup and hurled it at him with all her strength!

Zhou Ling tilted his head slightly, and the cup flew past his temple, shattering against the wall behind him, splashing wine onto a corner of his dragon robe.

But this did not stop Fangru.

As if gone mad, she grabbed plates and bowls from the table, hurling them recklessly at him, fragments and food scraps flying everywhere.

“Just kill me! Kill me now!” Her voice was shrill, choked with tears, but more like a desperate cry. “I can’t live another day of being constantly manipulated, imprisoned, and toyed with by you! Do it!”

A sharp piece of broken porcelain grazed Zhou Ling’s cheek, immediately leaving a fine trail of blood, from which crimson beads welled up.

The pain caused Zhou Ling’s expression to shift abruptly.

Shattered porcelain shards… sharp curses… a woman’s piercing wails… and that greasy, grotesque man’s face, clutching blood-stained broken porcelain, advancing step by step… The bone-deep gash on her mother’s face, the gushing blood staining her tattered collar, dyeing his entire ten-year-old world crimson… Finally, that cold corpse lying in the filth of a narrow alley…

Memory struck like a poison-tipped ice pick, violently shattering the hardened defenses he’d built over the years.

The scent of blood and despair instantly flooded his nostrils and throat again, choking him breathless.

He didn’t speak, only pinned her with an unbearably complex gaze—containing an emperor’s fury at defiance, shock at her hysterical state, wounds from her venomous words about “playing” and “killing her,” but deepest and most visceral was the uncontrolled agony from old, bleeding scars, nearly spilling from his eyes.

For a moment, Fangru clearly saw murderous intent swirling in Zhou Ling’s eyes—cold, savage, as if to tear her apart completely.

She froze in terror, heart seizing, convinced she’d be dead in seconds.

Yet the terrifying killing intent vanished like receding tide, swift as a mirage.

He spun around, his black robes whipping a sharp gust through the wreckage, striding away without a backward glance.

His heavy, rapid footsteps hammered the wooden stairs like a funeral bell tolling in Fangru’s heart until they faded completely.

The room fell deathly silent, leaving only shattered debris, spilled food, and Fangru’s ragged, uncontrolled panting.

The air hung thick with the unsettling mix of food scraps and broken porcelain.

Slumping against the cold wall, she slid to the floor, fingers trembling uncontrollably.

That chilling murderous intent—so real it nearly devoured her—was no illusion.

In his eyes, she remained merely a temporary plaything. Any attempt to resist or bruise his pride meant disposable ruin.

Perhaps even implicating her cautious father beyond the palace walls…

Icy terror and drowning despair flooded her instantly.

She couldn’t wait any longer!

She had to seize the slim advantage now—before he moved to kill her!

Her cold hands frantically clutched at the smooth Amethyst Rosary on her wrist.

Just as her nails dug into the beads, ready to snap them, arms abruptly seized her from behind in a crushing embrace!

The hold came suddenly, violently tight, trembling with nearly uncontrollable desperation and reclaimed loss, imprinting his cool ambergris scent and familiar warmth against her back.

He held her so fiercely it hurt, as if anchoring himself—momentarily dragged into abyssal memories—back to her living, warm reality.

Fangru stiffened in shock, mind blank. She hadn’t heard a single footstep of his return.

Zhou Ling buried his face deep into the slender hollow of her neck, his heavy, scorching breaths pouring onto her most sensitive skin, sending shivers coursing through her.

His voice was hoarse and utterly transformed, stripped of all imperial authority and sternness, leaving only a near-shattered, raw emotion:

“Don’t be afraid…” His arms tightened fiercely, squeezing her until she could barely breathe, as if through this almost brutal embrace he sought to confirm her existence and dispel the bone-chilling memories. “It was my fault… It was my mistake.”

He repeated, his voice carrying a tone she had never heard before—a mix of lingering fear and domineering possessiveness: “I forgive you… I forgive you…”

He paused, as if mustering immense effort, then whispered hoarsely into her ear with a suppressed anguish and profound longing she had never encountered, pleading:

“Fangru, don’t leave me.”

This sudden turn, this completely unexpected plea, left Fangru utterly stunned.

All her struggles, all her despair, all her plans—in that moment, they seemed imprisoned and melted away by that heavy, burning embrace.

Her fingers, pressed against the prayer beads, as if drained of all strength, slowly and weakly loosened their grip.