MY PRINCE HUSBAND HAS SEVEN WIVES AND I AM HIS FAVOURITE!
Chapter 176: Cornered by you?

Chapter 176: Cornered by you?

"She’s in danger," Zhao Yan ground out, his voice colder than steel, sharper than a blade.

Xie Lin rushed forward, pressing a now slightly crumpled letter into his hand. The very same letter Hua Jing had received earlier in the day—one that had filled her with quiet suspicion. "This... this was the letter she got this morning. It was not from you, was it?"

Zhao Yan barely looked at the parchment before his eyes darkened. "No," he muttered, crushing the letter in his fist.

Deng Mi was already moving toward the horse, adjusting the reins as Zhao Yan leapt up in one swift movement. The prince’s face was pale with rage, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked as though he might break his teeth. Wei Ling followed immediately, mounting his own steed with practiced ease. Deng Mi took the rear, and within seconds, the three of them had taken off.

Their horses tore through the palace gates and into the stone-paved streets beyond, hooves thundering like distant storms as they galloped into the night. Guards and passersby turned, startled, but none dared to stop the trio. Not when the Crown Prince’s fury hung over them like a gathering tempest.

Zhao Yan’s mind raced just as fast as his horse.

He could still hear Xie Lin’s voice trembling with fear. "Please go and save my lady."

Hua Jing. He had thought her safe. She was strong, brilliant, a shadow behind the silk, always poised—but even the strongest could falter under an ambush, especially if she’d gone unarmed. That letter had lured her somewhere, and Zhao Yan cursed himself for not stopping her when he’d had the chance.

Lightning flashed in the sky above, forking like shattered glass, illuminating the road ahead in bright, fleeting silver. The wind screamed past his ears, yet all he could hear was the pounding of his own heart, louder and louder with every passing moment.

Behind him, Deng Mi shouted to be heard over the rushing wind. "Where are we headed, Your Highness?"

Zhao Yan raised the crushed letter, holding it up for a second before stuffing it back into his cloak. "An old shrine at the southern edge of the forest," he barked. "She was lured there. We move faster!"

Wei Ling spurred his horse harder. "We’re not far. Less than a li away."

The trees began to crowd the path as they left the main road behind, the dense woods closing in on both sides. Branches clawed at them like greedy fingers, but the three men pushed through without hesitation, their speed unwavering.

The path narrowed, winding up a gentle incline. Zhao Yan’s eyes were sharp, scanning for signs of movement, of light—of blood. Anything.

And then he saw it.

Faintly, just ahead, the outline of an old structure—half-buried by trees and covered in ivy. An abandoned shrine. He pulled the reins hard, slowing his horse just enough to leap down with grace, his boots landing silently on the soft forest floor. Wei Ling and Deng Mi followed closely, their weapons already drawn.

Zhao Yan’s voice was low, dangerous. "Be ready for anything."

Wei Ling’s knuckles were white around his blade. "We go in silent?"

Zhao Yan nodded once. "If anyone lays a finger on her, I’ll burn this entire forest down."

...

The shrine was filled with the relentless clash of steel—swords shrieking and sparking like fire on stone as Hua Jing and the Prime Minister tore into each other with breathtaking speed. Their robes, once pristine, now fluttered like tattered flags, streaked with blood and dust.

Hua Jing’s royal blue shimmered even in the low torchlight, the edges of her sleeves soaked through with crimson. Her breathing was harsh, uneven—but her grip on the sword remained steady, unyielding. The Prime Minister, on the other hand, looked ragged. His elegant black robes clung to his body with sweat and blood, his strikes losing precision, strength ebbing away from his limbs.

He staggered back after her last strike sent a tremor down his blade. His face was pale beneath the blood spatter, yet twisted in furious denial.

"Cornered... by you?" he spat, wiping the blood from his chin. "Impossible."

Hua Jing tilted her head slightly, her smile a slash of cruelty across her blood-smeared face. "It seems reality doesn’t care much for your pride."

With a growl, he flung his hand to the side—an unmistakable signal.

From the darkness, a shadow emerged, swift as death, the figure cloaked in deep grey, face hidden behind a black veil. In his hands was a gleaming sword, far thinner than the rest, its edge honed for speed over power. The assassin’s intent was clear—he darted straight toward Hua Jing with blinding precision.

She sensed the attack only a second too late.

Her head snapped toward the motion, body shifting into a half-defensive stance, but she was off balance. The sword was already descending toward her exposed side, a hiss of air slicing between them.

But then—

Thwip!

The whistle of something faster than the blade tore through the air.

Clang!

A glint of metal struck the sword mid-swing, throwing it off course. The assassin staggered, disoriented. His weapon clattered to the stone floor. He looked down—an arrow, so small it looked almost delicate, embedded in the ground at his feet.

Hua Jing’s eyes widened as she followed the arrow’s origin.

The Prime Minister turned too, his head whipping toward the shadows that framed the entrance to the shrine. There, stepping in with the wind behind him and fury in his eyes, was none other than—

"Zhao Yan," Hua Jing whispered.

He was there.

His robes still bore the crinkles of travel, but his posture was sharp as ever, and his hand held the next arrow already notched in his bow. Behind him, Wei Ling and Deng Mi surged forward, swords gleaming, expressions unreadable save for the intent to kill.

Zhao Yan’s eyes never left Hua Jing, even as he addressed the man across from her.

"You should have killed her quickly," he said coldly to the Prime Minister. "Because now, no one here will save you."