Su Zhaoyu bid Lu Feng farewell and stepped out of the clinic, Situ Qingxue trailing cautiously behind.

“What’s your real purpose for coming here?” Situ Qingxue asked, voice tight with wariness.

“Hmm… dating,” Su Zhaoyu replied with a light smile.

*So she’s actually serious about this CP?* Situ Qingxue remained half-convinced.

“Regardless, I won’t let you cause trouble here—even if I’m not your match right now,” Situ Qingxue declared.

If Su Zhaoyu dared stir up chaos, Situ Qingxue knew her own strength was inferior, but pushing to her limit would still force Su Zhaoyu to think twice before fighting.

“I wouldn’t dare do anything so disrespectful,” Su Zhaoyu said, still smiling faintly.

*Afraid of scaring your sweetheart? How thoughtful of you.*

“Anyway, my business here is done. I won’t linger,” Su Zhaoyu shrugged, meeting Situ Qingxue’s gaze.

“What are you doing?” Situ Qingxue’s hand never left her sword hilt.

“Nothing. Just… your path ahead might get rough. You could run into some bad luck.”

Su Zhaoyu kept her enigmatic smile and walked away without looking back.

Situ Qingxue watched her go, eyes sharp, turning over those final words.

“My luck won’t fail me. I’m the protagonist,” she muttered under her breath.

…

Lu Feng watched them vanish down the street before returning to the clinic. His eyes fell on the item resting on the table—a small, tender white peach nestled in an exquisitely crafted box.

Su Zhaoyu had called it a spirit peach fruit, specially cultivated in her territory. Its purpose? Unknown.

Rich young ladies sure had a way with words—casually dropping “territory,” instantly signaling old-money prestige.

Nobles and elites in the Eastern Empire often held private lands; Su Zhaoyu clearly belonged to that tier.

Honestly, this was just hometown specialty packaging. Lu Feng turned the box over, marveling at its artistry.

Plain and simple: it screamed value.

That was added value for you. Wrap an ordinary item in plastic film, tuck it into a gift box, and boom—luxury product. Like how an apple’s price jumps tenfold on Christmas Eve just for a paper box. Add scarcity tactics? Even wilder.

Capitalist tricks, always squeezing coins from pockets. An apple from a street stall tasted the same as one from a high-end gift aisle. The box? Just colored paper and plastic. Lu Feng preferred substance over show.

Don’t let the peach’s tiny size fool you—it likely cost more than his entire jar of chrysanthemum tea.

Su Zhaoyu had offered it with such eager hope in exchange for his tea; refusing felt rude. Maybe she’d spent a fortune…

Okay, fine. He *was* curious. Wanted to taste “rich people’s peach,” sample a slice of luxury.

He unwrapped the box, lifted the peach—smaller than a fist—a cool chill seeping into his palm.

Frozen goods. Must’ve traveled far.

Rinsed under the tap, gone in two or three bites.

Flavor-wise? Distinct. Pleasant.

He spat out the pit and examined it. White seed, smooth surface, unlike any ordinary peach pit. A new variety.

Might as well plant it in a pot.

…

Elsewhere, within a distant castle, Christine suddenly clutched his chest and coughed up blood.

A subordinate rushed over as Christine’s face blanched and knees hit the floor—only to be shoved away roughly. Bloodshot eyes burned with fury.

The contract with his subordinate, Lait… severed.

What could have happened?

Christine scanned the contract’s fading traces: barely any struggle. Two strikes. Instant death.

Ambush?

He braced against a pillar, rising slowly, mind reeling.

Lait stood at the Sixth Tier. Even against top experts, he should’ve held ground or fled. Only a Ninth Tier peak powerhouse could erase him like that.

Yet the two killing strikes carried *different* energy signatures. Two Ninth Tier masters?

Bumping into *two*, provoking *both*? Less likely than winning the cosmic lottery.

Lait wasn’t reckless. He wouldn’t taunt supreme experts for fun.

Ambush it was.

That clinic doctor… had hidden claws. Underestimating him was a mistake. Irritation flared in Christine’s chest.

Sisha’s power was surging—he barely kept control. Now this severed contract weakened him further.

At this critical moment, that little doctor just added fuel to the fire.

“In a few days, I leave on a journey. Manage everything in my absence,” Christine said coldly, gripping the pillar.

“Where is the Duke headed?” the subordinate asked.

“Certain matters require my own hands,” the Duke replied, dabbing blood from his lip with a handkerchief. A cold glint flashed in his eyes.

“Yes, sir.” The subordinate bowed silently.

“How is Princess Sisha?”

“Since returning, she’s stayed mostly in her room. Recently took several potted plants—seems interested in gardening.”

“Gardening? After one outing, she suddenly enjoys *gardening*?” Christine’s expression shifted.

Sisha was proud, willful. Her passions were combat, strength—not tending flowers.

One trip out… and now *this*? Clearly, someone’s influence had taken root.

Only *one* person came to mind.

To not only win over Sisha’s heart but reshape her interests… Christine’s chest tightened with envy, jealousy, rage.

“Let’s go. I’ll visit Sisha,” he said flatly, hands clasped behind his back.