Chapter 611: Chapter-611
"It gets better," Samuel whispered, leaning in closer, thoroughly enjoying her misery. "General Wu—the one with the large scar over his eye—approached your grandfather after the assembly. He loudly offered to send over three jars of his family’s premium, hundred-year-old tiger bone wine."
Heena’s eyes snapped open. Tiger bone wine was a notoriously potent, traditional aphrodisiac used by military men to boost their vitality in the bedroom.
"He said," Samuel quoted smoothly, his golden eyes sparkling with pure mischief, "’Since the young Madam’s scholar husband is clearly working her so hard she can’t even walk to court, he might need some reinforcement to keep up the good work.’"
Heena forcefully grabbed the pillow from beside her and shoved it directly into Samuel’s laughing face.
"I am going to murder them," Heena groaned, her cheeks burning with a furious, uncharacteristic blush. "I am going to march into the military encampment tomorrow and make those old bastards run drills until they vomit blood."
Samuel caught her wrists effortlessly, pulling the pillow away as he laughed, a deep, genuine sound that echoed warmly through the bedchamber.
"There is no need for murder, Wife," Samuel chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss against her flushed cheek. "They are simply celebrating the fact that the fearsome Vanguard Madam is finally enjoying the spoils of peace."
Hovering near the ceiling, the System watched the terrifying, blood-soaked general hide her blushing face against her husband’s shoulder.
"Well," the System mused quietly to itself, a small, pixelated smile forming on its face. "At least she is acting like a normal human being today. Maybe this timeline won’t be so bad after all."
.
.
.
CRASH!
A priceless, Ming-dynasty porcelain vase shattered violently against the heavy mahogany doors of the Prime Minister’s private study.
"ARGH!"
The Prime Minister roared, his voice cracking with sheer, unadulterated hysteria. He grabbed a heavy jade inkstone from his desk and hurled it blindly across the room. It smashed into a bookshelf, sending ancient, sacred scrolls tumbling to the floor in a chaotic heap.
He was completely unrecognizable.
The untouchable, dignified pillar of the imperial court was gone. His immaculate hair had come completely undone, falling in sweaty, disheveled clumps around his pale, sunken face. His crimson official robes—the very robes he had worn with such overwhelming arrogance just hours ago—were wrinkled and stained with spilled ink.
He gripped the edges of his desk, his chest heaving as he stared at the absolute destruction of his sanctuary.
How?
His mind violently spun, completely unable to process the magnitude of his defeat. He was a master of political strategy. He had spent ten years meticulously building a flawless reputation, cultivating a network of lethal assassins, and plotting the slow, bureaucratic death of the Vanguard Marquisate.
And in a single morning, Heena Vanguard had completely annihilated him.
She hadn’t just defeated his petition; she had utterly destroyed his dignity. By the time the imperial guards had forcibly escorted him back to his manor, the rumors were already flooding the streets of the capital. The commoners weren’t whispering about his political suspension—they were whispering about the Prime Minister’s "secret, leather-clad male harem."
His political allies had immediately cut all ties. The other civil officials were treating his manor like it was infected with a plague. He was trapped in his own home for a month, publicly branded as an incompetent, deviant laughingstock.
"That bitch," the Prime Minister hissed, his nails digging into the wood of his desk until his fingers bled. "I will kill her. I will skin her alive. I will—"
Knock, knock.
The Prime Minister’s head snapped toward the door, his eyes wide and paranoid. "WHO IS IT?!" he barked, his voice filled with venom.
"M-Master..." a small, trembling voice answered from the hallway. "It is me. I brought your afternoon tea."
It was the Third Wife.
The Prime Minister’s jaw clenched. The very sound of her pathetic, broken voice made his blood boil. He needed an outlet. He needed to feel powerful again.
"Come in," he commanded, his tone dropping into a dark, familiar cadence of impending violence.
Outside the doors, the Third Wife stood in the dimly lit hallway. Her face was heavily bruised from the brutal, hours-long beating she had endured the night before. Her ribs ached with every breath, and her hands were trembling violently as she held the silver tray.
But as she looked down at the steaming cup of expensive, herbal tea, her eyes were completely different.
The dead, hollow emptiness that usually clouded her gaze was gone. In its place was a sharp, terrified, but undeniable spark of absolute clarity. The pain of the beating had completely burned Heena’s "muddle-headed" powder out of her system, leaving her mind terrifyingly sharp.
She remembered what the terrifying Vanguard Madam had told her in the cold, dark courtyard.
"True help only comes when you are willing to help yourself."
The Third Wife slowly reached into the sleeve of her robes. Her bruised fingers pulled out the small, wrapped "paralysis pill"—the hard candy Heena had given her.
If she did nothing, she would walk into that study and he would beat her again. He would beat her today, he would beat her tomorrow, and eventually, he would beat her to death. But if she dropped this pill into his tea... the Vanguard Madam promised to step in.
The Third Wife squeezed her eyes shut. A single tear slipped down her bruised cheek.
She unwrapped the candy.
With a shaking hand, she dropped it directly into the steaming tea. She watched it quickly dissolve into the dark liquid, leaving absolutely no trace behind.
She pushed the heavy mahogany doors open, keeping her head bowed submissively as she stepped over the shattered porcelain on the floor.
The Prime Minister was standing behind his desk, glaring at her with cold, predatory eyes.
"You are late," he snapped, snatching the teacup off the silver tray the second she was close enough.
"Forgive this useless wife, Master," she whispered, dropping to her knees and pressing her forehead against the floorboards. She kept her eyes glued to the wood, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might break her ribs.
The Prime Minister sneered at her cowering form. This was the only place he still had absolute power. He raised the teacup and took a long, deep drink, completely draining the warm liquid.
He slammed the empty cup back onto the tray.
"Clean up this mess," the Prime Minister ordered coldly, turning his back on her to look out the window at his locked courtyard. "And then go to the bedroom and wait for me. I am not finished with you yet."
The Third Wife remained kneeling on the floor.
She didn’t cry. She didn’t beg for mercy like she usually did.
Instead, a chilling, terrifyingly calm sensation washed over her battered body. She slowly raised her head, looking at the Prime Minister’s back as he stood there, completely oblivious to the fact that he had just swallowed the bait.
He thought he was the master of this house. He thought he had survived the court assembly with his life intact. He had no idea that by drinking that tea, the hourglass on his miserable existence hadn’t just run out of sand—the Vanguard Madam had completely smashed the glass.
Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!
Use arrow keys (or A / D) to PREV/NEXT chapter