Spoiled and mad critic of powerful ministers

This was an extremely spacious room, without any glittering decorations, yet it exuded a chilling familiarity.

The windows were covered with Korean paper, which allowed light to pass through but not wind.

The bed curtains were his favorite bamboo green, layered and exuding an elegant charm.

By the window, there was a large desk made of rosewood, its height just the right size for him.

On the table, there was a complete set of writing brush, ink, paper, and inkstone. Even the brush washer was the same style he used in the old house, which was obviously brought over on purpose.

On the bookshelf, his rare and precious ancient books, which he regarded as treasures, were neatly arranged in categories, without even being out of order.

A faint scent of styrax wafted in the air, the incense he loved to burn when he was studying, for its calming effect.

Pei Zhihui stood in the center of the room, his fingers trembling as he stroked the blue curtains.

This isn't a room hastily prepared; it's clearly a home tailor-made for him.

My sister-in-law... knows he likes bamboo green.

If it were all pretense, how could they have taken such meticulous care of even the smallest details?

Pei Zhihui slumped onto the soft bed, the warmth from the underfloor heating making his body feel weak. The hardened defenses in his heart seemed to crack slightly in this pervasive warmth.

"Sister-in-law..." he murmured to himself, his eyes unfocused and complicated.

His body seemed to have been thrown into a bottomless dry well, continuing to fall.

The warmth around us gradually faded, replaced by a bone-chilling cold.

When I opened my eyes again, the scene before me had changed.

It was no longer the warm pavilion in the manor that smelled of styrax, but a study so large it made one's heart race.

A thick black velvet carpet was laid underfoot, making no sound when you stepped on it.

All around stood towering rosewood bookshelves, their densely packed files piled up like mountains, making it hard to breathe.

He lowered his head, and his clothes were no longer the faded cotton robe, but a dark purple official robe with intricate python patterns embroidered on the cuffs and a jade belt around his waist.

This is a regulation reserved for high-ranking officials of the first rank who wield immense power.

"Prime Minister."

An aged voice rang out from outside the door, "The person has been brought."

Pei Zhihui heard himself coldly reply, "Bring him in."

The door was pushed open, and two rough-looking old women dragged in a slender figure, slamming her to the ground without a shred of pity.

That was Shen Qiongju, but not the sister-in-law who was smiling and serving him soup at the farm.

She wore a thin white nightgown, her long hair was loose, she was barefoot, but heavy shackles were locked around her ankles.

His face was as pale as paper, and his eyes were filled with the deathly stillness of despair.

But in his dream, he felt his blood boil instantly—it was hatred, but also some indescribable, twisted excitement.

He dismissed the servants, leaving only the two of them in the large study.

He walked up to her step by step, looking down at her, the soles of his boots rubbing against her hair.

"Sister-in-law."

He heard himself speak, his voice as sinister as a demon crawling out of hell, "Still won't you talk?"

Shen Qiongju lay prone on the ground, her body trembling slightly.

"What did I say?" Her voice was hoarse. "I didn't collude with Wen Xiujie. I did it to save my husband."

"save?"

Pei Zhihui chuckled, then suddenly bent down, grabbed her hair, and forced her to tilt her head back.

"Your brother died a gruesome death, yet you cling to life in Wen Xiujie's bed. Is this your so-called salvation?"

"Since you're so stubborn, I'll help you remember."

He dragged her along, like a lamb to the slaughter, until they reached the dark room deep inside the study.

There stood a huge birdcage made of pure gold, its bars extremely thin yet incredibly sturdy, gleaming with a cold luster.

Ignoring her struggles and cries, he forced her inside.

The space inside the cage is extremely narrow and cramped, making it impossible to stand up or even sit upright.

She could only kneel there, curled up, like a canary with broken wings.

"Pei Zhihui! Kill me! Kill me!" she cried out, pounding on the railing in despair.

"Kill you?"

Pei Zhihui slowly took out a piece of black silk from his sleeve and blindfolded her through the railing.

The moment her sight was taken away, Shen Qiongju struggled even more violently.

"Shhh."

He chuckled softly in her ear, his fingers deftly tying strings of silver bells around her body, binding them to her wrists, ankles, and even her slender neck.

Finally, he fastened the chain connecting the collar tightly to the bottom of the cage.

As a result, she was forced to remain in a kneeling position, and any slight movement would cause the bell to ring out with a piercing sound.

"jingle--"

It was crisp, yet chilling.

Pei Zhihui picked up a wolf-hair brush from the table through the cage. The tip of the brush was dipped in thick ink, wet, cold, and slippery.

He put the pen into the cage, and the tip of the pen slowly slid down her bare back.

"Well……"

Shen Qiongju trembled all over, instinctively wanting to dodge, but the iron chain locked her neck, and the slightest movement brought a suffocating pain.

The ringtone went off loudly.

"Sister-in-law, why are you hiding?"

Pei Zhihui's voice held a malicious teasing tone, "Did you hide like this when you were under Wen Xiujie?"

The pen tip traced across her waist dimples, bringing an unbearable itch and shame.

"I didn't... I really didn't..."

She cried so hard she couldn't breathe, her tears soaking the black blindfold.

"Still lying."

Pei Zhihui's eyes turned cold, and he tightened his wrist, pressing the pen against her fragile ribs.

"That night at the Wen residence, did you also kneel and beg him like this?"

"Is it just to save your own life that you're willing to trample the Pei family's dignity underfoot?"

With each question he asked, his hand gestures became increasingly excessive.

That soft, bristly brush tip had now become the most terrifying instrument of torture.

It roamed over her most sensitive and vulnerable skin, forcing her to assume extremely awkward postures in order to barely maintain her balance in the cage.

……

She was trembling; she was breaking down.

In this absolute control, he felt an unprecedented excitement.

This pleasure disgusted him, yet it also made him succumb to it.

"explain!"

He threw down the brush, reached out and grabbed her chin, his fingers almost digging into her flesh. "Admit you killed your brother! Admit you're a shameless slut!"

"Admit it, and I'll make you stop."

Shen Qiongju has reached her limit.

The humiliation of being spied on, manipulated, and treated like a plaything in the dark completely shattered her reason.

"It's me..."

She cried out, her voice broken and shattered, "It's my fault...it was me who colluded with Wen Xiujie...it was shameless of me..."

"Please, Zhihui... give me a quick death..."

I finally heard the answer I wanted.

But in Pei Zhihui's heart, there was no joy whatsoever, only a more surging, violent urge to destroy everything.

"Want some pleasure?" He suddenly stood up, pulled out the calligraphy brush from his hand, and ignored the woman sprawled limply in the cage.

"Someone come here!" he ordered, turning to the window.