She gripped the shard of glass, and before the escort team members could get closer, she pressed its gleaming, sharp edge against her own pale, vulnerable neck—a shockingly fast move driven by reckless desperation.
“Back off!” Mu Xi’s voice was hoarse from the strain, but the resolve in it made both trained escort members freeze in their tracks.
Blood trickled down her neck, over her collarbone, leaving a stark trail on her bare skin.
Mu Xi stared at the escort closest to her and said, word by word, “Give me the gun.”
There was no hint of jest in her eyes, only a cold, all-or-nothing determination.
That escort tightened her grip on the pistol, her brow furrowed, her face a mask of icy vigilance. “Drop the shard. Don’t do anything stupid.”
Mu Xi let out a laugh. She pressed the shard harder, the sharp edge biting deeper into her flesh, making the blood flow faster. “Compared to being Ye Lan’s plaything, tormented day after day, what’s a little pain like this?”
Her gaze swept over both of them. “You know perfectly well that if I die here, or if I’m too badly hurt, Ye Lan will take it out on you. How much she cherishes this face, this body—you know that better than I do.”
The two escorts’ expressions shifted slightly.
They did know.
Ye Lan’s obsession with Mu Xi was pathological. If something truly serious happened to Mu Xi, they would absolutely not escape punishment, and might even wish they were dead.
“Give me the gun,” Mu Xi repeated, her voice colder. She pressed the shard against her neck another fraction deeper. “Otherwise, I’ll cut right now.”
The air seemed to solidify, leaving only the faint sound of blood dripping from Mu Xi’s neck. The escort holding the gun’s eyes wavered. Handing over the weapon meant dereliction of duty, meant giving this dangerous woman the ability to resist or even harm others.
But not handing it over meant Mu Xi would likely harm herself, with consequences equally unthinkable.
It was a dilemma with no good options, and Mu Xi was exploiting exactly that to corner them.
“I’ll count to three.” Mu Xi’s voice was devoid of any warmth, like droplets of blood falling.
The escort’s breathing grew ragged, sweat beading on her forehead.
She looked into Mu Xi’s eyes—utterly fearless, filled only with madness and determination—and finally made her choice.
Before Mu Xi could say “two,” she abruptly threw the pistol onto the ground in front of Mu Xi, stepped back, and raised both hands to show she was unarmed.
“The gun’s yours! Don’t hurt yourself!” Her voice carried a barely perceptible tremor.
The other escort watched nervously, making no move.
Mu Xi looked at the pistol on the floor. The black metal gleamed coldly under the light.
She didn’t pick it up immediately. Instead, she kept the shard pressed to her neck and commanded coldly, “Both of you, back out of the bedroom.”
The two escorts exchanged glances, then slowly retreated, out of the bathroom, stopping at the bedroom doorway.
Only then did Mu Xi slowly bend down and pick up the pistol with her uninjured hand.
The cold, heavy weight in her palm sent a long-lost sense of power surging through her body.
She checked it. The safety was off. It had bullets.
She finally had a sliver of means to resist.
Mu Xi tightened her grip on the gun, still keeping the shard against her neck, and backed out of the bathroom step by step. Her naked body was streaked with water and blood, but her eyes were sharp as knives. “Now, close the door.” She pointed the gun’s muzzle at the bedroom door.
The door clicked shut, locked from inside, cutting off the tense gazes of the escorts outside.
Mu Xi leaned against the cold metal door, her body trembling slightly—partly from the danger she’d just faced, partly from exhaustion after surviving, and partly from bone-deep cold.
Water droplets dripped from her silver hair, mingling with the blood still seeping from her neck, winding down and leaving wet, sweet-scented trails on her bare skin.
She looked down at the heavy black pistol in her hand. The icy metal pressed against her palm, contrasting sharply with her body’s temperature. Instead of discomfort, the cold brought her a strange sense of calm.
The safety was off. It was heavy, loaded.
This was her only bargaining chip now, the first straw she’d grasped as she struggled out of the quagmire of despair.
The shard lay discarded in the corner of the bathroom. Its sharp edge had served its purpose.
Now, she had a more direct, more intimidating weapon.
The wound on her neck still throbbed, reminding her of her earlier madness and resolution. She raised a hand and touched it lightly. The sting made her frown, but it also kept her more alert.
This minor flesh wound was nothing. Compared to the bone-deep torment Ye Lan had inflicted on her, it was nothing.
She couldn’t stay here. Ye Lan could return at any time, and these two escorts would never really let her leave. Everything here bore Ye Lan’s mark—clean, tidy, yet cold as a gilded cage.
Mu Xi surveyed the bedroom. That soft, huge bed had been the site of countless nightmares. The vanity still held the accessories Ye Lan had prepared for her, which she’d never actually used.
Hatred sprouted like vines in the depths of her heart, entwining the faint, lingering complex emotions she couldn’t even admit to herself.
She forcefully shook off those chaotic thoughts, forcing herself to focus on the immediate crisis.
She had to leave as soon as possible.
She walked to the wardrobe and pulled open the doors.
Inside hung a few simple clothes, all prepared by Ye Lan. She grabbed a gray cotton long-sleeved shirt and a pair of dark pants.
The fabric wasn’t particularly good, but in this apocalypse, it was considered remarkably clean.
Holding the gun with one hand, she clumsily pulled on the clothes with the other. The movements inevitably pulled at the wound on her neck, and the seeping blood stained the gray collar red.
She gritted her teeth, enduring the pain, and quickly wrapped herself up.
The clothes were large, hanging loosely on her small frame, making her look even more gaunt.
Once dressed and shoed, she walked to the door and took a deep breath.
Cold sweat had broken out on her gun hand, but her expression was very calm—except for her beautiful eyes, which burned with an unignorable flame.
She yanked open the door.
The two escorts outside immediately tensed, instinctively assuming defensive stances, but didn’t advance. Their gazes fell on the gun in Mu Xi’s hand, then flicked to the stark bloody line on her neck, their expressions complicated.
“Step back.” Mu Xi’s voice was still a little hoarse, but her command was clear and icy. She raised the gun muzzle slightly, pointing it at the escort closest to her.
The two escorts exchanged a glance, then slowly retreated a few steps, putting about fifteen to twenty feet of distance between them, stopping at the metal staircase leading downstairs.
They didn’t dare get too close. Mu Xi’s current state was too dangerous; the gun in her hand was like a bomb that could go off at any moment.
“Follow me down,” Mu Xi commanded, motioning with the gun for them to go first.
She had to make sure they stayed within her sight and couldn’t easily attack her from behind.
The escorts didn’t hesitate. They turned and began to descend the stairs.