Chen Mo stared at the woman before him—a wild card wrapped in silk and shadow, impossible to read.
"So… you're going to help me?" Chen Mo asked, voice flat, cutting straight to the heart of it.
Ye Youlan tilted her head, then flopped onto the bed with lazy grace, stretching like a cat basking in moonlight.
"Not quite," she purred. "A little bit, maybe. But don't be fooled, darling. I'll still come for your life. Just… not as aggressively as I could."
Chen Mo's jaw tightened. Her casual control over his fate grated against every fiber of his being.
Owing his survival to someone else, especially her, left a bitter taste in his mouth.
"How do you plan to help?" he pressed, wasting no time on pleasantries.
Ye Youlan propped herself on one elbow, her smile sharpening.
"My advice? Flee. But don't just run like a scared rat. Flee smartly. Three days from now, an elder from my sect will come for your head."
Chen Mo's frown deepened, a cold knot forming in his gut.
