The Marquis Mansion's Elite Class-Chapter 406

In recent years, he hadn’t kept in touch with his old friends and had no idea what had happened among the three of them.

Zong Qiyun sighed and said, "Old brother, you don’t know this, but back when your injuries hadn’t fully healed and you entrusted the two children to us, I couldn’t sleep day and night, afraid of failing your trust. But who would’ve thought those two would take advantage of the children’s youth and bully them while they were away on campaign, often forcing them to do hard labor in the military camp. Nephew… Nephew never told you about this?"

The Old Marquis and Old Marchioness exchanged glances, their faces filled with urgency. "No, Zhao’er never mentioned a word of this. How could this have happened? Why would they mistreat the children? I treated them well—I even gave them generous gifts before the campaign."

Zong Qiyun replied gravely, "It was precisely those gifts that stirred their greed. They schemed to secretly make life difficult for the children, then pretended to protect them openly. That way, the children would remember their kindness, and upon their return, you’d surely reward them again."

The Old Marquis’ face darkened with fury, as if he wished he could kick each of his two deceased friends once.

The Old Marchioness, still doubtful, asked, "Qiyun, when did you find out about this? Why have you never mentioned it before?"

Zong Qiyun hesitated. "Sister-in-law, I was too cowardly to speak up. Those two held higher ranks in the military than I did. Even if I knew, I didn’t dare expose them. Now that they’re dead, seeing how heartbroken my old brother is, I finally gathered the courage to say something. But don’t grieve too much—those two weren’t worth it."

The Old Marquis spat. "They certainly weren’t. If those backstabbing scoundrels weren’t already dead, I’d storm their homes tonight."

The Old Marchioness, still half-convinced, turned to Zong Zhao. "Zhao’er, why didn’t you ever tell us you were mistreated in the military camp?"

Xu Wan watched the entire scene unfold like a grand drama.

This Zong Qiyun had shifted all the blame onto the dead, painting himself as nothing more than a timid bystander. While he appeared to be explaining things to the oblivious Old Marquis, his words were actually meant for Zong Zhao’s ears.

He had guessed—Zong Zhao was the one behind their deaths.

And now, he was afraid. Afraid he would be next.

Zong Zhao stared coldly at Zong Qiyun. "Back then, I didn’t realize someone was sabotaging us. I thought that was just how military life was."

Zong Qiyun’s tense nerves relaxed slightly. He nodded eagerly. "Yes, yes! Nephew, it was your first campaign—it’s only natural you’d suffer some hardships. But now, with them gone, the past grievances are settled. Don’t waste your sorrow on those vile men."

The Old Marchioness agreed. "Of course. They weren’t worth it."

The Old Marquis added bitterly, "If I’d known, I wouldn’t have gone to pay my respects. Wasted my tears twice and even gave condolence gifts. Those two old bastards…"

Zong Qiyun quickly echoed, "Yes, yes, those two old bastards—"

Zong Zhao suddenly cut him off, his voice like thunder. "Since Uncle knows everything that happened… then how did Zong Yan die?"

Thud—

The question struck Zong Qiyun like a hammer to the chest. His fingers clenched, and cold sweat broke out down his back.

At ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‍the mention of Zong Yan’s name, the Old Marquis and Old Marchioness stiffened, their eyes snapping to Zong Qiyun.

Beads of sweat formed on Zong Qiyun’s forehead. The moment he heard the question, he knew—Zong Zhao had found out. He knew the truth. Those two men had indeed died by his hand.

But what could he do now?

How could he explain?

Would he even make it out of this house alive tonight?

Regret flooded him. Had he lost his mind, daring to confront Zong Zhao directly? The imposing aura of the general made his legs tremble, his knees threatening to buckle.

The Old Marquis, seeing his silence, pressed urgently. "Qiyun, what’s going on? How is this connected to Zong Yan’s death?"

Zong Qiyun’s lips quivered, his face pale. "I—I don’t know… I don’t know what happened. The day you left the city, I wasn’t in the camp. Zong Yan died for his country—he fell in battle against the You Country!"

He didn’t dare meet Zong Zhao’s gaze, quickly turning to the Old Marquis instead. "Old brother, I just remembered—I have urgent matters at home. Let’s end here for today. I’ll visit again another time."

The Old Marquis, though confused, nodded. "Alright, it’s late. Let me have someone escort you back."

Zong Qiyun waved frantically. "No, no need! I brought enough men. I’ll go on my own."

"Then let me walk you to the gate." The Old Marquis followed him out.

From the moment he heard "died for his country," Zong Zhao’s body trembled uncontrollably—with fury, with restraint.

As Zong Qiyun stepped outside, Zong Zhao instinctively moved to follow, but Xu Wan swiftly grabbed his arm, shaking her head. "Your father and mother are still here." fɾēewebnσveℓ.com

Zong Zhao shut his eyes, his chest heaving as he struggled to steady his breathing.

Xu Wan led him back to their courtyard.

The walk was eerily silent, broken only by their footsteps and Zong Zhao’s increasingly ragged breaths. Once inside the courtyard, he pulled free from Xu Wan’s grip and growled, "I can’t take it anymore. How can such a heartless, shameless man live unscathed?"

Xu Wan replied calmly, "Then don’t hold back. Go. Just keep it hidden from your parents."

Zong Zhao whipped his head toward her.

This was the first time she had so clearly supported him—not treating it as a mistake, not blindly urging him to let go of his hatred.

Her bright eyes met his. "Hatred exists because someone sowed its seeds first. This is karma. It’s deserved."

Zong Zhao’s eyes reddened. "Go inside," he said hoarsely. "I’ll be back soon."

"Alright."

Xu Wan watched quietly as he left. This time, she felt she had glimpsed the weight he carried. She hoped that when he returned, he might finally feel a little lighter.

The streets were pitch-black, nearly empty.

Zong Qiyun acted like a man fleeing death itself. Inside his carriage, he urged frantically, "Faster! Too slow, too slow!"

"Master, we’re already at top speed. If you’re in such a hurry, perhaps you’d prefer to ride a horse?"

"A horse?" Zong Qiyun shook his head like a rattle-drum. "No, no! A carriage is safer."

His heart pounded violently, as if it might leap from his throat. Suddenly, he shouted, "Change course! Head to the Dali Temple!"

If Zong Zhao wanted him dead, even his own home wasn’t safe.

Only the Dali Temple—the court handling major cases—could offer protection. Zong Zhao wouldn’t dare strike there. To do so would be an outright challenge to the Emperor’s authority.

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