Chapter Forty-Three: I Will Treat You Well

Mo Nianian was silent for two seconds. “What are you doing here?”

“I am my master’s servant. It is only right that I follow my master.”

Mo Nianian replied, “…That’s not necessary. Go find Baishao—no, go find the steward and let him assign you a job.”

She still couldn’t face this male lead directly!

“Does my master not want me?” the man’s voice wavered, his eyes darkening as he brooded.

He lowered his head, assuming the posture of a supplicant, yet the urgency in his demeanor was palpable.

A tremor passed through Mo Nianian’s heart, as if she were being hunted.

“I don’t need a servant following me. Go to the steward; he will give you something to do.”

“I wish to stay by my master’s side. My master saved me—my life belongs to my master now.”

Hearing this, Mo Nianian shivered again. Because of Jiang Hu, she was close to developing a psychological shadow.

“…That’s not necessary. That is an order.” Mo Nianian’s tone was firm.

The man kept his head lowered, silent for two seconds, then bowed. “Yes.”

Having sent him away, Mo Nianian finally let out a breath of relief.

This time, she resolved to complete her task properly! She would not repeat the mistakes of the last world!

Clenching her tiny fists, she called up the male lead’s profile once more.

His entire life could be summed up as one word: tragedy.

He was born in the palace of a neighboring kingdom, an impossibly difficult place. His mother, unloved by the emperor, wasted away in misery and died early. His father was a notorious philanderer with more than twenty children by various women.

The male lead grew up in this twisted environment, only to be framed and reduced to a commoner. His enemies didn’t stop there—they sent him to the battlefield, hoping he’d die.

But he was stubbornly lucky, captured by Nanming and made a slave, which marked the beginning of even greater suffering.

Mo Nianian flipped through his history: betrayal, injury, betrayal again, injury again.

Tsk, tsk.

Heaven itself seemed determined to destroy the male lead.

Judging by the current progress, the male lead had already experienced abandonment, betrayal, injury, and humiliation. Was there any hope for such a man?

Mo Nianian grew despondent once more. [What’s his current malice level?]

[The male lead’s malice level is currently at eighty. This is dangerously high. Host, please act quickly.]

Upon hearing the number eighty, Mo Nianian inexplicably felt a surge of excitement. Only eighty? Jiang Hu’s was already seventy. This wasn’t so bad.

Instantly, confidence flooded her. [I know exactly what to do now.]

She summoned the steward and gave him a few instructions.

Mo Nianian had the steward send Jiang Hu to the military camp. He was still a slave and couldn’t become a soldier yet, but at least he could observe and learn. In the future, she would find a way to remove his slave status, send him to the battlefield to distinguish himself, reclaim all that was rightfully his, and perhaps even arrange for him a few soulmates. What more could he possibly want?

This was the male lead’s original trajectory, but he’d suffered too much and been betrayed too often, which had left him twisted, taking pleasure in killing in the later stages.

Mo Nianian, with everything arranged, resumed living a life of ancient luxury.

Clothes ready at hand, meals served without effort—this was truly the life she had always dreamed of.

If only there were more entertainment, and the food better suited to her taste like the last world, she could stay here forever.

Thinking this, Mo Nianian’s thoughts drifted back to Jiang Hu.

That wretched man.

She bit into her pastry with enough force to shatter it.

“Young miss, something’s happened! You must come quickly!” Baishao rushed in, flustered.

Mo Nianian replied leisurely, “What is it?”

“The slave you brought home is fighting with the servants.”

Mo Nianian almost choked on her pastry and had to gulp down two big cups of tea before she recovered.

“Young miss, please hurry—someone could die!”

Mo Nianian muttered, “…Another troublemaker.”

The front hall was in chaos. The Mo family’s guards were sprawled across the floor, cries of pain filling the air, while the male lead, alone against thirty, wielded a wooden staff with wild, ferocious power.

His eyes were shadowed as he stared at everyone, like a beast waiting to pounce.

“Young miss!” The guards, spotting Mo Nianian, looked at her as if she were their last hope, each of them near tears.

“Look at yourselves! What a disgrace,” Mo Nianian could hardly bear to watch.

The guards helped each other to their feet, all bearing injuries as though they’d survived a great battle.

The male lead put away the staff, dropped to one knee before Mo Nianian, and said, “Please punish me, Master.”

“What’s all this about?”

The wounded guards babbled their explanations: the steward, following Mo Nianian’s orders, had tried to take him to the military camp. He refused to go, and a fight broke out—leading to this mess.

Mo Nianian massaged her temples. “Everyone, get up.”

She stood before Jiang Hu. “Why didn’t you go?”

“I am my master’s servant. I will never leave my master’s side.”

He reached up to touch his collar, a strange, unreadable look flashing in his eyes.

“…!”

This male lead was more stubborn than Mo Nianian had imagined, and she grew irritable. “I told you, I don’t need anyone by my side.”

Why did male leads never listen? Clearly, following someone else would get him further in life!

The male lead fell silent, then placed a knife before Mo Nianian. “I will always be my master’s. If I cannot remain by my master’s side in life, I am willing to die.”

Mo Nianian: ???

Good grief—since when did slaves have such high standards?

“I saved you; I won’t let you die. Get up.”

Mo Nianian realized, with increasing panic, how much this male lead resembled Jiang Hu.

He looked up at her, not the slightest displeasure in his gaze—only deep affection and contentment. “My master cannot bear to lay a hand on me. Then I beg permission to die by my own hand.”

With that, he lifted the knife and stabbed toward himself with brutal resolve.

His eyes were filled with devout longing, as if he were embarking on some beautiful journey.

Mo Nianian reacted instantly, kicking the knife from his grasp. “What are you doing?” she demanded angrily.

For heaven's sake, could this male lead stop with the theatrics? Resorting to suicide at the drop of a hat—wasn’t this a bit much?

He kept his head bowed, his demeanor humble and reverent to the extreme. “A slave unloved by his master has no right to live in this world.”

His master was so wonderful. To be favored, to wear his master’s collar—he was already satisfied. He knew he was as lowly as dust and that it was only natural his master did not like him.

He should not have hoped for more.

If, at the very end, he could only draw a little closer to his master—a little, just a little—it would be enough.

His eyes grew ever more devout and obsessed as he knelt before Mo Nianian, the very picture of submission.