Flower Stealing Master

Chapter 894: Exotic Allure

Song Qingshu couldn’t help but feel a chill run down his spine as he watched. 

‘The women in this world are truly terrifying,’ he thought. First, there was Tang Sai’er, and now, Lady Taohua—her luscious, tempting lips actually concealed a hidden weapon. It was utterly impossible to guard against.

His expression suddenly shifted as another thought struck him. ‘Surely, no woman would hide a mechanism there, right? If so, how could any man possibly defend himself?’ A cold sweat broke out between his legs at the mere idea.

Lady Taohua swiftly caught Emperor Xizong before he could collapse, ensuring no noise would alert the guards outside. After helping him onto the bed, she immediately withdrew her hand, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe her fingers with visible disgust.

Tossing the handkerchief aside, she began wandering around the room, occasionally picking up Emperor Xizong’s memorials to skim through, her lips curling in disdain.

Song Qingshu inwardly groaned. Judging by her leisurely demeanor, she had no intention of leaving anytime soon—she clearly planned to stay until dawn. ‘Am I really going to spend the whole night hiding on this dusty beam?’

How will she handle things once Emperor Xizong wakes up? His gaze shifted to Emperor Xizong, whose eyes were tightly shut, yet his face bore a foolish, lustful grin, his body twitching unconsciously.

‘Another er0tic dream?’ Song Qingshu quickly realized it must be the effect of the pink smoke—likely some kind of mind-altering drug.

‘No wonder she’s so calm!’ It dawned on him. If his guess was correct, when Emperor Xizong awoke the next morning, he would mistake his dream for reality, believing he had truly spent the night with Lady Taohua.

‘What an incredible drug!’ Song Qingshu marveled. ‘If I could get my hands on some, dealing with Wanyan Liang in the future would be much easier.’

After browsing through the memorials for a while, Lady Taohua seemed to tire of it. She tossed them aside and murmured to herself, “I should remove this makeup first. My skin won’t last the whole night like this.”

Song Qingshu perked up at her words. No matter the era, women always prioritize skincare. This was perfect—now he could finally see who this Lady Taohua really was.

She walked over to a dressing table with a bronze mirror, removing her golden hairpin first, then her earrings. With delicate fingers, she began gently massaging her face.

Song Qingshu watched with interest, but before long, his expression changed. The reflection in the mirror gradually revealed a woman with fair skin, a high nose bridge, and deep blue eyes—clearly not of Central Plains origin.

In truth, her current appearance wasn’t drastically different from before. One could still recognize traces of her previous look, about seventy to eighty percent similar. Yet, with just a few subtle adjustments, she had concealed her most distinctive features. Earlier, Song Qingshu had vaguely noticed her slightly upturned nose but dismissed it as a trait of the Jurchen people. He never imagined she was actually a foreigner.

Even in his past life, where he had seen countless foreign beauties—Sophie Marceau, Alizée, Eva Green, Jessica Alba, Jennifer Aniston, Hayden Panettiere, Jennifer Connelly, Megan Fox…—this Lady Taohua still struck him as otherworldly. 

Time seemed to have left no mark on her. Standing beside Zhao Min or Zhou Zhiruo, an observer would assume they were sisters, never guessing she was nearly a generation older.

She possessed both the shy charm of a maiden and the allure of a mature woman. Song Qingshu racked his brain, trying to figure out who she could be.

With such breathtaking beauty and her foreign origins, she couldn’t possibly be unknown. Suddenly, two names from Jin Yong’s works came to mind.

Princess Fragrance? No, the age doesn’t match.

That left only one possibility—the former number one beauty of the martial world, the Purple-Robed Dragon King, Daiqisi!

But according to the timeline, shouldn’t the Dragon King have already returned to the Persian Ming Cult with her daughter, Xiao Zhao? Moreover, the Jin Dynasty had known Lady Taohua for many years—the timing didn’t quite add up.

Lost in thought, Song Qingshu unconsciously leaned forward on the beam. 

At that moment, Lady Taohua happened to glance into the mirror—and spotted him.

Her eyes widened in shock, but she remained composed, casually picking up the golden hairpin from the table. With a flick of her sleeve, she sent it flying toward Song Qingshu without a sound.

Though distracted, Song Qingshu’s instincts as a master kicked in. Sensing danger, he barely managed to dodge the hairpin as it shot past him.

To wield an ordinary hairpin with such divine skill… His heart pounded. Few in the martial world could surpass her in hidden weapon techniques.

A fragrant breeze swept past as Lady Taohua lunged at him, her expression icy. Song Qingshu tapped his toes against the beam, leaping down to the floor. She followed with astonishing speed, her movements ghostly and bizarre—utterly unlike the graceful lightness techniques of the Central Plains.

Frowning, Song Qingshu found her footwork vaguely familiar yet fundamentally different from any he had seen before. Then he chuckled to himself. Of course—she’s not from the Central Plains. Her martial arts would naturally differ.

He had initially dodged to avoid damaging the beam, fearing their clash might alert the guards. Now on solid ground, he had no such concerns. As she pressed her attack, he met her palm with his own.

Before he could even register the silken softness of her skin, an icy, bone-piercing chill shot through his hand and into his chest. Unlike the Xuanming Divine Palm, this cold energy was equally insidious, catching even an internal arts master off guard.

With a slight frown, Song Qingshu circulated his energy, dispelling the cold force effortlessly. 

Lady Taohua, however, paled. 

That brief exchange had made it clear—his martial prowess far surpassed hers. Had she not used a secret technique to neutralize his overwhelming palm force, she would have already been severely injured.

Thinking fast, she tried to retreat, but Song Qingshu gave her no chance. Switching from a palm strike to a claw grip, he locked onto her wrist. 

With one hand immobilized, she lashed out with the other, aiming for a vital point on his neck in an eerily unpredictable strike. 

An ordinary Central Plains master might have fallen for it, but Song Qingshu had long transcended such tricks. To him, all martial techniques, no matter how varied, shared the same essence.

With a light tap on her wrist, he numbed half her body, rendering her powerless.

One hand gripping her palm, the other holding her wrist, he twisted her arms, locking her in place with her own limbs. 

“Who are you, really?” he demanded.