The bloody turmoil that once engulfed the marquis's estate still seemed to echo between the beams, along with the cries of Fourth Miss giving birth to a stillborn child. Who could have guessed that, on a stormy night three years later, a drenched little bundle of a child would clutching half a peachwood sword, stagger through the gates of the marquis's estate?
"Wretch!" The master of the estate snatched up a bamboo cane and struck at the child. The white-haired old madam gave a cold laugh as she blocked the covered corridor. "You bring nothing but bad luck, and you still dare come back?"
The three-year-old lifted a mud-smeared face. Suddenly, a fingertip swept through the air. In an instant, thunder boomed, and the old madam's warm chamber collapsed with a roar. Among the broken timbers fluttered the secret account book documenting the poison she had been hiding.
