The Mad Little Sparrow Returns, and Lord Fu Falls to His Knees

Everyone in Beijing's elite circles knew that Fu Siyan, the Fu family's young master, kept a delicate little songbird.

She was gentle-eyed and soft-spoken, and couldn't even bear to watch a chicken being slaughtered.

She stayed by Fu Siyan's side, docile and obedient, letting him have his way with her.

His friends teased him: “Master Fu, your wife's so sweet. Why haven't you married her yet?”

Fu Siyan held a cigar between his fingers and looked down at her with a smirk. “A plaything like her isn't worthy of joining the Fu family.”

He took whatever he wanted from her, treating her like dust.

But on the most glorious night of his life, she set the whole world ablaze with her own hands.

Flames soared into the sky. The little songbird's body was never found, only a diary burned to ashes.

On the charred scraps of its pages, every word seemed written in blood:

“Fu Siyan, your love is the perfect fuel for my revenge.”

“What you call devotion is nothing but a trap I've laid for you.”

At that moment, the once-arrogant young master of Beijing's elite circles went mad.

Three years later, the ballroom was crowded with society's finest.

The once-humble little songbird had become a stunning, icy queen who ruled a financial empire.

Fu Siyan stumbled toward her like a madman and clung to her leg. “Li Li, I was wrong. Please come back to me.”

Wen Li gazed down at him, her exquisite eyes cold as ice. She ground her heel across his face.

“Master Fu, you called me a plaything back then. Now I think you're filthy.”

But Fu Siyan cried like a child, pressing his forehead to her shoe, reduced to nothing.

“I'll be your dog. I'll die for you. I only ask that you don't leave me...”