"Is Wang Shengxue dead?" Shao Wanru treated the news with indifference. Leisurely, she put down the maple leaf in her hand and looked at the semi-finished collage.

This was what she had expected. As early as she sent these old clothes to the Marquis Xing's Mansion to remind Zhao Xiran, she had already anticipated that.

It was a string of interlocking traps. What had happened was merely the thin end of the wedge.

Of course, on the surface, she ...