Outside the cave, fireworks suddenly crackled and bloomed in the night sky, their colorful sparks streaming brilliantly, dyeing half the sky a warm, glowing red.

  Qiu Fuchun rubbed his sore waist, still feeling the lingering tenderness from their earlier intimacy. He couldn't help but mutter, "Really? Celebrating so loudly just because their daughter was kidnapped? It’s all so confusing."

  He steadied his thoughts, mentally mapping out his next move: They needed to finalize the ransom quickly. Once Han Jiuqiu left, he and Xian’er would hurry home. With this "experience" under their belts, future endeavors (well, living, not kidnapping) would surely go smoothly, without so many complications.

  This whole situation was just... so weird. So passive. The cultural differences really couldn't be underestimated.

  Meanwhile, inside He Mansion in Pisha City, the compound was ablaze with celebration. Red lanterns and silk streamers hung everywhere, drums and gongs boomed, and the sound of music filled the air. It was livelier than the Lunar New Year.

  Han Jiuqiu pushed open the door to his guest room and stepped out. Looking at the sea of red lanterns and decorations, he felt a touch of embarrassment. He muttered to himself, "I’m really putting the mansion to so much trouble."

  "Your honored guest is too kind!" The steward hurried over, wearing a warm, eager smile. "A distinguished guest from the Northern Dynasty graces us with his presence; our humble mansion is truly honored. Please, come sit in the main hall—his lordship has been waiting!"

  Han Jiuqiu followed the steward toward the main hall, his mind wandering. This family was so warm and sincere, without a trace of the sorrow one would expect from a kidnapped daughter. Could it be... the ransom would be lower than expected?

  Wait—what was the ransom amount?

  It suddenly struck him that he’d completely forgotten to discuss the ransom with Qiu Fuchun! Back in the cave, he’d wanted to bring it up several times, but the thought of talking money in front of the hostage felt cruel, so he’d held back, planning to talk it over with Qiu Fuchun once they were in the city.

  But Miss He had quietly given him advice: He needed to figure out the family’s wealth first. Ask for too little, and he’d lose out; ask for too much, and the distressed family might be pushed to desperation, leading to trouble.

  So Xian’er had told him to start with a high price, wait for them to counter, and then set his own bottom line. Any offer above that would be a deal.

  Yet he’d also thought—Southern Dynasty people valued trust and were straightforward. They probably wouldn’t haggle too much. A lion’s share might even be accepted.

  He’d congratulated himself on his cleverness—better to avoid pushing them into a corner, right? That would only end with him having to return the hostage safely, for nothing.

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  He was completely unaware that his "hostage," Miss He Xian’er, was now his younger sister-in-law, and the ransom he was negotiating was essentially with his own "family."

  Han Jiuqiu slipped into the quiet bamboo grove in the mansion’s backyard. He scooped a handful of mud and smudged it across his face, covering his features. Then he put on his "Ghost Face Sheng" mask, took a deep breath, and stepped out.

  With the mask in place, his timidity vanished, replaced by a sudden surge of boldness. In his mind, he thought, What’s the harm in killing them all off?

  "Hahaha—"

  He let out a low, menacing laugh, feeling his mood lift slightly.

  He grabbed a passing servant, leaned in to whisper a few instructions, then let him go. The servant darted away into the darkness.

  Han Jiuqiu slipped into the deeper shadows and waited.

  Soon enough, a portly, middle-aged man with a round face trotted over, out of breath. He looked around nervously and called softly, "Mr. Kidnapper? Mr. Kidnapper? I’m here! Don’t shout—come out, let’s talk!"

  Han Jiuqiu stood with his back to him, not turning around.

  The portly man was surprisingly polite. He bowed deeply to Han Jiuqiu’s back, his tone courteous and even eager: "You’ve worked hard, brave one. You’ve traveled far—have you eaten? If not, I’ll have fine dishes prepared and a feast laid for you! A small welcome!"

  Han Jiuqiu’s heart skipped a beat.

  He’d deliberately changed his accent, spending hours practicing in the cave with Miss He to sound like a local. How did this fat man immediately tell he was "from far away"?

  Was this a trap?

  He forced a calm demeanor, speaking slowly in a gruff, disguised voice: "How do you know I’m from afar? I’m new to this, no experience. My words may be clumsy, but please forgive me."

  Before he could continue, the portly man rushed to reassure him: "My ‘Xiao Mi’ (Xian’er) is a bit willful and mischievous. She likes to dress up in bold, striking clothes, and people always say she’s not very bright. But she’s just young and playful—her mind is sharp. I hope she didn’t give the brave one... or your Highness too much trouble."

  Han Jiuqiu’s mouth twitched. He nearly laughed out loud.

  This man really had no idea how to negotiate with a kidnapper—calling him "Your Highness" was absurd. But it confirmed what Xian’er had said: this family was easygoing, no airs at all.

  In any case, he was relieved—Xian’er hadn’t lied. This family was indeed very reasonable.

  Looking at the festive decorations, listening to the distant music, and gazing at the bright moon in the sky, the scene evoked the serene beauty of a spring river and flowered moon. For a moment, Han Jiuqiu felt a twinge of embarrassment at bringing up the ransom.

  Oh well!

  He steeled himself, bluffing bravely: "Your Southern Dynasty people value trust and are straightforward. Since you’re so agreeable, I, Han Jiuqiu, will be the same today! A firm price—no arguments! If not... I’ll just work hard for another two years. No loss!"

  He eagerly awaited the man’s grateful, eager agreement, then slowly turned around.

  But the portly man was holding an elaborate abacus, clicking through the golden beads with a focused expression.

  In the dark night, the golden beads glowed with a faint, iridescent light, swirling like ripples—dazzling to behold.

  After a long while of calculating, the fat man looked up, wearing a gentle smile, and quoted a price—and he’d even given a discount!

  "What?!" Han Jiuqiu’s voice shot up, nearly jumping in shock. The mask on his face wobbled. "Aren’t you Southern Dynasty people the most straightforward? How could you haggle?! I offered a firm price!"

  "Straightforward is true, but business is business. The accounts must still be calculated carefully," the fat man said amiably, unphased by his outburst. "Brave one, does this price suit you?"

  Han Jiuqiu felt dizzy. His knees almost buckled, and he nearly coughed up blood—he’d never imagined they’d still counteroffer after his bluff.