CHAPTER 125 — HIS SEDUCTION
Tang Kexin had barely finished speaking when the masked man replied — swift, smooth, and far too ready.
"I do know the Third Prince…"
There was no hesitation. No searching for words. His tone was calm, unbothered, almost conversational — as though he were commenting on the temperature of the tea rather than admitting familiarity with a prince of the realm. His composure was so effortless that for a heartbeat she wondered if she had misheard him.
"To what extent?" she asked before she could stop herself.
His answer had come too quickly. Too confidently. And the implications — that he knew Ye Lan Jue well enough to speak without pause — unsettled her more than she cared to admit. It was impossible for Ye Lan Jue to know so much about the Suo Yan Sect, and equally impossible for her to meet the Sect Leader the moment she arrived… unless the two were connected in ways she had not yet grasped.
The man's eyes narrowed beneath the silver mask. The change was subtle — a faint tightening, a glimmer of something unreadable — but she caught it.
"How far," he murmured, "does Miss Tang believe I ought to tell?"
There was no threat in his voice. No sharpness. Instead, there was a languid, unhurried confidence that slid beneath her skin, stirring her pulse in spite of herself.
Tang Kexin lifted her gaze to the mask. The silver gleamed softly in the lantern light, hiding every line of his face, every shift of expression. And yet, inexplicably, she felt as though she had seen the man beneath it before. A fleeting familiarity tugged at her — elusive, unsettling, impossible to place.
"The Sect Leader wears a mask every day," she said lightly. "Is it not tiring?"
He tilted his head, as though amused by her audacity.
"You wish to see what lies beneath it?" he asked, a faint smile threading through his words. "I once swore that the only person permitted to behold my true face would be my wife."
He let the final word linger — soft, deliberate, unmistakably pointed.
Tang Kexin stared at him.
She was not stupid. She understood instantly.
Bloody hell.
He was absolutely sinister.
His meaning was simple: If she saw his face, she would be bound to him.
She swallowed her curiosity with admirable speed.
"Well then," she said crisply, "keep it for your wife."
The corner of his mouth twitched beneath the mask — a tiny, betrayed movement, as though he had not expected such a blunt, merciless refusal.
He shifted the conversation with elegant ease.
"Since Miss Tang has come all this way, why not tell me your true purpose?"
Tang Kexin folded her arms, her expression cool.
"I was curious," she replied. "I heard someone from the Suo Yan Sect appears here on the eleventh day of each month. I came to see whether it was true. I did not expect to meet the Sect Leader himself."
She did not add that she still doubted his identity. Or that she suspected he was someone else entirely.
"Your vigilance is impressive," he said, a faint thread of admiration warming his tone. "But if you allow caution to blind you, you may lose opportunities you will never find again."
His voice dipped lower, threaded with a subtle, seductive warmth.
Tang Kexin felt the shift immediately.
She smiled.
"I am content to lose them."
She turned to leave.
But she had barely taken a single step when his voice drifted after her — soft, unhurried, and devastatingly precise.
"A while ago, Mu Shaoyi sought out the Suo Yan Sect."
Tang Kexin froze.
Slowly, she turned back.
Her eyes narrowed.
Mu Shaoyi had indeed told her he had tried to hire the Suo Yan Sect — and that they had refused him. But the man before her spoke of it with such certainty, such casual familiarity, that a chill slid down her spine.
"Oh?" she said lightly. "Does that have anything to do with me?"
The man's voice deepened.
"Before coming here, Miss Tang should have known what the Suo Yan Sect does. Do you truly believe there is anything you can hide from us?"
Tang Kexin's expression tightened.
He was right.
The Suo Yan Sect was famed for its intelligence network. It was said that nothing in the world escaped their notice. If they wished to know something, they would know it.
Still—
She had hoped this matter would remain buried.
"Why don't we talk," he said softly.
There was no threat in his tone. No pressure. No force.
Just an invitation.
And it was an invitation she could not refuse.
Tang Kexin hesitated, then slowly returned to the table and sat opposite him.
"Since the Sect Leader knows everything," she said, "then you must know why I came. Why ask me?"
"I know," he replied. "Miss Tang is here for the Mu family's heirloom."
Tang Kexin nodded.
There was no point denying it now.
But then—
"I also know," he continued, "that the jade pendant is in Miss Tang's possession. Both pieces."
Tang Kexin's breath caught.
Her eyes widened.
Dong'er was the only one who knew she had both pendants. Dong'er would never betray her. No one else should know.
Yet he did.
"And," the man added, voice calm, "I know that half a month ago, Miss Tang stole the jade pendant from the Mu Residence."
Tang Kexin's heart lurched.
He knew.
He knew everything.
Her mind raced.
Had Ye Lan Jue told him? Had someone followed her? Had she been careless?
Or—
Was the man before her someone who had been there that night?
Her gaze sharpened.
"It seems the Sect Leader truly lives up to his reputation," she said coolly. "Formidable."
She smiled — a small, charming, utterly disarming smile.
Her lips curved softly, her eyes bright, her expression innocent yet subtly alluring.
The man's throat moved.
A tiny, involuntary swallow.
Tang Kexin noticed.
Her eyes narrowed.
Why would the Sect Leader of the Suo Yan Sect — a man rumoured to be cold, ruthless, untouchable — react like that?
Unless—
He was not who he claimed to be.
At that moment, the man reached for the teacup before him.
Tang Kexin watched closely.
He lifted it—
Then paused.
His hand froze mid‑air.
Slowly, he lowered the cup again.
Tang Kexin's eyes widened.
A man who wore a mask every day would never forget he could not drink through it. It would be instinct. Habit. Muscle memory.
But this man—
Had forgotten.
Which meant—
He did not wear the mask often.
Which meant—
He was not the Sect Leader people imagined.
Which meant—
He was someone else entirely.
"Is the Sect Leader thirsty?" Tang Kexin asked sweetly, her expression pure, innocent, almost angelic.
His head lifted.
"Yes," he said softly. "I'm thirsty."
His voice dipped lower, the word thirsty lingering in the air with a meaning that had nothing to do with tea.
Tang Kexin's breath caught.
She knew that tone.
She knew that cadence.
She knew that subtle, dangerous warmth.
Her heart pounded.
The corner of her mouth curved.
In one swift motion, she rose to her feet and reached for the mask.
She had to know.
She had to see.
She had to confirm the truth she already suspected.
Her fingers brushed the cold silver—
And the man did not move.
Not to stop her. Not to retreat. Not to resist.
He simply watched her.
Silent. Still. Waiting.
Tang Kexin's pulse thundered.
Her voice trembled.