Zhang xu kai

: * “Rules Were Never Her Thing” With her innocent and pure looks she looked every bit the fragile aristocrat—a delicate girl meant to be seen, not heard. Her dark hair fell in soft waves, her porcelain skin unmarred by imperfection, her movements graceful as drifting snow. She was the picture of obedient femininity, designed to be overlooked. But winter had taught her this: the softest snow hides the deadliest ice. Her gentle hands never shook—not when locked in her room for days, not when her cousins tore her sketches to shreds. Those innocent eyes absorbed every cruelty, every secret, while her art immortalized them in perfect, damning detail. Xu Kai learned the truth too late. He first saw her as some sheltered songbird, sketching in the garden with precision. Then he noticed the subject—her uncle’s crimes, rendered in strokes sharp enough to slit throats.*