Chapter 845: Hiding Under the Bed

At first it was a light knock on the joints, thud, thud, thud, three per set, orderly, like a polite person asking the owner for permission.

Qingque hadn't even had time to feel any goodwill toward that courteous knock when the rhythm changed.

Thud thud thud, thud thud thud, thud thud thud thud, faster and denser, until the syllables merged into a roar, like a summer downpour pounding the eaves.

Accompanying the rapid knocks came words from the other side of the door.

"I know you're inside~"

It's the same voice.

But this time there was an extra layer, seeping beneath the sweet tone, an indefinable sense of danger.

"The door isn't locked~ I'll just look inside and leave~"

Qingque's left eyelid began to twitch.

She looked around.

The only place to hide was under the bed; the only escape route was the window.

Her Reason String told her: she should go out the window.

Beyond the window lay the Dan Ding Department's courtyard; beyond that was open freedom. As long as she ran fast enough, even a general couldn't catch a fish‑trolling Diviner of the Tai Bu Si.

But her Reason String was being trampled by fear; her mouth was gagged, limbs bound, leaving only a protest that went completely unheard.

Qingque's body decided before her brain did.

She lunged down.

The movement was swift and decisive, without a hint of hesitation.

Knees hitting the floor, hands braced forward, she slipped under the bed like a startled cat pressed to the floor.

The teal hem trailed an arc behind her; the white underskirt was scuffed and rolled, revealing a strip of pale calf and bare soles. The slippers flew off the moment she dropped—one to the left, one to the right—one rolled to the corner, the other struck the nightstand leg.

The space under the bed was narrower than she had expected.

Her nose was only a fist's length from the board; the wood grain was up close, each growth ring crystal clear.

The smell of dust seeped into her nostrils; some corner held a layer of dust fluff that the airflow from her drop lifted, sticking to her eyelashes.

She blinked, the fluff fell away, but the musty odor lingered in her nasal cavity.

Her heartbeat echoed severalfold in the cramped space, thump, thump, thump, shaking even her eardrums.

She felt each contraction like a fist pounding her chest.

Then Qingque finally realized.

She hid under the bed!

She just hid under the bed!?

The window was only three steps away.

A window that large, with no iron bars, no Lock, opening onto a free courtyard, bright sun, birdsong, fragrant flowers—a literal golden escape lane.

Yet she chose the space under the bed.

A dead end.

A trap that, once blocked, offers no way out.

A—pardon my bluntness—stupid-to-the‑bone choice.

Qingque silently opened her mouth under the bed.

She wanted to curse herself.

But there was no time.

The door opened.

The one she had just closed herself was pushed open from outside by a steady, unhurried force.

The hinge let out a long "squeak—yah—" that lingered slowly, showing no hint of violent intrusion.

Qingque, lying under the bed, saw a pair of feet through the gap between the bed skirt and the floor.

A pair of slippers.

The kind issued uniformly by the Dan Ding Department, the uppers stamped with a cauldron pattern, the same style as the ones she had fled in, only several sizes larger.

The slippers struck the wooden floor—one step, two steps, three steps—each bearing the weight of an adult man, the floor responding with a dull thud each time.

The slippers stopped in the center of the room.

From Qingque's perspective, only the area below the ankles was visible: the slippers, white cloth socks, and a small strip of pant leg peeking above them.

Nothing else could be seen.

She dared not stick out her head or move, even her breathing was reduced to the faintest, almost as if she were breathing with gills.

Both palms faced down on the cold floor, fingers curled, fingertips whitening from the pressure.

"Hmm~?"

The voice floated down from above.

With the door panel gone, the voice became clearer and—indescribable.

"You hid~"

Qingque buried her face between her arms.

Her ponytail slipped from her shoulder onto either side of her face like a brown‑tan curtain, temporarily blocking her sight.

She preferred not to see.

Not seeing allows her to pretend she doesn't exist, to pretend none of this happened, to pretend she didn't mistakenly enter the General's sickroom, didn't witness the General's rave, didn't hide under the bed after being caught peeking, and to pretend the one now standing in the center of her room, playing hide‑and‑seek with a clipped tone, isn't Luofu's Supreme Military Commander.

But the footsteps kept moving.

Leisurely, as if strolling.

He walked from left to right, pausing by the window; Qingque's heart leapt to her throat. She thought Jing Yuan would spot the window as a better escape route and mock her stupidity, but he quickly turned back, continuing to circle around the cramped room.

Where could it be~

The voice drifted over again.

This time, matching the rhythm of the footsteps, Jing Yuan actually began to hum a little tune.

Just then, the footsteps suddenly turned toward the bed.

Qingque's whole blood froze at that very instant.

The slippers stopped at the bedside.

They were only about an arm's length from her face.

She held her breath.

Jing Yuan did not bend over.

Jing Yuan just stood at the bedside, feet spread wide, firmly thudding on the floor.

Then Qingque heard a sigh from above, laced with a smile.

The sigh lasted just long enough for a whole revolving lantern scene to run through her mind.

Then Jing Yuan turned around.

The slippers scraped a sharp friction sound on the wooden floor, and then those feet began to walk toward the door.

One step, two steps, three steps, the same unhurried pace as when they followed.

When reaching the doorway they paused half a beat, as if they had thought of something, yet as if nothing came to mind.

Then the door was pulled up.

Squeak—Ya—Clack.

The sound of the door closing was light, polite, measured, like the way a well‑mannered visitor would leave.

Qingque still lay under the bed, unmoving.

Qingque wouldn't naively think they were safe just because of a door sound.

Qingque silently counted to ten in their mind, then slowly lifted their face from between their two arms.

The jade‑green almond eyes glittered in the dim light under the bed, like two startled green agates.

The left eyelid was still twitching.

But the door was indeed closed.

Qingque opened their mouth, gulping fresh air in big gulps.

At that moment it was especially beautiful.

Just as they were about to crawl out from under the bed, a voice pressed against the back of their neck and sounded.

"Found you."

All the blood in Qingque's body froze into icy shards at the same instant.