Right before this very iron gate, she had once knelt at Chu Zhengming’s feet, clutching his hand and desperately pleading with him not to give her to that old man. Her desperate humility had earned her nothing but his cold, cruel truth. Chu Mian stood there, her gaze drifting through the bars of the gate to the swing bench in the courtyard. On that day, Chu Xing had been perched on it, dressed in