Zhao Zhaodi glared at the toilet door, a hint of malice in her eyes: "Unless she guarantees she can get Shikai out, I won't add a single penny more! Investing any more is like filling a bottomless pit, it'll never be filled!"
Zhao Zhaodi isn't stupid.
While the two were whispering to each other outside the door, Ye Nian'an had already climbed out of the bathroom through the windowsill.
In those days, toilet windows were low, and she could easily tear a hole in the hemp paper pasted on the wooden frame with a light poke of her fingertip.
Ye Nian'an hunched over, like a nimble cat, and climbed over the windowsill.
The advantage of the layout of a siheyuan (traditional courtyard house) is that there is a road behind the toilet, which leads in all directions.
If it were an old-fashioned villa, Ye Nian'an would have had to figure out how to sneak into the storeroom and master bedroom.
Moreover, to avoid suspicion, Zhao Zhaodi did not hire any servants to attend to her, relying solely on Zhao Jia as her first steward.
Now the two of them are guarding the toilet door, their eyes fixed on it like bullets, leaving the entire house an undefended empty courtyard, allowing her to move around at will.
The first target was naturally the nearest warehouse.
Ye Nian'an reached the warehouse door, hid under the shadow of the pillars, and took out a lock pick from his spatial storage.
This was a craft that Chu Yan taught her in the countryside. The fine, needle-like copper sheet was polished until it shone, painstakingly crafted by his own hands.
As a soldier, Chu Yan considered this skill to be the most useful when carrying out missions.
When Ye Nian'an found out, she immediately pestered her husband to learn it, hoping it would come in handy at a crucial moment.
In addition, she was extremely talented, and after her body was strengthened by the spiritual spring water, she could grasp things instantly.
I originally thought that now that I've been exonerated, I wouldn't need to use it anymore.
It seems the proverb "one is never too old to learn" is true.
She held her breath and inserted the thinnest copper needle into the keyhole, her fingertips clearly feeling the unevenness of the pins inside the lock cylinder.
The fingers, nourished by the spiritual spring water, were incredibly nimble. With a couple of gentle stirs, a soft "click" was heard, and the brass lock opened.
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