What would he want to do with his life…

Jian Yi appeared not to sense the danger drawing closer. He kept his eyes on the path ahead, as though he was genuinely turning the question over in his mind.

Just as Feng Jiu’er’s fingertips tensed, Jian Yi suddenly said, “Those days at Tianji Hall, working alongside everyone to save people — I was… rather happy.”

Those days at Tianji Hall?

But Feng Jiu’er remembered clearly that he had worn a rigid, expressionless face from dawn to dusk. Where was the happiness in that?

“You were so withdrawn you were practically dead — everyone wanted to get close to you, but no one could.”

Jian Yi said nothing and offered no explanation, yet those days had indeed been the happiest of his life.

“Why were you happy?” Jiu’er believed he was not lying.

Jian Yi watched the road beneath his feet. “I don’t know,” he said evenly.

“Was it because you were saving people?”

Jian Yi paused, turned it over for quite some time, then said, “Perhaps… because I discovered that I was not only capable of killing — I could save people too.”

Feng Jiu’er clutched the silver needle more tightly, a strange, inexplicable ache rising in her chest.

“Have you… never had any friends?” She did not know what had come over her. It was only that when she looked at the artery in his neck, she suddenly felt that this man was actually… quite pitiable.

What she understood even less was this: she was the person whose hands he intended to cut off, so why did he not seem to be guarding against her in the slightest?

Could he truly believe she would simply wait to meet her fate?

Jian Yi — what on earth was he thinking?

Her thoughts drifted to that woman, the woman who refused to let her go under any circumstances.

“Does Feng Qingyin not count as a friend to you?”

Jian Yi could not say whether Feng Qingyin counted or not. He did not even know how to define the word “friend.”

“What is a friend?” Having never had one, he truly did not know what kind of relationship could be called friendship.

“A friend…” Feng Jiu’er had originally intended to chat with him in order to distract his attention.

But somehow, it was she who ended up distracted.

She did not know what had come over her either. Not far below lay the village, and her opportunity was almost gone.

Yet Jian Yi’s question had drawn her into genuine contemplation.

“A friend is someone you want to share your joy with when you’re happy, or someone you want to pour your heart out to when you’re sad.

“A friend does not have to be with you always, yet when you are together, there is never a shortage of things to talk about or wine to drink.

“Even if you are someone who dislikes talking, you are willing to sit quietly and listen to them speak — or perhaps they are the one who dislikes talking, but knowing full well what they are like, you still chatter endlessly in front of them anyway.

“A friend does not genuinely find you tiresome. A friend is not guarded against you. A friend believes in you wholeheartedly and helps you with the same whole heart.

“Sometimes you argue, and sometimes you even come to blows — but when real danger arrives, a friend will be the first to step in front of you to shield you, just as you would be willing to give up your life for theirs.”

Feng Jiu’er let out a quiet sigh. She had said so much, and yet a handful of faces had passed through her mind.

She was fortunate, she supposed — in this life, she had a few true friends after all.

Jian Yi kept his eyes on the path ahead, yet his gaze gradually grew distant and cold.

“I have no friends.”

If friendship was everything Feng Jiu’er had just described, then in this life he truly had not a single friend.

No one ever thought of him in moments of happiness. No one ever came to him in moments of sorrow, simply to pour their heart out.

In the past, Feng Qingyin had sometimes sought him out when she was upset — but always, it was to make him do something for her.

Even the act of unburdening herself had served some ulterior purpose.

Nor did he have a friend with whom he could laugh and weep, or sit together with an endless stream of conversation and wine.

His spirits sank once more.

Ahead, after perhaps the time it took an incense stick to burn halfway down, they would reach the village.

The silver needle was still pinched between Feng Jiu’er’s fingers, yet she could not bring herself to drive it in.

Why did he look so dejected? Why did he seem so solitary and forlorn?

He was an assassin — if he had been just a little more cold-blooded, perhaps she would not have hesitated at all.

But this assassin was not entirely cold. He possessed compassion, and he could even find joy in saving people’s lives.

He had said that those days at Tianji Hall, saving lives alongside the others, had been the happiest of his entire life.

Was he foolish? Saving people was exhausting, utterly thankless — what was there to be happy about?

Yet Feng Jiu’er understood why he could be happy to that extent.

Because beyond saving people, his entire life had held nothing but suffering.

This was a man who had never once tasted joy, elation, excitement — or even simple warmth — all the things that other people considered perfectly ordinary.

If she drove this needle in, striking the great artery directly, his life would come to a complete end.

He would then truly never have another chance to know happiness, excitement, elation, or warmth — all those things that came so naturally to everyone else.

But if she did not drive the needle in, sooner or later he would cut off her hand.

Her hand — the pride of her entire life — would be gone from her forever.

To strike, and preserve herself? Or to hold back, and preserve him?

But what did he have to do with her?

He was a person who intended to harm her — what business did she have feeling sorry for him?

And yet, wretchedly, she did feel sorry for him…

While she was tangled in indecision, Jian Yi abruptly stopped.

Feng Jiu’er startled and instinctively closed the silver needle back into her hand.

She looked ahead — they had already arrived at the entrance to the village.

Her chance had now all but slipped away entirely.

Yet why, now that the chance was gone, did she feel a breath of relief?

That silent, imperceptible exhale made Jian Yi’s eyes flicker ever so slightly.

He turned his head to the side — but could only see her arms wrapped around his shoulders.

“Why didn’t you act? You had a very good opportunity just now.” His voice was even, carrying not a trace of reproach — only puzzlement.

Feng Jiu’er’s heart lurched. The silver needle was clutched so tightly in her hand that her palm had grown slick with cold sweat — but it was too late for anything now.

He had known all along. He had been aware the entire time, yet had not so much as raised a single guard.

Perhaps it was confidence — a certainty that he could stop her the instant she made her move.

But was that not reckless beyond all reason?

At the time, the silver needle in her hand had been less than half a finger’s width from the artery in his throat.

A vessel as fragile as that could have been so easily destroyed by her…

But now, whatever she might say was too late.

“Your conversation drew me in. I forgot to act.” Jiu’er admitted with a touch of helplessness and tucked the silver needle back into her needle case.

She was like meat laid upon a chopping block — there was no saving herself now in any case. She might as well acknowledge her scheming openly and with some dignity.

The chance was already gone. Whatever he intended to do with her, he could do as he pleased.

She had no strength left to resist.