The depths of the stone forest looked, on the surface, no different from the outside.

In truth, it was almost indistinguishable from the place they had just left.

Yet now that Jiu Qing and Feng Jiu’er had stepped inside, when they turned back to look at the direction they had come from, it felt as though they were standing on open ground — and it was Mu Mu, Xue Gu, and the others who were buried in the stone forest’s heart.

“This stone forest — it cannot be man-made.” Jiu’er walked behind Jiu Qing, studying the terrain carefully as she went.

Though this was supposed to be the same ground Long Yi had led everyone through, once inside, every direction looked identical.

She didn’t even know whether the path they were walking now was the same one the others had taken.

Jiu Qing remained as expressionless as ever, moving quietly ahead of her.

Since stepping inside, she had kept a firm grip on the corner of his robe — not once releasing it.

He showed no resistance, so she held on without guilt.

Formations were something Feng Jiu’er understood nothing about. Since Jiu Qing knew at least something of them, she had no choice but to stay close to him.

If they became separated, there was a good chance they would never find each other again.

Jiu Qing raised his head and looked toward the sky. Jiu’er couldn’t help but follow his gaze, and found herself looking up at the stars overhead.

In this stretch of sky, the stars were sparse, and the cloud cover heavy — they were barely visible.

She did not have Jiu Qing’s depth of inner energy. From the moment they had entered this dark gorge, she had not been able to read the sky with any clarity.

Even in daylight, the stretch of sky above this place hung gray and oppressive, with no way to tell east from west, north from south.

But Jiu Qing was looking so intently — he seemed as though he could actually make out something up there.

Jiu’er did not disturb him. She knew he was reading the direction, so she simply followed quietly at his side.

Looking up for too long made her neck ache. When she finally tilted her head back down, something caught her eye.

Footprints — clear ones — in the grass between the stones.

The discovery made Feng Jiu’er’s heart clench. Before she had thought it through, she let go of the corner of Jiu Qing’s robe and moved toward the tracks.

It was only a few steps away. She had no intention of going off on her own — it really was only a few steps. Even if she walked over, she could turn around and see him again.

She went forward a few paces. The footprints were real enough — a little old, yet still faintly legible.

Brothers had truly passed through here. More than one.

Jiu’er took another two steps forward. Now the tracks were even clearer.

If she was reading them correctly, three brothers had walked this path.

So — where had they gone? If she followed the tracks, could she find her way to them?

“Jiu Qing?” She turned back, wanting to share the discovery with him.

But the moment she turned around, she went completely blank.

Where was Jiu Qing?

Behind her, there was nothing but the same strangely shaped stones as everywhere else — and beneath them, the same tangled wild grass.

Had she come from this direction just now? Then why, turning back now, could she not recognize the place she had just been standing?

Every direction looked the same. There was no difference anywhere.

Feng Jiu’er’s heart lurched. She knew she had walked straight into the stone forest’s trap.

But she had taken no more than seven steps in total. She had been so afraid of getting lost that she had counted every one.

Five steps to the left, then two steps to the right.

And every step had been a short one — not a single stride had been large.

She had tracked the direction and the count so precisely. How could anything have gone wrong?

Yet here she was, something unmistakably wrong.

“Jiu Qing!” Feng Jiu’er called out again, and carefully retraced her steps — two steps back.

That should have been her original position. From there, she went five steps to the left.

She should be back where she started — yet this place was unmistakably not where she had stood before.

The grass here showed not the faintest trace of anyone having walked through it.

What was happening? How could this be? Could it be that even retracing her exact steps couldn’t bring her back?

If this wasn’t where she and Jiu Qing had been standing — then where was Jiu Qing?

Feng Jiu’er started to panic. She called out loudly, “Jiu Qing — Jiu Qing, where are you? Jiu Qing, it’s me, Jiu’er!”

Her voice felt as though it were trapped within a small enclosed space, unable to carry at all.

Disoriented. Helpless. Feng Jiu’er scanned the darkness around her, straining to read a direction — but it was completely impossible.

She could not keep walking. If she went further, she had no idea where she might end up.

If she blundered through, she might end up like the brothers — too deep in to ever find the way back.

She had no choice but to wait where she was and keep calling out. “Jiu Qing, it’s me, Jiu’er — I’m here. Jiu Qing.”

Around her, only the sound of wind — and even that felt strangely still.

“Jiu Qing — it’s me, Jiu’er. I’m here. Jiu Qing!”

She was growing tired from calling. Still, not a single word came back from him.

She didn’t know whether waiting here would ever bring him to her, but if she walked instead, she would only go further and further astray.

She raised her head and looked up at the sky. The same murky, gray heaviness as before. She knew the stars were up there, but they looked as though swathed in thick mist — barely discernible.

So this was what a formation truly was. Even a single step could leave you hopelessly lost.

The ancient formations were truly this formidable — something she had never once witnessed back in the twenty-first century.

When she had read about formations in books before, she had always found them far-fetched — the kind of mystical nonsense designed to confuse the credulous. She had barely been willing to believe they existed.

Now, having lived through one firsthand, she knew — the inexplicable and supernatural truly did exist.

Jiu Qing…

Suddenly, her wrist went taut.

Feng Jiu’er, who had been lost in thought, let out a startled scream and swung a fist.

It landed squarely in the center of a man’s chest.

That chest. Those broad shoulders. Those features. That face. That gaze — cold, distant to the core, and yet always carrying some warmth she could not explain.

“Jiu Qing…”

Every pretense of composure shattered in an instant. Feng Jiu’er threw both arms around his neck, and tears very nearly spilled free.

She was never this fragile — but in this moment, she was moved so deeply she wanted to weep.

“Tell me — are you my Ninth Imperial Uncle? Don’t deceive me any longer. Ninth Imperial Uncle — I know it’s you. I know it’s you!”

She tightened her arms around him. Here, in this tiny space with no one else — only the two of them — her tears fell freely.

“Ninth Imperial Uncle, I’ve missed you so much. I have missed you so much.”

Zhan Qingcheng looked down at the small, trembling figure in his arms. Those cold hands of his — after a moment’s hesitation — finally wrapped tightly around her.

She already knew. There was no point asking a question she already had the answer to.

There were reasons he couldn’t speak of it — reasons that were not his to dismiss.

Among this group, he did not fully trust everyone.

Xue Gu, for instance — she might have no intention of bringing them harm, but that did not mean her actions could never harm them. Many things, many people, and many of the things people did were not entirely within their own control.

What you do not know is your greatest protection.

But this girl…

Zhan Qingcheng let out a quiet breath and drew her closer. “Don’t cry. Girl — it’s me.”