“Don’t go!”

Lu Feifan’s eyes flew open.

Before him, only a blank haze.

The night remained dim and heavy.

That white light was gone. So was the girl.

Only the night wind, drifting past.

He had dreamed of her again.

Lu Feifan’s breathing was ragged. He rose from the chair, and for a moment, in his daze, he couldn’t tell east from west, couldn’t even place where he was.

He didn’t know how much time passed, but the biting chill of the night wind finally brought him back to his senses.

Still, he hadn’t managed to see her face clearly. Still, he couldn’t make out what she was calling.

It had already been several years!

The same dream, night after night, tormenting him.

If it were mere coincidence, it would be far too coincidental!

What exactly did this dream foretell?

The night remained thick and dark, though it was already drawing close to dawn.

A heavy mist hung in the air.

Lu Feifan’s gaze wandered, then settled at last in the distance, toward the direction of the Northern Emperor’s Tomb.

He was already here — had, in fact, been here for two whole days — and yet even now, half the reason he’d come remained a mystery even to himself.

As for the other half…

He glanced back toward the tent not far away.

It was silent inside. Whoever was within was likely resting.

He truly didn’t know whether coming here for that person’s sake had been right or wrong.

And then there was the person in the tent — Zhen Jiu’er, with the bracelet on her wrist…

Without thinking, Lu Feifan’s hand reached inside his robe.

He drew out a necklace.

The chain was wrapped in red thread, the thread tied around his neck. From the outside, only the red thread was visible; no one could see what hung at the bottom of it.

An old yet finely made lock.

And the chain this lock hung from — its style was identical to the chain on Zhen Jiu’er’s wrist!

The only difference was the pendant.

The pendant on Jiu’er’s wrist was a key.

The pendant on the chain around his own neck was a lock!

That was exactly why, the moment he’d first seen the bracelet on Zhen Jiu’er’s wrist, he’d been so shaken he’d forgotten to even hide his own reaction.

Could these two chains share some connection he couldn’t quite explain?

In the end, unable to find an answer, Lu Feifan simply tucked his own chain back inside his robe.

Looking again, from the outside all that could be seen was the red thread — the small lock was once more out of sight.

The night gradually grew lighter.

But the mist only grew thicker.

Everything before him became harder to make out…

…

Early the next morning, Jiu’er was startled awake by a commotion.

The moment she opened her eyes, she saw the figure sitting by the bed.

“Ninth Imp— Ninth Master, you sat here all night?”

She rubbed her still-sore eyes and slowly sat up from the bed.

Having lain sprawled out all night, her face felt practically flattened, and for a moment after sitting up, her whole body felt weak.

Lu Beicheng steadied her, letting her settle properly before standing.

“What’s going on outside?” Jiu’er shifted, only then noticing a sharp pain shoot through her arm and shoulder.

She couldn’t help but frown.

“Does the wound hurt?” Lu Beicheng stared at her small face, his brow furrowing unconsciously along with hers.

Seeing her in pain seemed to make his own heart ache right along with her.

Jiu’er nodded.

The anesthesia had worn off; the pain now was only natural.

Still, she’d slept through the worst of it, so now, it wasn’t unbearable.

“What exactly happened outside? Why’s it so noisy?”

It sounded like someone was saying something about… an attack? A theft? Someone injured?

Who had been hurt?