Meng Qianzi was stunned.

Jiang Lian? When had he awakened?

Jiang Lian had always been a light sleeper in the wilderness. Meng Qianzi’s restless tossing and sighing quickly roused him, but he didn’t immediately know what to say to her—he had never been one to ask pointless questions.

For instance, asking “Are you cold?” If she said yes, what good suggestions could he offer?

Endure it? Get up and jump around to warm up? Add another blanket?

None seemed appropriate, so he hadn’t spoken right away. Then he noticed Meng Qianzi constantly shifting position, seemingly staring at something, so he followed her gaze and quickly discovered that eerie shadow in the distance.

Lu Sanming and Pixiu had made it very clear that Wubai Alley had been uninhabited for years, which made this shadow quite intriguing. While it might be a hermit living in isolation, lurking in the middle of the night instead of sleeping and watching their camp for extended periods seemed far from typical hermit behavior.

Hearing his words, Meng Qianzi grabbed his arm without thinking and whispered: “No!”

Though the person was far away, she instinctively held her breath, fearing too much noise would frighten him away. “We’re unfamiliar with this area; circling behind him is too dangerous. Besides, from his position, he’ll quickly notice any unusual movement from here. If we startle him, it’ll be hard to find him again.”

That made sense. Jiang Lian thought for a moment. “Bringing people would make too much noise, and your men might not be nimble enough. I’ll go alone—one person is easier to control, both advancing and retreating.”

As he spoke, he began to rise.

Good grief, what kind of person becomes more determined the more you argue? Meng Qianzi pulled him back with one hand. “Going alone is even worse. What if something happens?”

She used considerable force; Jiang Lian felt his arm ache from her grip but found it oddly pleasing. After a pause of two seconds, he chuckled softly: “Do you want to deliberate with me at length? But Qianzi, that person might turn away any second.”

Meng Qianzi gritted her teeth. “You just had to say that.”

She felt nervous too, fearing the figure might disappear at any moment. After considering a compromise, she suggested: “I’ll go with you.”

Jiang Lian lowered his voice: “I’d like you to come with me too… but you can’t. You’re not skilled at silent tracking—your presence would only complicate things.”

Meng Qianzi couldn’t find a counterargument. While she hesitated, Jiang Lian covered her hand with his, gently applying pressure to remove her grip. “Don’t worry. I’ll pursue if I can catch up, and flee if there’s danger. I won’t risk my life over this—we’ve known each other long enough; surely you recognize I’m a clever and adaptable person?”

How exasperating, making jokes at a time like this! Meng Qianzi felt both irritated and amused. Jiang Lian was already slipping away: “Cover for me. When I leave, it’s best if he doesn’t see me.”

With that, he lifted the blanket and slipped out, reaching the doorway but not rushing outside. He whistled very softly to call over the night watchman, coordinating internally first—otherwise, once he went out, the guards on all sides would start shouting, ruining their efforts.

At this point, she could only focus on the next step. Jiang Lian had asked her to provide cover, but how should she do that?

Meng Qianzi’s mind raced. Her hand pressed against something nearby—the spotlight. A flash of inspiration struck, and she immediately had an idea.

She turned on the spotlight, directing the beam upward at an angle, sweeping it around the room, then switched modes so the light pulsed, resembling an emergency signal.

Generally, in a dark environment, a sudden light is enough to attract complete attention. Moreover, the spotlight beam was extremely bright—not exaggerating, if aimed directly at someone’s eyes, it could “blind” them for quite a while. Though she wasn’t aiming directly, it was enough to make that person’s vision blur. She quickly changed the spotlight mode, figuring that anyone with ulterior motives would likely try to investigate.

She didn’t miss the movements outside.

Jiang Lian had gone out, and the night watchman was playing his part well, pacing unhurriedly as if nothing had happened.

After a while, Meng Qianzi switched off the light, clutching the spotlight while sitting on the cool ground mat, her heart pounding.

Her eyes were also temporarily “blinded” by the rapidly flashing light, and all she could hear was her heartbeat and breathing.

After some time, everything quieted down. Meng Qianzi leaned back slightly to her original position and angle, checking if the person was still there.

Fortunately, he was.

Not only was he still there, but his posture had changed slightly from before—he seemed confused about what was happening here and had shifted his observation position.

Meng Qianzi stared intently at the figure, knowing full well that he couldn’t see her, but perhaps influenced by the darkness and silence, she still felt the tension and anxiety of eye contact.

About ten seconds later, the figure wavered and disappeared.

At the same moment, Meng Qianzi sat up abruptly.

She regretted her decision.

She shouldn’t have let Jiang Lian go; she should have insisted on safety first. Who cared who that person was? What mattered most was that everyone arrived together and left safely.

Suddenly, she recalled Jiang Lian’s words: “Surely you recognize I’m a clever and adaptable person?”

Was he clever? Adaptable? She wasn’t sure. Her mind was a bit chaotic, unable to recall if he had truly demonstrated “cleverness” or “adaptability” before. Meng Qianzi gradually pulled at the blanket covering her, compressing the large cover into a tight bundle between her chest and bent legs. She continued to squeeze, trying to compress it even smaller while feeling the increasing counterforce—perhaps only this way could she feel more secure and comfortable.

She constantly checked the night sky, the movement of stars, and the passing time on her electronic device, forcing herself to set a waiting limit. She couldn’t wait indefinitely; she needed to establish a deadline. If there was no sign of him by then, she would immediately arrange for people to search, meet, or rescue him.

How long should she give Jiang Lian?

One hour? Too short—going there and back would probably take that long.

Two hours? But what if something detained him? Would three hours be too long? If a dangerous situation arose, by the time they got there, it would be too late.

Meng Qianzi felt that of all the multiple-choice questions she’d faced in exams throughout her life, none had been this difficult.

Gritting her teeth, she decided on two hours.

She wouldn’t give any more time than that. Jiang Lian’s cleverness and adaptability were worth just that much.

Two hours meant exactly two hours. Just past four in the morning, Meng Qianzi roused everyone.

In the glare of the spotlights, the drowsy Shen Gun fumbled to put on his glasses, watching people moving back and forth, legs walking to and fro, hearing conversations from all directions, until he finally understood the situation.

Jiang Lian had disappeared, having gone to pursue a mysterious person, and had not returned… for two hours.

This was serious. Shen Gun quickly got up, but Lu Sanming saw him and blocked his way: “Master Shen, you don’t need to go. Miss Meng said those without physical prowess should stay here; going would only cause trouble. We need people to remain here for protection.”

Shen Gun lacked nothing more in his life than physical prowess, so he could only watch helplessly as the group departed. Meng Qianzi took Lu Sanming, Tang Zhuang, and five others to follow the trail, while Pixiu and three others stayed behind to protect Shen Gun and the mule handlers.

When asked about the details, Pixiu couldn’t explain much: “I was on night watch when Brother Lian called me over, asking me to cover for him and not make a fuss. He said in that direction…” He raised his hand to point: “Someone was watching us, but when I looked secretly, I didn’t see anyone. Anyway, Brother Lian left, and I thought he’d return quickly. Miss Meng probably felt uneasy too—it’s been two hours.”

Two hours—enough time to kill someone, bury them, and flatten the grave.

Pixiu had responsibilities, needing to stay vigilant in all directions, so after chatting briefly, he hurried back to his post. The four mule handlers had it easy; after being awakened, they realized it wasn’t their concern and rolled over to resume their deep sleep.

In the two-room stone house, only Shen Gun remained. He sat for a while, listening to the unceasing wind outside, then peered through the square window hole. Before dawn, darkness was at its heaviest, making everything appear dangerous.

Shen Gun felt a chill of fear. He rummaged through his bag for a while, pulling out a wooden-handled slingshot and several stone pellets.

He truly lacked physical skills, but when pushed to the limit, anyone could fight.

This slingshot and pellets were his close-combat weapons for traveling. Although they hadn’t been truly useful in over a decade, having only injured two chickens…

Still, one shouldn’t lose face in battle—even if just to frighten others, they served a purpose.

Searching for someone at night was a highly inefficient task. Many traces, obvious in daylight, required excessive lighting at night. Tang Zhuang led the way, holding a spotlight, almost crawling on the ground like a tracking dog, repeatedly confirming for a long time before roughly pointing in a direction.

Lu Sanming watched from the side, feeling it was truly laborious. He wanted to tell Meng Qianzi: If nothing had happened, that was good, but if something had gone wrong, it would have happened long ago. It was too late to rush now—better to wait until daylight. But with the words on the tip of his tongue, he dared not speak them, making him increasingly aware of the vast gulf between himself and Meng Jinsong.

Meng’s assistant had once angered Miss Meng enough to flip a tea table—such courage! If it were him, Miss Meng’s mere glare would make him tremble thrice.

As they continued searching, a glimmer of dawn appeared in the eastern sky.

Although Guangxi had “xi” (west) in its name, that was only in comparison to Guangdong. Compared to other provinces and cities nationwide, it wasn’t particularly Western. Moreover, being late summer, daybreak came relatively early. But Meng Qianzi didn’t feel that way—her intuition told her that they had searched from deep night until dawn, yet Jiang Lian remained missing, which likely meant trouble. With this thought, her limbs grew cold, her complexion matching the dawn’s pale hue.

Lu Sanming thought it was due to her illness and regretted not bringing the medicine Xin Ci had entrusted to him. Just as he was about to suggest she rest, Tang Zhuang excitedly shouted: “Isn’t that Brother Lian over there?”

Looking in the direction indicated, they indeed saw someone approaching from the side of a distant triangular mountain. The figure looked similar, but they couldn’t be certain. This wasn’t a problem—soon someone brought a portable telescope. Meng Qianzi took it and looked carefully in that direction: it was indeed Jiang Lian. He seemed to have heard their voices as well and was hurrying over. Judging by his gait, he didn’t appear to be injured.

Meng Qianzi exhaled deeply, setting aside the telescope, only to realize her back was damp with sweat.

But this was good—with this burst of perspiration, much of her earlier discomfort had dissipated.

About fifteen minutes later, the two groups met.

After trudging through the mud, everyone looked like mud monkeys. Meng Qianzi sat leaning against a rock, not moving, watching Lu Sanming approach Jiang Lian with greetings—one asking if he was alright, the other answering he was fine, then asking why everyone had come, and being told that Miss Meng had roused them at four o’clock and they’d been searching for half the night.

After a while, Jiang Lian approached Meng Qianzi.

Drawing near, he just looked down at her with a smile, saying: “Didn’t I say nothing would happen? Why mobilize such a large force?”

Meng Qianzi responded irritably: “Are you the Almighty? Just because you say nothing will happen doesn’t mean nothing will! It’s about preparing for the worst, you…”

At this point, seemingly too lazy to move, she said: “Stand a bit closer.”

Jiang Lian was puzzled but took two steps forward. Meng Qianzi shifted slightly, peering behind him, then muttered: “You aren’t injured.”

What kind of logic was this? Checking his front wasn’t enough—she had to inspect his back, too? Should he also let her see… his sides?

Jiang Lian crouched down before her.

Her legs and waist were covered in mud, and that wasn’t all—her face and neck also had streaks of black dirt. But Jiang Lian didn’t find her disheveled; rather, the contrast of black and white made her skin appear even fairer, her eyes more vivid. With just a slight lowering of the head and raising of the brows, she never looked tiresome.

Meng Qianzi seemed to sense this and quickly wiped her face, cautiously asking: “What are you looking at?”

A streak of mud on her face had already dried. This casual wipe caused dry dust to fall, and Meng Qianzi never imagined that one day, she would not only appear before a man without perfect makeup but also have dust falling off her.

Jiang Lian noticed a streak she hadn’t wiped clean and naturally reached out. Just before touching her face, he realized it was inappropriate, especially since his own hands weren’t particularly clean. But withdrawing seemed disingenuous, so he pulled up the edge of his clothes and wiped her face, saying: “Using clothes is cleaner.”

Meng Qianzi was momentarily stunned, feeling the stiff edge of his clothing brush across her face, as rough and coarse as his hands.

Jiang Lian asked her: “Shouldn’t you be asking me something?”

Indeed, after a night of anxiety, she had forgotten the main point. But on second thought, she felt that if Jiang Lian had truly gained something, he would have mentioned it already.

She said, “It’s good enough that you’ve returned safely. The rest doesn’t matter; we can take it slowly.”

Jiang Lian smiled: “When Bai Shuixiao threw Meiying off a cliff and switched cars crossing the rope bridge, I didn’t lose track of him. Do you think I’d come back empty-handed from a place like this?”

He paused briefly before saying, “I saw Yanluo.”

Yanluo?

Meng Qianzi’s mind jolted. Though they had frequently mentioned Yanluo’s name these days, she had always felt he was like a paper character, not materializing in reality.

She was caught off guard: “Is… is it that Yanluo?”

Jiang Lian nodded: “Yes, that Yanluo.”

“Does he look… the same as before?”

Jiang Lian recalled: “Pretty much, no deformities.”

“Then… where is he? Did he escape?”

“No, he’s there, tied up. I came back to get you all.”

Meng Qianzi could hardly believe it: “That smoothly?”

Jiang Lian said, “Extremely smooth. I didn’t even tie him up.”

Meng Qianzi was confused: “There were others?”

Jiang Lian shook his head: “No, he tied himself up. I was afraid he’d escape, so I added another layer of restraints. Let’s go over there first—the situation is very strange. I’ll explain the details when we arrive.”

That worked. Meng Qianzi pushed against the rock to stand up, then suddenly remembered something: “Did… did he say anything? Did you learn anything from him?”

Jiang Lian smiled bitterly: “No, he didn’t say anything. And you should never expect him to tell you anything.”

Yanluo’s tongue had been cut out.