Zhou Weizhao firmly grasped her hand, using his arm—the one that had once been wounded by a poisoned arrow and still hadn’t fully healed—to grip Song Chuyi tightly. He let out a muffled groan. His legs clamped tightly around the horse’s belly. His left hand pressed against his right arm as he forcefully lifted Song Chuyi up and placed her on the horse. Cold sweat had already seeped out on his forehead.

The wind from northern Jin struck her face head-on, as if countless small thorns were piercing into her skin. It took Song Chuyi quite a while before she finally came to her senses. She stared at her own hand somewhat in shock, not understanding why she could place such unreasoning, unreserved trust in Zhou Weizhao.

It wasn’t that she didn’t remember how to trust people. In her previous life, she’d certainly suffered the bitter pain of trusting the wrong people and learned lessons carved into her bones. But since her rebirth, she’d been working very hard to trust those who showed her goodwill—Grandfather, Grandmother, Uncle, and Eldest Brother. She’d been working very hard to persuade herself to trust them.

But they were her relatives. Zhou Weizhao, on the other hand, was nothing to her. Yet she hadn’t doubted his words in the slightest. Just now, at this moment of life and death, when he told her to let go, she’d released her grip without hesitation, even though she knew it was extremely likely she’d fall from the carriage and be smashed until her head broke and blood flowed.

Song Chuyi had no time to continue investigating the reasons behind this. Zhou Weizhao had already released the reins and with effort reined in the horse, first jumping down from the horse, then reaching out to pull Song Chuyi.

Threads of bright red emerged from his right arm. Song Chuyi’s sharp eyes caught sight of it at once. She cried out softly, then watched helplessly as Zhou Weizhao seemed to lose strength and sit down on the ground. She crouched down following the force of Zhou Weizhao’s hand, only then realizing Zhou Weizhao had wounds on his back and hands. He was still wearing the deep purple robe with eight-treasure medallion patterns. When blood seeped out, it was just a pitch-black patch. Without looking carefully, one couldn’t see it at all. When he’d just reached out to save her, he’d already been injured…

She’d just been suspended between life and death and had almost forgotten that the person before her had also only rested for a few days after suffering severe injuries. She looked at his pale face and dry lips, then looked at the blood continuously seeping from his shoulder. For the first time, she felt somewhat alarmed and at a loss, and also somewhat flustered and confused.

She’d always felt this debt of gratitude was something she could repay, but this kind of life-saving grace—how could it be repaid?

The wind in Jin region was truly too dry. She’d also been badly jolted in the carriage compartment. Only now, relaxing, did she notice she was also covered in injuries, and her face also hurt intensely. But she temporarily couldn’t care about these things. Zhou Weizhao’s arm was still bleeding. She did her utmost to steady her mind. Her voice, which she’d always deliberately kept somewhat composed, finally changed in tone: “Your Highness, I’ll take you back!”

Just then, a fierce wind swept from behind. Song Chuyi’s burning ears seemed to already be affected by that gust of wind. Before she could turn her head to see what was happening, Zhou Weizhao suddenly reached out and pulled her, then rolled several circles on the spot. She hastily turned her head to look and saw San Nan appear like a ghost behind her—just now, that gust of wind was brought by him rushing forward.

Qing Zhuo and Han Feng’s movements were also extremely fast. They flew at him from left and right to entangle San Nan. This little monk, nobody knew how he’d been raised—his age was clearly several years younger than Qing Zhuo and Han Feng, but his martial arts were practiced extremely well. Though barefoot, when those feet kicked people, they were like steel and iron bones, with astonishingly great strength. Qing Zhuo took a kick to the shoulder and felt as if he’d hit an iron plate. He staggered back several steps. His throat itched, and opening his mouth, he spat out a mouthful of bloody foam.

San Nan’s target wasn’t him. The large, round prayer beads wound around his wrist were almost deformed from his grip. He suddenly turned and charged straight at Song Chuyi and Zhou Weizhao on the ground—he’d already exposed his identity. Today, if he didn’t kill all four of these people here, the crime of Huangjue Temple raising death warriors for Prince Duan would be enough to bring disaster upon everyone at Huangjue Temple. Master’s painstaking efforts over so many years absolutely couldn’t be ruined in his hands.

Zhou Weizhao’s reaction was extremely quick. Seeing him turn, he’d already leaped up with all his might. When San Nan’s palm wind arrived, he barely bent his waist to dodge, sliding like a fish behind San Nan.

Han Feng had already positioned himself in front of Song Chuyi at Zhou Weizhao’s signal, gripping his sword, his expression grave—this little monk before them was truly somewhat sinister. His martial arts were actually more refined than theirs, these Dao soldiers who’d practiced martial arts on Longhu Mountain since childhood. What’s more, His Highness was currently injured, and there was Song Sixth Miss who didn’t know martial arts here…

Fortunately, the situation didn’t remain deadlocked for long. San Nan also knew he had no more time. If pursuing troops caught up, no matter how formidable his martial arts, after all, three fists couldn’t defeat four hands. He could only seize this moment for a quick battle and quick resolution.

He charged at Han Feng, his moves vicious, every strike a killing move, especially those feet—when they kicked people, they seemed to weigh a thousand pounds. Han Feng excelled in lightness skills, but before this little monk, he had nowhere to dodge and simply couldn’t withstand the attacks.

Zhou Weizhao and Qing Zhuo attacked from left and right. San Nan had no choice but to turn back to deal with Zhou Weizhao and Qing Zhuo. Though he knew Zhou Weizhao knew martial arts, he hadn’t expected that after being poisoned and injured, he could still fight like this. For a moment, having to deal with three people at once, he became somewhat strained.

Just then, Ye Jingchuan also arrived with people from behind. Seeing Zhou Weizhao and Song Chuyi from afar, he shouted once.

San Nan turned his head to see him. His complexion suddenly turned ashen. He’d originally already lured Song Chuyi and Zhou Weizhao out alone. If he’d had more men, if fewer of his people had fallen on those three roads and in the temple, things would have already succeeded by now. What a pity—a single log couldn’t support much. What a pity—success had been so close… If the gods and Buddhas willed it thus, there was nothing he could do.

He raised his hand. Zhou Weizhao’s sword immediately pierced into his chest, but he didn’t reach out to block. Instead, he went to slash his own face, once and again with extreme force. After a moment, his face was already a bloody pulp.

Then he struggled to retreat, avoiding Zhou Weizhao’s sword. Covering his chest, stumbling and staggering, he mounted the horse Qing Zhuo had ridden when he came. Without hesitation, he and the horse together jumped off the cliff.

This sudden turn of events happened in just a moment. No one had expected he would suddenly mutilate himself. Qing Zhuo and Han Feng’s hand movements slowed just a bit. In this moment of hesitation, San Nan and that horse had already disappeared from their line of sight.

Ye Jingchuan, who arrived afterward, also witnessed this scene. He was so shocked he momentarily didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t until San Nan finally disappeared along with the horse that he hastily wanted to rush over to take a look.