Feng Zhiwei gazed at him from afar, watching his smiling lips and his eyes without any smile, suddenly feeling that the sweet and playful grape-eating by the well a few hours ago seemed as distant as a hundred years past.

This confrontational appearance was more like that scene years ago at the Pure Study when she had inadvertently saved Shaoning—atop the Falling Flowers Tower as she fell, he had ridden up on his horse and looked up coldly at her.

Her gaze slowly fell upon his outstretched hands. He stubbornly maintained that posture—as if he clearly knew she might not be willing to hand over the child, yet was determined to know whether she would compromise for him even once.

After a long while, she sighed.

“Your Highness,” she said, “I believe you saw the characters at the well’s edge.”

Ning Yi slowly withdrew his hands, gazing at his own palm somewhat absently, smiling slightly. “I haven’t yet thanked you for the reminder.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Feng Zhiwei said calmly. “What I mean is, since I made the decision to remind you back then, I naturally understood that for you, this child cannot remain.”

Ning Yi’s eyes flickered, but he showed no joy. His expression clearly indicated he was waiting for her next words.

Feng Zhiwei sighed inwardly—throughout the realm, the one who understood her best was indeed still Ning Yi.

“But some things feel different when planned versus when truly confronted.” She looked at Ning Yi sincerely. “For instance, with this child—when I hadn’t seen him, when he was merely a strange and illusory existence in Consort Qing’s womb, I could hesitate three times before deciding to remind you, giving you the chance to eliminate him. But when this child is truly held in my hands, weak and helpless nestled in my embrace, I can’t help but think of his innocence, can’t help but recall the look in Yin’er’s eyes during her dying entrustment—someone who had shown me kindness… Your Highness, no matter how ruthless or cruel I may be, that’s toward enemies. But I am, after all, a woman.”

She didn’t continue—unless inherently evil, no woman could personally kill an innocent infant. Moreover, ultimately, she bore no grudge against Consort Qing. To strangle someone else’s newborn this way—she couldn’t do it.

She too had been a mother—she had once held little Gu Zhixiao in her arms, watching her grow to age three.

She too had once been filled with tenderness and joy, carefully inhaling her milk fragrance. And when she subsequently lost her, she had countless times felt lonely and desolate during those bleak nights.

Zhixiao was merely her adopted daughter, while Consort Qing carried this child for ten months in her own womb.

She knew that feeling.

Ning Yi stood quietly silent in the shadows at the alley’s end.

“I need to remind you of something.” She said gently. “Doing things too absolutely won’t work either. You know what kind of person Consort Qing is—no simple character. Once she survives and learns she’s lost this child, she’ll frantically attack you. You might as well keep this child in your control. As long as she knows he’s still alive, she’ll never become your enemy.”

“After this incident between her and me, we’re already destined to be enemies.” Ning Yi answered lightly.

“Since you’re destined to be enemies, better to have one more bargaining chip in hand to restrain her.” Feng Zhiwei studied his expression and suddenly said, “Just now underground, you didn’t find Consort Qing?”

Ning Yi remained silent—not denying meant admitting.

After a long while he said, “You’ve decided not to hand him over to me?”

Feng Zhiwei remained silent.

The deep alley returned to stillness, a heavy and desolate silence, like a tangible wall stretching thick between the two of them.

After a long while, Ning Yi took a deep breath.

Feng Zhiwei had never seen him make such a gesture. In her impression, Ning Yi seemed casual and aloof, but was actually decisive in matters of life and death. In all the time she’d spent with him, she’d never seen him truly hesitate over anything.

Then she heard Ning Yi say, “Hand him to me. I promise you, I won’t harm his life.”

Feng Zhiwei looked at him quietly. Her eyes didn’t show distrust, but held a measure of scrutiny. After a long while she said, “Why don’t you trust me?”

“You want to send him to the grasslands, don’t you?” Ning Yi said. “Just as you don’t trust handing him to me, I also don’t trust the grasslands. Too far away, too many variables, and Helian Zheng’s character is too carefree. Once Consort Qing learns something, with her ruthless and meticulous methods, Helian Zheng may not be able to guard against her. To speak plainly, throughout the realm, those who can consistently prevent others from taking advantage—aside from you and me, I trust no one.”

Feng Zhiwei fell silent. She had to admit Ning Yi’s concerns had merit. The grasslands were far from the emperor’s reach—if something truly happened, even she couldn’t look after things.

“Then how do you plan to handle it?”

“This child absolutely cannot have contact with any place possessing authority and status.” Ning Yi said decisively. “The grassland royal court cannot either. Rest assured, since I’ve promised you to spare his life, I certainly won’t go back on my word.”

Feng Zhiwei raised her eyes, looking into Ning Yi’s eyes. He looked at her openly and candidly. In his pupils, black as ink jade, she couldn’t find any glint of conspiracy.

Feng Zhiwei lowered her head again to look at the child in her hands. He slept sweetly, lightly smacking his lips, emanating the clear, sweet milk fragrance. Feng Zhiwei reached out to gently tease his tender pink cheek, feeling the infant’s full and elastic skin, smooth and soft. Tenderness couldn’t help but rise in her heart.

Just as this feeling arose, a vague thought suddenly flashed through her mind like lightning—coming and going in an instant. When she furrowed her brow trying to think about what she’d thought in that moment, she could no longer capture it no matter what.

She could only set that thought aside and examine the child very carefully. Such a small, soft bundle, yet weighing more than a thousand pounds. Her eyes touched upon the bright yellow corner of that wrapping. Her heart shook as she suddenly remembered that year’s heavy snow—reading her mother’s dying letter in Ning’an Palace. That letter was ultimately burned in fire, but every word and sentence was deeply carved in her heart.

If her mother were here, she would surely have her preserve this child, using him to restrain both Consort Qing and Ning Yi…

This was Emperor Tiansheng’s last offspring. With such an imperial prince in existence, the imperial succession would have greater variables. Anyone with a reasonably clear head should understand that if an adult prince like Ning Yi—with such deep cunning and ability to turn clouds and rain—ascended to the throne, the obstacles to what she would need to do in the future would increase greatly.

She had always understood this.

Otherwise there wouldn’t have been those two faint characters “Imperial Temple” quietly carved after a night of contemplation at the well’s edge.

The vows she’d sworn, a thousand tangles and entanglements, countless hesitations and difficulties in life.

Her lifetime of decisive ruthlessness—before this person, she ultimately couldn’t help but quietly waver.

Feng Zhiwei closed her eyes, sighing deeply in her heart.

Mother, forgive me.

I promise you I will strive to fulfill the oath I wrote in blood before your grave that year. But please allow me to preserve a bit of freedom for my heart.

Let me abandon this opportunity.

Let me be able to try trusting him once more.

When she opened her eyes again, there was nothing left in her gaze. Looking at Ning Yi, she smiled slightly. Without saying anything, she handed over the child in her arms.

When Ning Yi received the child, his posture was steady, but his eyes also held faint tremor.

Only he knew how not-simple this simple action was for Feng Zhiwei.

Only he knew that she was no ordinary woman. Throughout her life she’d never had simple trust—her past and choices made her unable to trust.

The moment he held that tiny infant in his arms, his hands trembled slightly. The smile he raised was as calm and peaceful as always—just like hers.

He thought, perhaps she didn’t know he understood at this moment.

Just as she thought, perhaps he didn’t know about her letting go at this moment.

For them both.

This moment was the closest distance their hearts had ever been in their lives.

Yet both believed the other didn’t know.

After handing that child to Ning Yi, Feng Zhiwei watched as Ning Yi carefully wrapped him in his own cloak and left on horseback.

That team of black-clothed people had already annihilated all of Shaoning’s subordinates. Now they were efficiently cleaning up the corpses—two per group, throwing bodies onto a pitch-black carriage that had arrived at some unknown time, then driving away soundlessly.

By tomorrow, Shaoning’s subordinates would silently disappear from this world. No one would know their origins, and no one would know their whereabouts.

This was the first time Feng Zhiwei had witnessed with her own eyes the hidden struggle between imperial siblings—fierce and decisive, killing with real blades entering and exiting.

Both the plotting hidden and lurking in court, and the blood splattered from real swords and spears.

Human lives were merely imperial sacrificial offerings, given no consideration whatsoever.

Every prince had a group of raised death warriors under him. Every prince had experienced countless assassination attempts growing up to this point.

Feng Zhiwei felt a slight chill in her heart, feeling that even the early summer night’s wind was very cold.

She stood motionless in the alley, watching Ning Yi’s retreating back, vaguely wondering where Consort Qing had gone, and who that person was earlier at the Imperial Temple wall who had forced her away, making her “accidentally stumble upon” this murderous trap? What was their connection to all this?

She watched as Ning Yi’s subordinates very skillfully filled in the tunnel, even carefully replacing that broken vat to its original position. After thinking for a while, she decided to go back and sleep.

She returned along the old route. Actually, she and Ning Yi’s residence were in the same direction, but she estimated that Ning Yi at this moment should be arranging where to send that child. So she deliberately didn’t walk with Ning Yi, letting him make his own arrangements—also to avoid suspicion.

She leaped over layers of walls and rooftops, her swift passage making rushing wind sounds. A slight haze of gloom in her heart was difficult to dispel. She ran almost venting her feelings.

Then she suddenly saw a black shadow flash ahead.

That flying and leaping posture looked somewhat familiar from afar. Feng Zhiwei frowned and instinctively followed.

That person’s qinggong was extremely good. She followed from a distance. Just as a tree ahead was blocking the view at a concealed alley corner, that person suddenly disappeared.

Feng Zhiwei had just paused in confusion when she heard a soft “chi.”

This sound was too familiar. On average every so often she would hear it seventeen or eighteen times. She’d already completely developed sensitivity—upon hearing this sound she knew someone would die.

For some reason, hearing this sound made her heart sink, as if some secret hope and beauty in her heart had suddenly been severed by a sharp blade and fallen.

This inexplicable premonition made her stop, stopping atop a wall. For an instant she didn’t want to go forward.

It seemed that if she just went forward, something would instantly crumble before her eyes, never to be recovered.

She hesitated atop that wall for just that instant, then she wanted to turn around.

From the distant alley corner ahead, a person had already turned around, with two more people following behind.

It was Ning Yi.

Feng Zhiwei’s gaze immediately fell upon the bundle in his arms.

Then she swayed.

The moonlight fell down cold and bleak, a ghastly blue color. Beneath that layer of jade-like color as if buried under thousand-year-old earth, was a deep, deep crimson.

Within that crimson, a bright light flashed—the cold gleam of a metal blade.

A short knife, stabbed right through that infant’s chest.

The child’s mouth was slightly open, as if crying just a moment before. In his wide-open eyes, the luster had scattered, like the beads of a stiff wooden abacus, emanating the dead blackness of death.

His cheeks were still that thin, tender, and soft, but had lost their previous rosiness, leaving only a pitiful pallor—in the moonlight, flashing white as paper.

A tiny life, ended shortly after birth.

Not dying in the mother’s womb, not dying at the midwife’s hands, but dying from that person’s cruelty.

Dying from her just-now letting go.

Under the moonlight, Feng Zhiwei’s complexion was as ghastly pale as that dead child.

She stared tightly at that small corpse, then slowly turned her gaze toward Ning Yi, her eyes full of disbelief.

The disbelief wasn’t about this decisive killing, but about a certain knowing deception.

Ning Yi was also lowering his head, his expression unclear. He seemed to also be examining that tiny corpse. After a long while he gave a long sigh and handed that bloodstained bundle to a subordinate behind him.

Then he seemed to give an instruction.

Feng Zhiwei stared tightly at his lip movements.

He was saying:

“Don’t let her know…”

Feng Zhiwei closed her eyes.

At this instant she was fixed like a wood carving, truly losing all breath and movement, silent as death—to the extent that Ning Yi, despite passing right below the wall not far from her, failed to discover her.

The three people’s footsteps passed lightly through the deep alley, leaving behind a drop of pale red blood.

A long time later, Feng Zhiwei opened her eyes. Her eyes were also bright red as blood.

She stood alone atop the wall under the moon, her robes rising slightly cool, covering her eyes. Her expression was pale as snow, her gaze shattered.

What shattered wasn’t death itself, but the last time in her life she’d mustered courage to give trust.

A risky trust—she had hoped and believed she hadn’t entrusted wrongly. Yet reality told her so coldly that she was wrong again, stupidly wrong.

Heaven knows after experiencing that year’s heavy snow, how difficult this choice had been.

That was decisive abandonment, that was an overturning choice. That meant she would have to pay even more hardship to complete her blood-written oath. It even meant the contradiction and hesitation deep in her heart—meant that one day, perhaps she truly would abandon things midway for that gradually softening place deep in her heart.

Yet heaven’s will or fate’s dark hand wouldn’t allow her to retreat even one tiny step.

Reality was so harsh, always striking her viciously at the moment she was most immersed in tender feelings, making that blood-colored enlightenment teach her that softening the heart meant drowning, that compromise was so ironic.

Atop the wall, Feng Zhiwei slowly sat down.

She hugged her knees with her hands, burying her face deeply against them. Her deliberately disheveled hair cascaded down, gleaming black and cold in the moonlight.

She needed to think carefully about this death.

She needed to think carefully about the path forward.

This child’s death—she wasn’t surprised, but felt desolate. What was desolate was that kind of deception. She would rather Ning Yi had directly told her that this prince must be killed. She might have felt helpless, but she would have understood.

No one understood better than her the imperial power struggles and life-or-death conflicts, understood the hardship of Ning Yi’s journey to this point.

She chose to hand that child to him—there was trust, but also testing. She wanted to see whether this man who had repeatedly told her he was willing to sacrifice everything for her would, when the moment came, be willing to give her a bit of sincerity.

Then she lost.

One cannot make the same mistake twice.

She, Feng Zhiwei, couldn’t be that stupid.

Because she was no longer simply herself. At this moment, behind her were many more people whose fates were tied to her. One moment of soft-heartedness, one wrong choice, and countless lives would be destroyed.

At this point, she understood what Ning Yi had once told her—since having already walked to this step, there was no more room to retreat. For those in power, they had their own helplessness.

This was a life-and-death game. If she softened her heart while he remained resolute, what would ultimately result would be total defeat.

Under the moon atop the wall, tuberose flowers were quietly fragrant. In the dense, swirling fragrance, she silently turned herself into fossil. Then after a very, very long time, she quietly stood up, step by step, walking in the direction opposite to his.

The moonlight stretched their shadows long, each occupying a stretch of prolonged darkness.

This was the farthest distance in their lives.

Unfortunately.

This time.

Neither of them knew.

—

In the sixteenth year of Changxi, eleventh month, the court issued an open edict: Wei Zhi, former Minister of Rites, was reassigned as Commissioner of the Jianghuai Circuit.

Once the imperial edict came down, the entire court congratulated him. Although Commissioner was certainly a provincial governor position, the difference between serving as commissioner in various places was vast. As Tiansheng’s foremost circuit, Jianghuai held crucial importance. Of the realm’s thirteen circuits, only Jianghuai’s commissioner held first rank in the current dynasty. For Wei Zhi’s first time serving as a regional official to land in the Jianghuai Circuit—such honor and favor made the entire civil and military court green with envy.

Feng Zhiwei received the edict and very quickly prepared to leave the capital. Although Jianghuai was very close to the Imperial Capital, she acted as if the mountains were high and waters distant, the journey difficult to traverse—packing up everything she could possibly bring from her residence, preparing to take it all. The trunks and boxes formed a vast procession, making people think that once she left, she would never return.

Before departure, she went to the Imperial Temple to take leave of the princess. Shaoning opened the temple to receive her. Feng Zhiwei saw that her complexion didn’t seem very good—somewhat withered and haggard, with faint spots even appearing on the side of her face. Having spent time with Zong Chen, Feng Zhiwei also understood medical principles. Although it wasn’t convenient to take her pulse, just looking at her posture and complexion, she felt Shaoning seemed to have an illness—and one somewhat like women’s diseases.

Feng Zhiwei felt puzzled. Previously Shaoning had been very radiant and lived in pampered comfort. By reason she shouldn’t possibly have such ailments. Could it be that the temple was cold and bitter, and she wasn’t getting enough nourishment so she fell ill? She also thought about how Shaoning had innocently lost her virginity—with suppressed emotions and blocked qi, was she deliberately ruining herself? But she felt Shaoning wasn’t that kind of person. Why would this happen for no reason?

Now she also found Shaoning somewhat inscrutable. The current Shaoning was no longer that spoiled, domineering, willful little princess from before. She was dazed and indifferent, seemingly content with temple life. She wasn’t even clamoring to marry her anymore. However, not long ago when she went to see Emperor Tiansheng, the old emperor had even hinted that after two years of cultivation were complete, he’d find a reason for her to return to secular life and bestow Shaoning upon her. He also warned her not to marry anyone else during her tenure as Jianghuai Commissioner.

Feng Zhiwei could only smile bitterly—fortunately she was a woman. If she were male and Shaoning changed her mind about the marriage again, would she have to remain single for life?

Shaoning entertained her in the Imperial Temple’s back courtyard, dismissing all servants. A white stone table, a few small dishes, two pots of clear wine. Feng Zhiwei looked at those small dishes and smiled bitterly again—all meat.

This discovery actually relieved her somewhat. At least Shaoning’s indulgent and unrestrained personality traits remained—she hadn’t completely become a thoroughly unfamiliar person.

The two didn’t say much, silently drinking wine the whole time. Feng Zhiwei felt that probably that night’s failed attempt to receive Consort Qing had left Shaoning dispirited. Shaoning had always been proud and arrogant, placing great hope in that younger imperial brother. After carefully and painstakingly waiting ten months until the end, thinking success was at hand only to be struck by Ning Yi’s unilateral blow—no wonder this proud imperial princess couldn’t bear it.

Feng Zhiwei also felt uneasy about Consort Qing—this woman had clearly given birth in an underground chamber that night, yet under Ning Yi’s very nose had mysteriously disappeared. And then, she had actually returned to the palace! Still as Emperor Tiansheng’s favored consort. The lost child was explained externally as an accidental miscarriage. She didn’t know how much of the truth the emperor knew. Afterward, Consort Qing hadn’t been seen doing anything against Ning Yi. Was it because Ning Yi’s forces were too powerful for Consort Qing to shake, or were there other reasons? Even Feng Zhiwei couldn’t guess.

She sat there slowly pondering these matters over wine. Across from her, Shaoning was also distracted, downing cup after cup. By the time Feng Zhiwei came to her senses to dissuade her, Shaoning had already drunk too much. Feng Zhiwei came over to support her. With a red flush rising to her face, Shaoning softly leaned against her, very obediently letting her provide support back to the room. Feng Zhiwei crouched down to remove her shoes and socks, but Shaoning suddenly grabbed her hand and taking advantage of the momentum, leaned and fell into Feng Zhiwei’s embrace.

As she fell down, she didn’t forget to clutch Feng Zhiwei’s lapels, both hands gripping deadly tight.

Feng Zhiwei stiffened, silently crying out in distress. Please don’t let this one pretend to be drunk and try to devour her. She quickly reached out to peel away her hands. But Shaoning wouldn’t let go. Her black hair had somehow come loose, cascading over the pillow in a full head of dark tresses. Her originally somewhat haggard complexion, flushed red from the alcohol, was now rosy as peach blossoms. A pair of eyes rippled with flowing light—the former murderous aura completely gone, leaving only this moment’s abundant springtime emotion.

Watching such a face swaying before her with that rippling expression, Feng Zhiwei’s heart felt like collapsing. The last scene in Jinshen Hall had been stimulating enough. If this happened again, she couldn’t guarantee she wouldn’t lose control and fling her hand away to leave. She could only use more force while stroking Shaoning’s hands and saying in a low voice, “Princess… You’ve drunk too much. This is a place of pure cultivation…”

At these words, Shaoning suddenly became agitated. She turned her head sharply and spat, saying, “What pure cultivation place, what jade towers and golden palaces… Nothing but one cage to another cage, one excuse wrapped in another excuse! Big Brother was right back then… forever without freedom, imperial golden puppets!”

She pressed her burning face against Feng Zhiwei’s arm, her entire body boneless and coiled around Feng Zhiwei’s arm, murmuring something softly. She spoke too unclearly. Feng Zhiwei didn’t dare lean down to listen, lest she misunderstand that she was leaning down in acquiescence. She only focused on extracting her arm. But Shaoning clutched her tightly, like a drowning person grasping a floating log for support. Feng Zhiwei was pulled until her body tilted downward, vaguely hearing “give me one…”

Give her one what? Feng Zhiwei frowned. This phrase was a bit strange. She carefully supported herself with both hands on her knees, pulling back some distance to listen. But Shaoning never spoke clearly, only saying over and over, “Give me one… give me one…”

There was a ready-made answer to fill in this blank—like give her one soul-stirring romantic night. But Feng Zhiwei intuitively felt it wasn’t like that. With Shaoning’s status, she couldn’t possibly say such words.

Seeing Shaoning’s flushed cheeks, pulling without restraint in her drunkenness, Feng Zhiwei feared a repeat of Lu Zhiyan’s breast-groping incident. She sighed and reached out to pat the back of Shaoning’s neck. Shaoning fell limp immediately. Feng Zhiwei settled her properly, covered her with a quilt, stood with hands behind her back watching for a while, sighed, and left.

She stepped out of the Imperial Temple, looking at the gloomy sky—it was going to rain.

A row of trunks and boxes by the Wei residence’s back door were being loaded onto carts. She didn’t plan to leave the capital for her new post with great fanfare. By rights she should leave tomorrow, when certainly large numbers of people would come to see her off—laborious and attracting attention. Better to quietly leave a day early.

Of course she also had an unspeakable thought—she feared Ning Yi would see her off. Recently Ning Yi had been traveling back and forth between Jianghuai and the Imperial Capital, always busy with dredging matters for the Capital-Huai Canal. The two each had their own busy schedules. The occasions they met were mostly in public venues like court. Meeting with a smile and a bow, everything as usual—this kind of normalcy seemed most appropriate in others’ eyes, yet each time seemed like grains of sand grinding against her heart. Now that she had made a certain resolution, such meetings became torture and unease.

Save yourself the heartache—don’t indulge anymore in tender feelings you shouldn’t have. In the misty drizzle of early winter in the eleventh month, she raised her face, only feeling the rain touching her face was so cold.

A black-canopied carriage with blue silk curtains drove up briskly. The curtain lifted, revealing Zong Chen’s smiling face. “We can leave now.”

Feng Zhiwei made a sound of acknowledgment and silently boarded the carriage. All the way out of the capital, they abandoned the carriage at Shenfeng Ferry in the capital suburbs and boarded a boat, traveling downstream along the river toward Jianghuai.

Outside, light rain had begun falling at some point. By the eleventh month, the Imperial Capital already had winter’s chill. Wearing an oilskin coat, she watched the trunks being loaded onto the boat, then suddenly pointed at a small skiff drifting freely not far away. “Actually, riding that kind of boat in the rain has real charm.”

Behind her, Zong Chen laughed. “Alright then, you go negotiate with that boatman about taking that boat. Our big boat will slowly follow along and wait for you. Since you left early anyway, you’re not afraid of missing your appointment time.”

“Is there any need to be so bored?” Feng Zhiwei smiled and boarded the boat. She found the cabin stuffy and stayed at the bow the whole time, watching the river’s horizontal waves stretch vast, sparkling with rippling golden light under the sunset.

After traveling for a while, she noticed that small skiff had been near their large boat the whole time. From its appearance, it seemed to be traveling the same route.

She maintained a measure of vigilance and paid extra attention. That boat looked ordinary, except for a section of red cloth tied to the bow. Looking carefully, it was a hand-woven sweat cloth embroidered with a plump fish in bright red and green—very rustic with a fisherman’s simple flavor. Bulging in the wind, it was very bright and eye-catching.

That boatman wearing a straw rain cape seemed very sensitive. He suddenly leaned back to look at her and picked up a string of willow fish, saying, “Heading down to Jianghuai? These are the locally famous white willow fish—fine meat, delicious flavor. Would the young master like to try?”

Without waiting for her answer, he casually tossed it up. Feng Zhiwei caught it and thanked him. Zong Chen habitually went to test it with a silver needle, but Feng Zhiwei quickly blocked him. That boatman seemed very casual, splashing his bare feet in the river water, stirring up clusters of waves. Seeming in good spirits, he opened his mouth to sing. Feng Zhiwei thought this person would surely sing something like “The waters of the Canglang are clear, they can wash my feet,” but unexpectedly when he opened his mouth he sang, “Crossing the great river, turning white waves, from the waves emerges a flower maiden…”

Feng Zhiwei burst out laughing with a “poof,” finding this person innocent and simple, unrestrained and carefree—very interesting. All along her journey she’d mingled in official circles, speaking carefully and acting prudently with deep cunning. Deep in her heart, she held a certain yearning for those who were bold and unrestrained. Smiling, she leaned against the bow to listen to him sing.

That person sang energetically, his body swaying back and forth. Suddenly a strong wind arose on the river surface. The large boat swayed slightly, causing agitation on the water surface. That small boat was extremely close to the large boat at this time. When waves arose on the water surface, the small boat immediately became unstable. And that fellow singing so energetically happened to lean backward with a slightly larger amplitude. With only an “Aiya!” sound, the person at the bow suddenly disappeared from view.

Feng Zhiwei blinked before reacting—this fellow had gotten carried away and sung himself into the water.

She couldn’t help but laugh again, but wasn’t worried. There was no reason for a boatman to fall in and drown. She gazed at the water surface but couldn’t find any sign of him. After waiting a while longer, still no one floated up.

Now she was a bit bewildered. What was going on? Did this person get a cramp when entering the water?

Zong Chen had also been watching from the bow the whole time. Originally calm and unhurried like Feng Zhiwei, now he too was somewhat stunned. Then he waved his hand and immediately subordinates skilled in swimming leaped into the water. After a while they all swam up, reporting they couldn’t find anyone anywhere.

Feng Zhiwei made a sound of surprise. “Could he really have gotten a cramp? It does happen that those who play with water die in water. Ultimately, this person falling in was still caused by us. Let me go down and take a look.”

“Don’t go.” Zong Chen stopped her. “Be careful of a trap.”

The two waited at the bow for another stretch. Those searching underwater still couldn’t find the boatman. Now Feng Zhiwei was getting anxious too. Suddenly she heard shouting. Turning her head, she saw far away on shore what seemed to be a woman holding a child’s hand, waving at that boat, seeming to call for the boat to come back quickly. Through the misty drizzle, the woman’s features couldn’t be seen clearly nor her voice heard. Only a red kerchief on her head was conspicuous, looking very similar to the one tied at the boat’s bow.

“Oh no.” Feng Zhiwei said. “That must be his wife, right? We can’t let anything really happen.”

Zong Chen looked at her, then smiled bitterly after a long while. “I can’t swim… but I can accompany you down to the boat to look.”

He wasn’t worried about Feng Zhiwei’s safety. At this time subordinates were still in the surrounding waters, many guards at the bow. That boatman very obviously didn’t know martial arts. That small boat’s structure was simple and couldn’t have any mechanisms. With Feng Zhiwei’s martial arts and cautiousness, she absolutely couldn’t be taken advantage of under these circumstances.

Feng Zhiwei smiled. “Only today did I learn you can’t swim. You don’t need to go down. Help me watch from the bow. I’ll go down and take a look.” As she spoke, her body surged forward, gliding down from the boat like a white bird, crossing the horizontal waves, landing at that boat’s bow.

She had just steadied herself at the bow, bending down to look at the water surface below the boat, considering whether to go underwater.

From the originally empty cabin, a hand suddenly reached out and pulled her into the cabin!