The red sun rose in the east. Mountain birds sang their morning calls. The dawn breeze stirred the dew. Morning blossoms opened their petals. A new day had begun.

She opened her eyes to white as snow — gauze curtains embroidered with a few ink-dark orchids, pure and unadorned.

“You are awake.” A quiet greeting.

She turned her eyes toward the window. Fengxi reclined on the daybed by the sill, sipping fragrant tea, his handsome face carrying a smile, his spirits bright and clear.

She raised her left hand. The terrible purple was gone. The poison had been cleared. She was living again — but what of him?

“Where is Yan Yingzhou?” She had barely opened her mouth before a sharp sting flared across her lips.

“Dead.” The voice was light and without feeling.

She closed her eyes. A thread of pain swept through her heart. He had given his life in exchange for hers after all.

“And the Xuanzun command token?”

“Gone.” After a brief pause, still the same unhurried answer.

So the black-robed figures had taken it. Those were the people of the Duanhun Sect.

“I must say, you actually getting poisoned was entirely beyond what I had anticipated.” The voice carried a thread of gloating mockery — and beneath it, something that might have been veiled relief.

“There was poison on the token. I touched it without being careful enough.” She answered, tired and flat.

“If you had been willing to send me a signal, I might have been able to save Yan Yingzhou.” Fengxi rose and walked to the bedside, bending to assess her color.

“Send you a signal? Ha.” Fengxi opened her eyes and looked at him, a cold smile crossing her face. But the arc of her lips stretched too wide, and a sharp sting shot through her mouth again. Without thinking, she pressed her fingers to her lips — a small wound at the corner of her mouth.

Fengxi followed the motion, and his eyes settled on that small wound. A faint smile rose to his face, yet within it lay a shadow.

“If I had sent you a signal and you had arrived before any of us, the Xuanzun command token would have been yours, would it not? I do truly apologize for causing you to miss such a fine opportunity.” Fengxi looked at him directly, a mocking light in her eyes.

“Woman!” Fengxi’s voice dropped — then, just as suddenly, he gave a light and easy laugh. “At the very least he would not have died. A person like him — you know I would never have moved against him.”

“You may not have killed him, but if the Xuanzun command token were lost, he would have died all the same. A man like him — where his token goes, so goes his life. If the token endures, he endures; if the token falls, he falls.” She looked at the ink-dark orchids embroidered on the curtain above her, and in her unfocused gaze they dissolved into a black silhouette — that resolute and unwavering figure stepping out of the cave without looking back.

“Where his token goes, so goes his life — so in your heart, he was a truly upright hero.” Fengxi sat on the edge of the bed, reading the expression on her face. That serene and handsome smile rose to his features — yet the words that came from his mouth were cold as frost and sharp as a blade. “Though your hero did not amount to much in the end — he could not even deal with ten people from the Duanhun Sect, and went to his death for it.”

As he spoke, his gaze remained fixed on Fengxi, as though searching for something in her face. But Fengxi’s eyes were directed at the curtain above, her expression blank and still.

“Tsk tsk — you do not know this, but your hero was cut a total of thirty-two times. The killing wounds were three strikes to the chest. Though truly, he was remarkable — he did not make a single sound. Even at the very end, he took seven of the Duanhun Sect’s people down with him. Even I found myself rather impressed by his bravery. He was simply just a little short in martial ability.” As he finished, he held up two fingers to illustrate the small gap.

Fengxi’s gaze finally moved from the gauze curtains to his face. Her voice was calm and even. “Black Fox — are you feeling inferior because you lack his courage?”

“Ha ha!” Fengxi burst into laughter, as though he had just heard the funniest thing imaginable. Even laughing, he was elegantly at ease. “Woman, I thought you would want to know how heroically he died.”

Fengxi also gave a quiet smile. “The Fierce Wind General’s bravery is known throughout the world — unlike a certain fox whose reputation for benevolence is nothing but empty pretense.”

“Woman — have you heard this saying: ‘good men live short lives, while disasters last a thousand years’? Your great hero Yan had his short life, while the man you call a fraud in benevolence goes right on living — and will perhaps outlive even you.” Fengxi showed not the slightest concern, his face still full of easy smiles.

“That is because heaven is blind.” Fengxi closed her eyes and chose to ignore him.

Fengxi shrugged off the remark with a smile, then rose to his feet, preparing to leave — and then stopped.

“Woman — do you know what I found when I reached him? He had only one breath left, and could no longer speak. He only looked at me once — and then his eyes fixed on the entrance of the cave… and stayed there… until he breathed his last.”

Fengxi’s voice was very low and very soft, as though something had become mixed into it. Having said the words, he turned and walked to the door. At the threshold he looked back once — and a single clear tear was just sliding down onto the pillow, where it was swallowed instantly and left no trace at all.

“Do you like him?”

The words escaped him before he knew they had. The moment they were out, both of them stilled.

One inwardly mocked himself — why ask that? What concern was it of his?

The other felt her heart give a single startled beat. Was the faint ache behind her breastbone because she liked him? A person she had known for fewer than two days?

Like him? That seemed too strong a word. Not like him? That was not quite accurate either.

If they had not met under these circumstances, Huangguo’s Fierce Wind General and the martial world’s Bai Fengxi would have had very little reason to cross paths. Had their roads converged, they might have passed one another by, or exchanged a brief nod and a smile, and nothing more. Or perhaps, after she saved him that first time, they would simply have gone their separate ways — and as the days stretched on, they would have slowly faded from each other’s memories. Perhaps in some idle moment of looking back, she might have recalled that upright, seven-foot man who had blushed so easily — the Fierce Wind General.

But fate had instead arranged for them to face hardship together, to share the same life and the same death.

Yan Yingzhou — that figure turning his back and stepping out of the cave with such resolution would remain in her heart forever.

No matter how much time passed — he was a person she would never be able to forget for the rest of her life.

—

When the sun stood at midday, Fengxi entered the room again — and found Fengxi already up, reclining at an angle against the daybed by the window, her gaze turned toward the outside, her expression carrying an unusual stillness.

Outside the window, a parasol tree stood, its yellow leaves drifting down one by one. The room was very quiet — quiet enough to hear the faint sound each leaf made as it fell.

“Woman — I heard you have not eaten anything.” Fengxi’s easy voice broke the silence.

“No appetite.” Fengxi still looked at the window, answering in a lazy, detached tone.

“Truly a wonder of the world! You — who have never known a lack of appetite for food — have no appetite? Am I hearing correctly?” Fengxi looked entirely unable to believe what he had heard.

“You served me nothing but plain white congee!” At those words, Fengxi turned back and gave him a sharp look.

Who would want to eat something that bland and flavorless?

“A patient should of course eat lightly.” Fengxi said this as though it went without saying.

“Young Master — the medicine is ready.” Zhong Li came in carrying a bowl of medicine, interrupting them both.

“Give it to me.” Fengxi took the bowl and bent his head to smell it. Another faint smile drifted across his face. “I had originally thought to myself that someone who had been poisoned by wiman grass might simply not be savable — in which case, there would truly be only one Fengxi left in the world.”

“Then why bother saving me. If you had not, I would not blame you; now that you have, I feel no gratitude toward you. Regardless — you Black Fox have never had anything but self-interest at heart.” Fengxi looked at the bowl of medicine, a faint reluctance visible in her eyes.

“If this world were to lose you, Bai Fengxi, it would be far too dull and quiet for me.” Fengxi looked up at her.

“Hmph — if I were dead, the only person in the world who knows your true face would be gone. You would indeed have a great deal more peace.” Fengxi gave a cold snort, then asked: “Is there anything else in this world that can counter wiman grass poison?”

“Aih — it truly pains me to say it!” Fengxi let out a long and extravagant sigh, his expression one of profound reluctance. “I wasted an entire thousand-year Yu Xuelian on you! That flower is a thousand times more precious than a Foxin Pill — and to spend it saving an ungrateful person like you was truly a poor investment.”

“Yu Xuelian?” Fengxi’s eyes lit up at that. “I have heard the snow lotus flower, when used in medicine, is both clear and fragrant?”

“Woman.” Fengxi’s expression carried a trace of something mischievous, as though he had already read her thoughts. “The Yu Xuelian was given to you to take at the time. This medicine now is something else entirely — a formula I compounded myself to clear the last of the poison and restore your constitution.”

“You compounded it?” Fengxi’s eyes narrowed as they settled on the bowl of medicine, regarding it the way one might regard the most frightening thing imaginable.

“I did.” Fengxi, seeming to read the look in her eyes, smiled all the more widely.

“I am not drinking it. I am afraid this medicine might be more poisonous than the wiman grass.” Fengxi was already on full guard.

“Miss Fengxi — our Young Master turned the entirety of Xuan Mountain upside down looking for you.” Zhong Li, seeing Fengxi’s complete lack of appreciation, felt he ought to put in a word for his master. “And when the Yu Xuelian was used to draw out the poison, you kept spitting it out the moment it touched your mouth — the Young Master had to personally—”

“Zhong Li — since when have you become so talkative? Would you like me to trim your tongue for you?” Fengxi cast a sideways glance at Zhong Li, his phoenix eyes carrying a cool warning.

“I will take my leave, Young Master.” Zhong Li fell immediately silent, bowed, and withdrew.

“Woman — come, it is time for your medicine.” Fengxi came closer and settled onto the daybed, spooning up a measure of medicine and holding it to Fengxi’s lips.

Fengxi wrinkled her brow and turned her head away. The medicine was certainly going to be extremely bitter — even the smell alone was enough to make her feel ill.

“I have my own hands — I do not need your false goodwill.”

“Woman, this is genuine concern on my part. You should know — there are very few people in this world who have the privilege of being fed medicine by my own hand.” Fengxi shook his head and sighed, yet the spoon in his hand remained right at Fengxi’s lips, unmoving.

Fengxi was entirely unmoved, twisting her head away with every effort she had, determined to escape. The smell of this medicine was truly beyond bearing — she was already very nearly gagging.

“Do not tell me that the celebrated Bai Fengxi is afraid of a little bitterness.” Fengxi watched her with perfect composure. “The poison in your body has not yet fully cleared — you will need to drink this medicine for three days.”

“Three days?!” Fengxi’s eyes went wide. Three days! Even a single mouthful was going to cost her half her life force.

“Woman, when did you regress to childhood? You are behaving like a three-year-old who is afraid of medicine.”

“Hmph.”

Fengxi gave a cold snort. Then she held her breath, opened her mouth, closed it around the spoon, and swallowed — and immediately her brow furrowed into deep furrows. Then her mouth opened again and she let out a sound, and the medicine she had just swallowed came right back out. Fortunately, Fengxi’s reflexes were quick and he dodged in time, or the full mouthful would certainly have landed on him.

“Take your time spitting it out — I already told Zhong Li to brew an extra pot.” Fengxi said this without batting an eye.

Fengxi’s heart sank by half at the words. She looked up at Fengxi, her eyes shooting a glare of deep resentment — then she reined it in, and adopted an unusually soft and gentle tone. “Black Fox — do you have it in pill form? I cannot keep down liquid medicine — I always vomit it up.”

“No.” Fengxi answered directly, then scooped another spoonful to her lips. “If you vomit up this entire bowl, I will have Zhong Li bring you another. That one will be even more bitter than this one.”

Fengxi’s hand started to move — then she heard Fengxi add, in an unhurried voice: “I forgot to mention — your white ribbon is in my room.”

His words had barely left his mouth before Fengxi’s hand froze. She shot him one fierce glare — then closed her eyes tightly, opened her mouth, swallowed the medicine, pressed her lips firmly shut, forced it down — her hands gripping the fabric of her robe, her face screwed up in an expression of profound suffering.

Fengxi watched all of this with an amused smile. But when his gaze passed over the small wound at the corner of her lips, his expression quieted, and without quite meaning to, his hand pressed the spoon against it.

“Aiyah!” A yelp of pain escaped her. “Black Fox — you are taking advantage of someone’s vulnerable state! You had better hope you never fall into my hands — when you do, I will—mmph—mmph—cough cough—cough—Black Fox, you—”

“Less talking when you are taking medicine.” His tone remained entirely unchanged — and yet anyone could detect in it the faintest edge of satisfaction at a scheme successfully executed.

Outside in the corridor, Zhong Li and Zhong Yuan exchanged a look and shook their heads. They truly could not understand — the Young Master was warm and courteous with absolutely everyone, and yet with Miss Fengxi he was like this. Could it really be, as they had sometimes wondered, because Miss Fengxi’s name came before his?

At last the bowl of medicine was finished, and Fengxi looked like someone who had just narrowly survived a brush with death.

“Tea!” She held her mouth open and breathed heavily, desperately trying to dispel the taste.

“You cannot drink tea after taking medicine — do you not know even that much?” Fengxi set the medicine bowl on the table, then reached to a small dish and selected something from it. “Here are some dried plums. They should help with the bitterness.”

Fengxi took them eagerly from his hand and immediately put one in her mouth. “So sour!” She reflexively reached up and patted both cheeks.

“Black Fox — did you really search the entirety of Xuan Mountain?” With the bitterness partially relieved, Fengxi looked sideways at him. She truly could not picture someone as lazy as herself scouring the whole of Xuan Mountain.

“I have heard there is an old custom in Huangguo.” Fengxi, rather than answering her question, began speaking of something else entirely. “When a man and woman meet in secret in the dark of night, they seal their feelings with a kiss — and if during that kiss one bites and draws blood from the other’s lips, it is a declaration: I will take no other but you; in life and in death, I have no regrets.”

“I will take no other but you — in life and in death, no regrets?” Fengxi pressed her fingers to the corner of her lips. The burning warmth of breath in the darkness. The low, steady words: *In our next life I will come back and find you. Remember me.* Was that what it had meant? A vow pledged to the next life? But does any person have a next life?

Yan Yingzhou… Suddenly the sweet-sour taste of the dried plum in her mouth turned bitter as medicine and difficult to swallow. Something in her chest began to sink — sinking, sinking — all the way to its most hidden corner, where it buried itself deeply. It would never surface again in this lifetime.

“Woman — have you made such a vow with anyone?” Fengxi picked up a dried plum as though to offer it to her, brought it close to her lips — then pressed it against the wound instead.

“Hss—” A flash of pain brought her back to herself. She looked at Fengxi, then turned to the window. “How could I? That is a custom of Huangguo — what has it to do with me?”

“Is that so?” A smile of subtle and layered meaning rose to Fengxi’s face. His gaze rested on her face, as though weighing something.

At those words, Fengxi turned back and looked at him. Her face was composed; her eyes were quiet and settled. “Black Fox — wherever did you hear these idle things? Are you thinking of finding someone to try this Huangguo vow with yourself? With that face of yours, I imagine there would certainly be a few foolish women you could deceive.”

“Ha — I have no need of vows.” Fengxi smiled, looking at her — and in her eyes he found something he had never seen there before. A depth. As though something had sunk far down within her, into a place no one else could ever touch.

—

At the southern foot of Xuan Mountain, a white-clad figure walked up the path. In the dusk light, that silhouette looked somewhat thin and spare.

Fengxi lifted her face and looked at Xuan Mountain, still and beautiful as a painting in the fading light. It had not changed in the slightest — not because a heroic soul had come to rest here forever.

She stepped up the mountain path. She wanted to see that person — even if only a grave.

Suddenly something reached her nostrils. She looked down. The grass had been partially swept, yet a few faint traces of blood remained — left, no doubt, by the fighting among those who had struggled over the token. Then her gaze was drawn to several large stones. Stones like these — large and flat and smooth — were not natural to this place. How had they come to be here? She crouched and looked more closely. There were marks cut into their surfaces — clearly they had been moved here from elsewhere.

She rose and flew onto a high branch, looking down from above. Sure enough, more of the same stones were scattered at intervals nearby — but every one had been moved, and some had been thrown quite deliberately into concealed spots, as though someone had tried to hide them. She followed the direction of the scattered stones with her eyes — and suddenly a thought leapt into her mind, so sharp that her footing weakened and she nearly fell from the branch. She steadied herself and began to count, carefully. One, two, three, four, five… Exactly one hundred and thirty-six stones. No more, no fewer. And so it was — so it had actually been.

The air was still warm — yet she felt a chill settle over her from all directions, a cold that went straight to the bone and stayed there. The branch under her fingers cracked faintly.

She dropped from the tree and continued up the mountain. Her heart had sunk to the very bottom of everything.

—

On the lower slope of the southern peak, a fresh mound of earth had been raised. The grave marker bore three simple characters: Yan Yingzhou.

Fengxi stood before the grave as though turned to stone, without moving.

After a long while, she extended one finger and touched the characters on the marker. A bleakness moved through her heart.

Such a person — gone to sleep here forever. And yet only three days ago, he had been a living, breathing life. Had held her tightly. Had shielded her with his body.

A single tear fell onto the stone marker. She wiped it away quickly with her fingers, then crouched down and pressed her palm gently to the marker.

*Yan Yingzhou — at the very last, whose hand did you fall to? If it was the Duanhun Sect — I will avenge you. If it was him — if it was him—*

The setting sun drew its last gaze back from the earth and gave itself to the deep and boundless embrace of the western sky. The black curtain of night descended slowly, covering heaven and earth, concealing the green mountains and clear waters, the red blossoms and jade grasses of the world.

“Woman — are you going to build a hermitage here and keep watch over the grave?” Fengxi’s graceful voice drifted through the deepening dusk.

Without warning, a white shadow shot out — and in an instant the white ribbon was coiled around his throat.

Fengxi turned. Her hand gripped the ribbon tightly. Her eyes were cold as ice frozen for a thousand years, and from within that cold burned a light that cut to the bone.

Fengxi did not move. He stood with elegant composure, letting the white ribbon tighten around his neck — tighter — tighter—

“Why? Why go this far?” Fengxi’s voice came forced through her teeth, sharp as the edge of a blade.

“You know.” Fengxi’s tone remained unhurried.

“At the four mountain passes — north, south, east, and west — you cleaned up afterward, but the stones and the bloodstains were enough for me to see clearly. A Xiuluo Formation had been laid there. You actually laid a Xiuluo Formation — one that destroys both the living and the dead. That night, every last person on Xuan Mountain — surely not one of them made it down the mountain alive. Every single one of them died within that formation!” The hand gripping the ribbon trembled faintly — whether from fury or from sorrow, she could not have said. “Was it all for the Xuanzun command token? Are you truly this ruthless and without mercy? Are you the same as all those other people — willing to stop at nothing to obtain the Xuanzun command token? Do you also believe that whoever holds the token commands the realm?”

“It is true — whatever I do, I can conceal it from everyone under heaven, but I have never been able to conceal anything from you, Bai Fengxi.” Fengxi sighed. “You are correct. The Xiuluo Formation was laid by me. That night on Xuan Mountain, every last person — except you — surrendered their soul to this mountain.”

He said it lightly, as though the lives of over a thousand people were of no particular consequence.

The moment the words were out, the ribbon at his neck tightened several degrees more.

“The Xuanzun command token ended up in your hands in the end? You did not want anyone to know — so you killed everyone on the mountain?” Fengxi stared at him, and the person before her suddenly felt entirely like a stranger. Was this truly the same Fengxi she had known for years — the one who had put up with her laughing and scolding and teasing? He had never been this ruthless before.

“Yes.” Fengxi answered without hesitation. “Nearly everything that night went exactly as I had arranged. The one thing I had not anticipated was that the Xuanzun command token was a fake.”

“A fake?” The ribbon in Fengxi’s hand eased slightly.

“It seems Yan Yingzhou never told you — the Xuanzun command token in his possession was counterfeit. After they obtained the token, they had the Fierce Wind General carry it openly as a decoy, drawing every person under heaven in pursuit. Meanwhile, the real token was quietly sent away by a separate escort.” Fengxi drew in a quiet breath.

“No wonder when I asked you about the Xuanzun command token, you answered ‘gone.’ So the thing that caused so many lives to be lost was a counterfeit token all along? How absurd.” Fengxi gave a cold and bitter laugh, then turned to look at the grave marker. “And he fought and died to the last to protect a fake token?”

“It is said that all four generals — Wind, Frost, Snow, and Rain — are utterly devoted to the Shizi of Huangguo, willing to walk through fire and flood without hesitation. From what we have seen, that is no exaggeration.” Fengxi also looked at the grave, a flash of genuine admiration crossing his eyes. “To ensure the true token was safely escorted back to Huangguo, Yan Yingzhou carried the counterfeit token and drew every person in the world to pursue him. Even in death he did not reveal the truth. That kind of loyalty is truly rare.”

“Regardless of whether the token was real or false — the fact that so many lives were lost at your hands remains true.” Fengxi looked at Fengxi, something complex stirring in her eyes. “You may enjoy the reputation of a great hero — but I have always known you never do anything that does not serve your own interests. You are practical and self-serving. What I had not anticipated was that you could be this cold-blooded. Those Baiguo soldiers were only following orders. Many of those martial world figures were manipulated by others. They did not deserve to die — and yet you—”

“I have my own reasons for what I do.” Fengxi said only that, his tone quiet, as though he had no intention of explaining further.

“You want the Xuanzun command token to obtain the realm?” Fengxi gave a cold laugh. “A person with hands soaked in the blood of the innocent — how could such a person deserve to hold this magnificent land?”

“Ha ha!” Fengxi burst into laughter, and there was something sardonic in it. “Woman — a person with blood-soaked hands does not deserve the realm? Then tell me: which founding emperor of which dynasty obtained the realm without rivers of blood and mountains of bodies?”

“At the very least they were not foolish enough to believe a small token could give them the realm. They killed on battlefields — they fought for land, for cities — not to slaughter over a thousand innocents for the sake of one token!” Fengxi said, her voice cold and measured.

“Hmph.” Fengxi’s smile carried a thread of cold. “Do not speak so highly of those people. Woman — in all the space beneath heaven, not one person who has become a ruler is the kind of hero you imagine them to be in your heart.”

These words seemed to strike Fengxi somewhere true, as though she understood all too clearly what he meant. Her expression fell into shadow. And then the ribbon, which had gone somewhat slack, snapped tight again. “Was it you who killed him?”

At that, a flash of restrained anger crossed Fengxi’s face — and vanished just as quickly, leaving behind a smooth and unruffled calm. “In all the time we have known each other — have I ever lied to you? Is Fengxi the kind of person who does something and then refuses to own it? And besides, I told you before — a person like him, I do not kill.”

At those words, Fengxi lowered her eyes. Then her hand rose, and the ribbon released back into her sleeve. “If I did not know you as well as I do, I would have killed you just now.”

With that, she turned and walked down the mountain. She had not taken two zhang when she heard a soft metallic sound — the faint ring of a weapon being returned to its sheath. Her footsteps faltered — and then a bitter smile touched her lips, and she drifted away without looking back.

Fengxi stood looking at Yan Yingzhou’s grave marker, and after a moment, a bitter smile rose to his own face as well. “I imagine you are quite satisfied, wherever you are — she was actually going to kill me on your account. Ten years of knowing each other, and I cannot hold a candle to someone she knew for a few days.”

Then he, too, walked down the mountain. In the darkening dusk, only a lone and newly raised grave remained, with the occasional cawing of a crow breaking the quiet. The cold mountain wind of Xuan Mountain swept through, and the few damp traces on the grave marker dried quickly in the air.

The two of them descended one after the other, separated by about five zhang, speaking not a word to each other the whole way. The sky had gone fully dark, yet neither of them used their lightness skill — they simply walked down the mountain, one step at a time, unhurried. Occasionally one or the other would look upward through the dense branches overhead and gaze at the cool and distant stars and moon — as though searching for something up there. Then, finding nothing, they would give a small shake of the head and continue walking.

By the time they reached the foot of the mountain, the night had deepened and all sound had stilled. By the time they made their way back to Ruan City, the street lanterns had grown sparse and every household had fallen into dreaming.

Suddenly, a crimson glow of fire flared in the west. Both of them tensed at the sight and immediately used their lightness skill, flying in that direction. When they arrived, they found the entire Han estate engulfed in a sea of flames.

A number of neighbors who had been startled awake by the fire had gathered before the gates and were throwing water, while someone was shouting: “Fire! The Han estate is on fire!”

From a distance came the sound of more people running toward them, along with cries of alarm and the frightened wailing of children roused from sleep.

“How did the Han estate catch such a fire?”

“Who knows — what is strange is that after all this time, not a single person from the Han household has come running out!”

“That is very odd — could they all have burned alive inside?”

“Aih, how terrible.”

The neighbors kept exchanging these murmured observations — and then a white shadow flashed into the wall of fire. Those fighting the flames barely had a moment to register it before a black shadow plunged in after. Everyone rubbed their eyes and tried to look again, but both figures were already gone. They were left wondering whether they had imagined it — who in their right mind would charge into a fire like that? That was nothing short of walking into death.

—

Inside the estate walls, the gate had been barred from within. As they moved through, they found bodies all along the path — from the clothing, clearly Han household family and servants. Old and young, men and women alike, every one of them had been killed by a single blade through the chest. Some had bled out entirely; some still had warm blood welling from the wound. Some stared wide-eyed, as though they could not rest; some had died with their hands gripping blades, as though they had meant to rise and fight.

Blood stained the doorsteps, the stone ground, the stone stairs. They moved carefully through, but every step still landed in blood.

“Is anyone here? Is there anyone left?”

Fengxi called out at full voice, but no one answered — only the furious coils of thick smoke, and the roaring of the fire.

“Old Han — are you dead or not? If you are alive, make a sound!”

“All dead — not a single living person.” From behind came Fengxi’s quiet voice, and in it was a faint quality of something like a sigh.

She spun around and looked at him. That gaze — cold as ice, sharp as a blade.

“Was it for the formula?” Fengxi’s voice was as sharp and killing as cold frost.

“Not me.” The words came out of Fengxi before he thought them through. And then, in the same moment, a flicker of irritation — why explain? What was there to explain? Hmph.

“You took up residence in the Han estate for the Zifu Powder and Foxin Pill formulas, did you not? Old Han may have treated you like a revered guest, but do not imagine I have not understood your real intentions.” Fengxi’s expression eased somewhat, yet her voice remained sharp. “I know you.”

“I already copied the formula some time ago.” For the first time, Fengxi let the serene and composed smile fall from his face. What replaced it was a frost-like cold stillness.

“Of course.” Fengxi gave a cold smile — then suddenly tilted her head, listening. In the next instant she shot forward. Fengxi followed close behind her.

Through a corridor of flames, the Han estate’s rear garden lay ahead. From somewhere within it came the faint sound of weeping. Both of them followed the sound and flew toward it — and found, crouched beside the decorative rockery, a very small figure.

“Father — Father — please get up. Get up! Wuwuwu… Father, get up — Pu’er will take you out of here!” The small figure was clutching a body on the ground and weeping with desperate urgency.

“Han Pu?” The moment Fengxi saw the small figure, the name came out involuntarily.

The small figure heard someone call his name, turned, and flung himself at her. “You evil woman — were you coming to steal our medicine again?! Go ahead and steal it! Steal it! My father is dead! Go on and steal it! Wuwu… There is nothing left for you to steal!”

He wept and beat at her at the same time, his small face streaked with blood and tears.

“Han Pu!” Fengxi caught him. “What happened here?”

“You evil woman! It is your fault! Why did you put a curse on my father?! Wuwuwu… Father can never hold another birthday banquet now! Evil woman! Terrible woman! I hate you! Give me back my father!” Han Pu struggled desperately, and when he could not break free, he opened his mouth and bit down on Fengxi’s hand.

“Hss—” A yelp of pain escaped her. She was about to pull away when Fengxi raised his hand and sealed Han Pu’s pressure point. Han Pu went limp in Fengxi’s arms.

“We should take him away from here first — otherwise we will be swallowed by the fire ourselves.” Fengxi said.

“Very well.” Fengxi nodded, picked up Han Pu, and as she turned, her eyes fell on Han Xuanling’s body on the ground. She let out a quiet sigh. “Black Fox — take him out.”

With that, she held Han Pu and flew outward, leaving Fengxi staring at the corpse of Han Xuanling on the ground. After a long moment, he heaved a sigh of his own, bent down, and lifted the body. “For the great Hei Fengxi to be reduced to carrying a dead man — woman, I am more certain than ever: the day I met you in this lifetime was the beginning of the greatest misfortune of my life.”

—

On a stretch of desolate hillside to the west of Ruan City, another fresh grave was mounded.

“Father — rest in peace. Pu’er will avenge you!” Kneeling before the grave in a white mourning garment was Han Pu, with Fengxi and Fengxi standing behind him.

“Father — do not worry. Pu’er will look after himself from now on. Wuwu…” The tears he had been holding back spilled over again. His gentle and loving father would never again be able to open his arms to shelter him. In this world, he was the last remaining member of the Han Family.

Fengxi and Fengxi looked at Han Pu with a thread of pity — yet within themselves, they could not summon any deeper sorrow. Ten years of wandering the martial world had long since accustomed them to parting and loss. What remained was the last small wish one could offer the dead: that they might rest easy in the earth.

“How long do you think he is going to cry?” Fengxi’s voice came out light and undisturbed.

“How would I know — I had not expected men to be such great criers.” Fengxi replied in an equally idle tone.

“No, woman, you are wrong — he does not quite count as a man yet. He is still a child, and children crying is only natural.”

Their voices were pitched at just the right level — loud enough for Han Pu to hear.

True enough, hearing the casual chatter from behind him, Han Pu turned and shot them both a glare. His eyes were brimming with tears and his face was streaked with tears and running nose, which rather undermined any menacing effect.

He wiped at his face, gave one final deep bow to the grave, and then stood. He walked to Fengxi and reached into his robe, pulling out a small brocade pouch which he held out to her. “My father told me to give this to you before he hid me away.”

“What is it? Is it some scheme your father dreamed up because he hated me so bitterly — a last revenge plot from beyond the grave?” Fengxi accepted the pouch with great wariness, then opened it with equal caution, her whole manner suggesting she expected something alarming.

She opened the pouch and drew out two pieces of silk, yellowed with age, covered in writing. She looked more closely — and her face filled with astonishment. “These are the formulas for Zifu Powder and Foxin Pill?!”

Fengxi heard this and was equally startled. He leaned in to look, and confirmed that yes — these were the two formulas he had himself secretly copied when he had privately infiltrated the Han estate’s hidden chamber. “Woman — it seems Han Xuanling may have spoken of nothing but hatred for you to your face, yet in his heart he actually thought quite differently of you. His very last act was to leave you a considerable parting gift.”

“I cannot understand it at all. Did Old Han not hate me enough to want to tear my tendons out and cut me to pieces? How did he end up giving me these formulas that he guarded more jealously than his own life?” Fengxi murmured, genuinely shaken.

“Father said: though Hei Fengxi presents the appearance of great benevolence and righteousness, his nature is cunning as a fox and difficult to pin down. If the formulas were given to him, there would be no knowing whether it would be a blessing or a harm. But Bai Fengxi, though unrestrained and wild and difficult to manage, has in all her actions never once betrayed the code of honor and righteousness. Moreover, her martial arts are formidable. Giving the formulas to her means there is no concern of them being seized by villains, and with her nature, she would use them to benefit the world.” Han Pu recited Han Xuanling’s words solemnly, word for word.

Both Fengxi and Fengxi looked at each other for quite some time after hearing this. Then Fengxi asked, slowly and carefully: “Little Pu’er — are you quite certain those were your father’s words?”

“Hmph!” Han Pu gave a cold snort. “If you do not want them, give them back!”

“I want them! Of course I want them!” Fengxi immediately tucked the silk pieces back into the pouch, pressed it to her chest with one hand, and said: “Little Pu’er, thank you!”

“Do not call me Little Pu’er! It is disgusting!” Han Pu glared.

“Is that so — then Pu’er? Younger Brother Pu? Little Brother Pu? Or how about—” Fengxi’s eyes rolled around as she ran through options aloud.

“I have a name and a surname — stop calling me all these nauseating things! We have absolutely no relationship with each other! Woman!” Han Pu bellowed — but the moment the last word was out, he felt his collar tighten and his feet leave the ground. Fengxi’s face, enlarged, was directly in front of him.

“Warning you — Pu’er: ‘woman’ is not a form of address you are entitled to use. From now on, remember to call me Elder Sister or Elder Sister Fengxi. Understood?” Fengxi held Han Pu at eye level and spoke each word with deliberate emphasis.

“Cough cough — you — cough cough — put me down!” Han Pu grabbed at his collar and coughed furiously, his legs kicking frantically in the air.

“Say Elder Sister.” Fengxi remained entirely unmoved, eyes narrowed to slits, shooting thin needles of cold light.

“Elder Sister — Elder Sister Fengxi — Elder Sister—” Under the threat of force, Han Pu bowed his proud little head.

“Much better, Pu’er.” Fengxi patted him on the head, then opened her hand. Han Pu dropped to the ground.

“Woman — Han Xuanling only just finished singing your praises, and here you are bullying his son. If he knew, he would certainly rise from his coffin.” Fengxi shook his head and sighed.

“Hey — Black Fox, let us discuss something.” Fengxi smiled at him in a way that did not reach her eyes.

“Nothing to discuss.” Fengxi refused without ceremony, leaving no room for negotiation. “It has nothing to do with me.”

“How can you say it has nothing to do with you! You also stole the man’s formula — you certainly benefited from the Han Family too, so of course you also bear some responsibility for this three-foot orphan.” Fengxi pressed forward, entirely indifferent to whether he was giving her room or not.

“I obtained that formula through my own abilities — that does not count as benefiting from him. As for you — the formula was given to you personally, a considerable gift. For that kind of generosity, you ought to repay it in abundance.” Fengxi returned an unhurried, detached smile, the very picture of someone who had no stake in the matter.

“Black Fox — it is not like you would be looking after him yourself anyway. Wherever you go, you travel with a whole retinue of attendants — just tell Zhong Li or Zhong Yuan to take care of him. Either one will do.” Fengxi tried her best to persuade him.

“You are a woman. Looking after children is a woman’s work.” Fengxi remained entirely unswayed.

“Who decided women are for looking after children?!” Fengxi erupted.

“Why not let him choose for himself?” Fengxi looked at Han Pu, who was still crouched on the ground rubbing his backside.

“Fine — I am confident he will choose to go with you.” Fengxi agreed immediately, sounding very sure of herself.

“Han Pu — come here.” Fengxi beckoned him forward with a wave of his hand, and when Han Pu stood before them both, Fengxi bent down and asked warmly: “Han Pu — would you rather live with me, or follow that woman over there?”

“Pu’er — are you really willing to follow this Black Fox? You should know — following him means mountain delicacies and sea delights every single day. All along the way there would be beautiful women of every kind throwing themselves at you, not to mention all those delicate little hands making you endless brocade clothes and delicious pastries. Just thinking about it makes my mouth water.” Fengxi painted the picture enticingly.

Han Pu looked at Fengxi. Then he turned and looked at Fengxi. Then he faced Fengxi again, looked at him steadily — and Fengxi felt her heart lift in anticipation. But then Han Pu opened his mouth and said: “I do not want to go with you. I want to go with her.”

Then he walked to Fengxi’s side, looked up at her with the air of someone bestowing a great favor, and said: “You can look after me from now on.”

“What?!” Fengxi’s voice went sharp. She came very close to reaching out to grab Han Pu. “Why do you want to follow me? You know that following me means no good food and no good clothing — and very likely sleeping outdoors every night. Following him, on the other hand—”

“I know.” Before Fengxi could finish, Han Pu nodded with the gravity of someone much older than his years. “I know that following him would mean good food and good clothes. But I am worried that one day I would wake up from sleep and find I had been sold off. Following you means it may be harder, but at least every night I can sleep soundly.”

“Ah?” Fengxi had not expected an answer like this, and for a moment she simply stared.

“Ha ha ha!” A moment later she burst into wild laughter, doubling over so far she had to hold her stomach, the other hand pointing at Fengxi. “Black Fox — who would have thought — who would ever have thought you would see this day! To be outsmarted by a child — ha ha — ha ha — I am going to laugh myself to death!”

And Fengxi, in the moment he heard the words, let an expression of genuine shock appear on his face — before smoothing it back instantly into his characteristic composed and elegant bearing, the signature smile of graceful nobility rising back to his lips. “Woman — it is decided then. This little brat is yours to look after.” The last words, however, came out very low — as though somewhere in him, there was something that rankled. “Who would have thought Han Xuanling would raise such a clever son.”