“Ride!”

“Ride!”

On the narrow, winding mountain path, two horses thundered forward at full speed.

Shen Zhuxi held down her fear and gripped the horse’s flanks with all the strength her legs could muster, her upper body pressed flat against the horse’s neck to reduce the jolting. On the horse riding parallel to hers was Bai Rongling — face pale as paper, frame gaunt and thin.

The golden light of the blazing sun felt like a death warrant pressed against their skin — relentless, as though it would not be satisfied until it had flayed them open. It clung to their flesh, burning through bone and blood, searing the frantic hearts of the two riders.

By now, Fu Xuanmiao must have mustered his troops and ridden out of the encampment.

The warhorses of the Fu family army were nothing like the two ordinary cavalry horses Shen Zhuxi had managed to talk her way into acquiring. At this rate, being caught was only a matter of time.

“We can’t go on like this,” Shen Zhuxi said as the next fork in the road came into view. “We have to split up!”

“Split up?” Bai Rongling looked at her in shock. “How will you manage alone? If they catch up to you, won’t you just be at their mercy?”

“And what good would you being there do?! Do you think you’re any match for the Fu family army? I’d be lucky if you didn’t cause me extra trouble!” The jolting of the horse’s back quickened Shen Zhuxi’s speech, making the exasperation in her voice sound all the more raw. “Splitting up gives us one more chance to survive. Going together is just dying together!”

A flicker of hurt crossed Bai Rongling’s eyes, but he said nothing — only drooped his head and gave a small, compliant nod.

The fork was right before them. Without hesitation, Shen Zhuxi called out: “You take the left — I take the right!”

“Your Highness—” Bai Rongling had barely nodded when something came to him, and he asked urgently, “Where do we meet up?”

“Yangzhou!”

Shen Zhuxi tightened her grip on the reins and straightened up, calling out at the top of her voice:

“We meet at the Bai family home in Yangzhou!”

The wind rushed past her ears. In an instant, the two horses had taken different roads.

Once Shen Zhuxi saw that Bai Rongling had disappeared among the tree shadows, she reached up, pulled off the earring from her left ear, and flung it hard behind her.

The green jade earring traced an arc through the air and fell into the swirling dust, landing with a faint sound on the uneven mountain path.

Shen Zhuxi pressed her legs against the horse’s flanks and urged it on: “Ride!”

She had never had the slightest intention of going back to the Bai family home in Yangzhou.

With a single-minded focus, she rode toward the one destination she had set her heart on.

About the time it takes half an incense stick to burn later, Shen Zhuxi reined the horse to a stop in a stretch of forest and continued on foot — half running, half walking — carefully picking her way around twigs underfoot. She reached the edge of the forest and peered out at the Swallowing Heaven Cave in the near distance, ringed by a heavy guard.

At a rough count, at least forty or fifty fully armed soldiers were stationed outside the Swallowing Heaven Cave. To break through their defenses and enter was nothing short of a fool’s errand.

Shen Zhuxi unpinned the hairpins and ornaments from her hair, shook her bun loose, grabbed two handfuls of earth from the ground and patted them over herself. Then she steeled herself — and came stumbling out of the forest.

“Help!”

The lead soldier recognized Shen Zhuxi and quickly gestured for the men gripping their sword hilts to stand down.

“This subordinate greets Your Highness. What has Your Highness in such a state of panic?”

“A rebel force of over ten thousand — survivors of the fallen court — has launched a surprise attack on the encampment! Fu Xuanmiao is leading the troops to hold them off, but the men in camp are not enough. He sent me to pass word to you: you are to go to Guangzhou at once and bring reinforcements!”

“He sent Your Highness to pass word to us?” The officer was caught off guard, and a thread of suspicion crept into his eyes.

“Not only me! I had an escort of over thirty men to get me out of the encampment safely — but they all gave their lives protecting me on the road. I alone made it here!” Shen Zhuxi said with urgent desperation. “These were Fu Xuanmiao’s words. Do you dare to disobey him?!”

“But…”

Before the officer could finish, Shen Zhuxi thrust out the half-jade she had been clutching tightly in her hand, and called out loudly:

“This is Fu Xuanmiao’s order! Do you intend to defy it?!”

The translucent jade caught the sunlight and blazed with a clear, brilliant light.

The officer looked at the jade — and finally said: “This subordinate will—”

“Stop!”

With the shout came the rapid thunder of hoofbeats. Yan Hui rode into view on horseback, seven or eight light riders following close behind, swinging around the bend in the mountain path and bearing down hard on the Swallowing Heaven Cave.

Both Shen Zhuxi and the officer turned at the same moment. The officer was still processing what he was seeing — but she had already understood.

She spun around, plunged back into the forest she had come from, nearly tripping on her own skirts. She ignored the shouting at her back and scrambled onto her horse in a panic: “Ride!”

She drove her heels into the horse’s flanks with everything she had, nearly unseating herself in the lurch as the horse burst forward.

More and more pursuers appeared through the trees.

Shen Zhuxi paid no attention to their shouts. She kept all her focus on driving the horse with her legs and the reins, pushing the animal beneath her faster, faster, faster still.

The wind cut at her face, the noise drummed against her eardrums, and she did not dare look back.

In her peripheral vision, a flash of pale blue-green — swift as an arrow loosed from a bow — clung close to her from behind. Shen Zhuxi felt that gaze on her back, like a bone-deep affliction that would not leave. It made her skin crawl.

The mountain road twisted and wound, the forest dense on all sides. A company of tall, powerful warhorses thundered along the mountain path in relentless pursuit of a lone brown-yellow horse.

Seeing the dazzling golden light breaking through the gaps in the trees ahead, Fu Xuanmiao straightened in the saddle, unhooked the longbow and arrow from the horse’s flank, and drew the bow slowly — aimed at the fleeing figure ahead.

Yan Hui and the surrounding soldiers watched him in disbelief. The alarm nearly burst from Yan Hui’s lips; he caught himself at the last instant, bit hard into his lower lip, and swallowed the warning back down.

Did the young master need to be reminded?

Fu Xuanmiao’s expression was blank. He rode tall and straight, his long legs pressed firm against the horse’s flanks, his upper body solid as a rock. He steadily drew the longbow, the slender arrow nocked against the string, aimed precisely at the figure ahead.

He needed no reminder.

That figure had long since been carved into his very blood — flowing through every limb and bone with each beat of his heart.

The spark of betrayal ignited his blood in an instant — a wildfire that swept from his chest through his entire body, burning his throat, churning his gut. The pain and fury beyond all endurance stripped every expression from his face. The fire burned through him and pressed on — toward the reason and composure he prided himself on. Maintaining this face that looked like death itself was already consuming every last reserve of his strength.

All he wanted was to drive her into a corner, lock her in a cage, strip away every last shred of her freedom — and look her in the eyes and demand—

Why did she betray him.

Why.

Why — even she — had to betray him.

Everyone had betrayed him, and he had not flinched. Why was it that she — of all people — had to betray him too?

The moment the brown-yellow horse burst out of the forest, Fu Xuanmiao released the bowstring.

The clear, ringing snap of the bowstring, and the arrow shot forward like lightning toward the figure ahead.

The arrowhead found its mark in the horse’s body. The animal let out a cry of pain, its forelegs rearing high — and the figure on its back was thrown clear in the violent lurch.

Shen Zhuxi hit the ground with a heavy impact. Her elbows and knees blazed with searing pain — she could not spare a thought for it. The moment she landed, she scrambled to her feet with hands and feet alike, stumbling forward, running with everything she had.

Ahead was the place where Li Wu had gone over the cliff.

If she did not stop now, what lay waiting for her was being ground to dust.

Yet Shen Zhuxi did not slow at the sight of the cliff now visible ahead of her — she pushed herself harder, charging toward the edge with everything she had left.

“Xi’er!”

Fu Xuanmiao’s voice was frantic and unsteady — a trace of fear had broken through, the fear of having anticipated exactly what she intended to do. That composure of his, which had seemed impervious to all things, shattered entirely in this moment.

She did not look back. She did not slow down.

The golden light blazed overhead — enough to drive out all demons and shadows.

Nothing could stop her feet.

Through all these days, she had never allowed herself to imagine the worst possible fate for Li Wu. Because she had not dared. She had forced herself to think about how to save him — and still she had not been able to stop herself, in the deep of the night, from the most terrible imaginings that rose up vivid and unstoppable. She could not stop herself — every night, from breaking down, from crying into her quilt in muffled silence.

She had thought of every way she could — and still she had not been able to reach Qianren Pit in time to save him.

A month had passed. Could Li Wu truly still be alive?

The scorching sun made the tear tracks on her face burn. Shen Zhuxi’s vision blurred with tears. All the despair and grief she had suppressed and contained for so long broke loose at last in this final moment — completely out of control.

She still wanted to see Li Wu again.

Without Li Wu, she had nowhere she wanted to go.

She had been putting on a brave front — but she was not truly brave. Without something to anchor her, she would lose herself in the dark.

She wanted to see him.

She wanted to see him right now.

Without him, the world seemed to lose all its color.

“Xi’er!”

With a cry that tore from the throat, Shen Zhuxi leapt forward without hesitation.

The sensation of weightlessness lasted only a moment before it stopped.

Shen Zhuxi’s feet hung in midair. A few fragments of rock tumbled down the jagged cliff face and vanished, soundless, into the abyss ten thousand feet below.

A slender, pale hand — as though it could crush her bones — clamped around her wrist with iron force.

Fu Xuanmiao’s knuckles had gone white. Every vein on the back of his hand stood out in sharp relief, straining with effort. His jaw was clenched tight; the muscles of his cheek were hard and tense. Red veins, burst from the shock, were etched into the corners of his sharp, narrow eyes.

“Xi’er—” Fu Xuanmiao stared at her with eyes stretched to their limits, and through his teeth, forced out two words that carried the weight of everything within him.

“Let go…” Shen Zhuxi said.

She bore the pain in her wrist and used her other hand to pry at Fu Xuanmiao’s fingers. But those five fingers were as though cast from iron — immovable.

“Xi’er… don’t do something so foolish… I don’t blame you for running away… Whatever you want, I’ll agree to it — just don’t do anything foolish…”

His words did not stir a single ripple in her heart.

He was not worth her trust.

And she could no longer deceive herself. A month had passed with no word of Li Wu — no news at all. She could not go on telling herself he was still in this world.

She could not deceive herself any longer.

Tears ran down her face in an unbroken stream, soaking through her collar in moments.

Yet Shen Zhuxi’s expression was one of resolute determination.

“Let go of me…”

“Xi’er, Xi’er…”

Shen Zhuxi suddenly released her grip on his hand. The hope that had just flared in Fu Xuanmiao’s eyes was barely born before a sharp golden hairpin drove into the back of his hand.

The sudden, sharp agony made his grip loosen involuntarily. Shen Zhuxi’s body immediately plummeted — but the very next instant, Fu Xuanmiao seized hold of her sleeve.

Bright red blood ran down Shen Zhuxi’s reed-gray sleeve and dripped, drop by drop, onto her face.

She kept her eyes open and, without the slightest hesitation, pulled the hairpin free and drove it in again.

Fu Xuanmiao let out a muffled grunt, and still he would not let go.

“Xi’er…”

Fu Xuanmiao looked at her, his trembling voice carrying a thread of anguish breaking through.

“Xi’er… don’t leave me…”

Shen Zhuxi looked at his pleading eyes and spoke for the first time.

“…You are so pitiable.”

“Even alive, it is worse than death.”

“The world, for you, is just another hell with a temperature.”

“The sins you have committed — I will not forget them. And those who died because of you will not forget them either.”

“I have long been free…” she said. “And you — will go on living inside your cage.”

The third blow — Shen Zhuxi aimed precisely at the soft tendon between his finger joints and drove the pin down with full force.

At the moment the hairpin struck the tendon, Fu Xuanmiao’s five fingers opened by reflex.

Shen Zhuxi’s body fell — straight and swift as a bird struck from the sky.

“Xi’er—”

Fu Xuanmiao’s voice of utter despair receded further and further away.

The deep blue sky filled Shen Zhuxi’s vision.

Not a single cloud — the blazing sun high overhead.

How clean.

The roaring wind seemed to hold her body aloft, carrying her toward somewhere far away.

Shen Zhuxi believed that somewhere there, Li Wu would be waiting.

She would open her eyes, and there before her would certainly be Li Wu’s insufferable, devil-may-care face.

He would see her sobbing and wailing, and lightly tap her on the forehead — then say, in that tone of voice he never noticed was full of indulgence:

“What are you crying about? I’m not dead yet.”

“…Dummy.”