In the blink of an eye, seven or eight days had passed since that harrowing night.

Along the way, assassins had come in wave after wave, yet Xiao Nanhui always had the vague sense that someone was quietly clearing the path ahead of them — for the closer they drew to Quecheng, the fewer attackers appeared.

After entering Chizhou territory, the weather grew hotter with each passing day. Dense shade canopied both sides of the road, and the air already carried the full flavor of summer.

Xiao Nanhui was not, in truth, accustomed to riding in a carriage — especially over long stretches, which left her with all manner of aches in her back and waist. She pleaded with Bolao to swap Jixiang over so she could ride for a while. But Bolao, cunning as ever, had no intention of sharing a carriage with that “revered figure,” and refused her without a moment’s hesitation or a trace of mercy.

So Xiao Nanhui had no choice but to endure it. And as she endured, they drew ever closer to the border of Quecheng.

It was considerably faster than she had anticipated. She recalled that on the outward journey, both she and Bolao had ridden hard on horseback — without ambushes or pursuers, and yet they had not seemed to move much faster than this carriage.

Having grown up practically living in stables, Xiao Nanhui could tell that the two horses pulling the carriage were no ordinary animals. Unassuming in appearance, they were nonetheless matchless in pace, endurance, speed, and even their instinct for the road — qualities no common horse could approach. Using them to pull a carriage felt very nearly like a waste.

Yet Xiao Nanhui had never seen horses quite like these and suspected they had not been bred in Chizhou.

She had sneaked over on more than one occasion to feel their ears and haunches, and had even slyly lifted their hooves to examine the shoes — but found not a single marking. In principle, it was not unusual for nobles and officials of the imperial capital to own a few fine horses. But the finest horses, as a rule, were always found in the hands of those who fought wars.

When had the Chancellor’s residence become so particular about horses? Xiao Nanhui found it puzzling.

From beyond the carriage window came the faint sound of flowing water — nothing like the deafening roar of the Hunhe, but rather a gentle, clear babble, bright as the chime of small bells.

Xiao Nanhui stepped out of the carriage, knowing at once that Quecheng was not far.

This little stream flowed down from Xiaoxi Mountain. In summer, many of the city’s residents — young and old, men and women — would come to its banks to escape the heat and cast their fishing lines.

At last they had escaped the treacherous storms of Huozhou, and now, before the familiar scenery, a wordless lightness rose in Xiao Nanhui’s chest. Once they had filled their water skins here, they could make straight for Quecheng in one stretch — if all went smoothly, they might even make it back before the city gates closed for the night.

With that thought, her very footsteps felt lighter. Seeing Ding Weixiang unloading the empty water skins nearby, she stepped forward to help, but he passed right by her as though she were invisible and walked away on his own.

Bolao, who had been scratching Jixiang behind the ears, caught the scene and snorted: “What a petty man — holding a grudge like that. In that respect, he and that old Master Xie are quite a pair.”

In truth, Xiao Nanhui had noticed since they set out from Mu Er He that Ding Weixiang seemed to harbor some resentment toward her. But since he consistently wore the expression of a man impartially discharging his duties, she had not bothered to ask. Now, however, she could no longer leave it alone.

She fell into step behind him, clinging to his trail like a persistent ghost.

“Why the cold shoulder, Brother Ding? I don’t believe I’ve ever offended you.”

Ding Weixiang kept walking, his face as expressionless as ever — a perfect imitation of his master’s deadpan manner, down to the last detail.

“Have I? Young Master Yao must be mistaken.”

Mistaken? Your face is plainly showing displeasure!

Xiao Nanhui drew a slow breath. “From Mu Er He onward, you’ve been glaring at me the whole way. Now that we’re nearly there, if you’re any kind of man, then tell me plainly — let me at least die knowing why.”

Ding Weixiang had not, after all, achieved his master’s technique of the expressionless face. He stopped abruptly, tossed the water skin down by the stream’s edge, and looked at her with a grave expression. “Back at the Xiong family’s estate, our master had already anticipated that the imperial seal might be a forgery — and yet he still chose to save your life. You should be carrying gratitude in your heart for that.”

Xiao Nanhui blinked, and her mind worked for a moment before placing how long ago that had been.

What? That was the reason? But what was there to be angry about? Wait — he said Zhongli Jing had known all along the seal was a fake?

“How did he know it was a fake?”

Ding Weixiang faltered, then said vaguely, “Our master simply knew. Don’t change the subject. In any case, you ought to remember this debt of your life.”

Xiao Nanhui found this rather absurd. “By that logic, the night I crossed Dusuo Bridge, I risked my own life to save his — so he ought to remember my kindness as well.”

Ding Weixiang’s face flushed red with suppressed frustration. This was the second time Xiao Nanhui had seen that color on him — it seemed that whenever his master was brought up, the usually composed swordsman lost some measure of his self-control.

Ding Weixiang appeared to have half a sentence still lodged in his throat, but after a long silence he forced out only two words: “Never mind.”

He turned away and crouched by the water to fill the skins, evidently done with the conversation entirely.

Xiao Nanhui was left standing there, thoroughly bewildered.

Had she spent so long in the military camp that she had truly lost the ability to understand ordinary human feelings?

She kicked a smooth stone by the riverbank; it skipped several times across the surface before sinking with a quiet plunk.

Not far away, Jixiang was pawing at a tree root. Xiao Nanhui walked over and plucked a few mushrooms that had sprouted from the root, tossing them to the horse. Jixiang swished its hindquarters and went to lick at the tender caps. It was then that Xiao Nanhui noticed a few clumps of bramble had grown beside the tree, their berries now at the peak of ripeness.

She picked one and tasted it. To someone who had gone days without fresh fruit or vegetables, the flavor was genuinely wonderful. So she gathered up the hem of her robe and picked several more.

Bolao came sauntering back from wherever she had been roaming and spotted this immediately. True to form, she swooped in to snatch the haul. Xiao Nanhui, clearly no stranger to such ambushes, reacted instantly and leapt several paces back.

“Pick your own if you want some.”

Bolao glanced at the thicket, then rubbed her own hands — plainly not eager to brave the thorns — and launched into a different argument altogether: “Look at you, making such a fuss over a handful of berries. Those are dead-ripe fruit. They won’t keep half a day once they’re picked. They’ll rot either way.”

Xiao Nanhui turned away and ignored her entirely, thinking: Better they rot on the ground than rot in your stomach.

And in that moment, her gaze happened to fall on the carriage not far away.

It sat perfectly still. Except for when a passing breeze lifted one corner of the curtain at the window, there was no movement at all. Who would ever guess that someone was sitting inside?

This person did not seem fond of stepping out to stretch his legs. Over the entire journey, save for when absolutely necessary, the number of times he had left the carriage could probably be counted on two hands.

Xiao Nanhui had long found it baffling — how could anyone endure sitting in that cramped, confined space for so long?

She had not intended to concern herself with him. But somehow she found herself recalling the sight of him ill, and a reluctant unease rose in her. She wondered whether he had fully recovered — after all, he had caught that cold because of her.

She looked down at the fruit gathered in her robe, then walked quickly to the carriage and raised her hand to knock on the window.

A moment later, the indigo curtain was lifted aside, revealing half a face that still held a trace of pallor. He looked at Xiao Nanhui but said nothing, simply watching her quietly.

She hesitated a moment, then chose from the fruits in her robe the one that looked the most plump and vivid, and held it out to him.

Zhongli Jing’s dark pupils fixed on the fruit for a long moment before he spoke, slowly and unhurried.

“What is this?”

Xiao Nanhui raised the fruit a little higher.

“Rubus — a wild berry from the hills. They’re ripe just now. Give it a try.”

The man did not move. He only examined the small red fruit from above and below, as though weighing whether it was truly safe to eat. For an instant, Xiao Nanhui almost thought time had stopped.

She thought: Fine, this man has been pampered his whole life. Of course he wouldn’t eat some strange wild thing from the mountains. She had only come to do this because Bolao had flustered her into a moment of impulse.

Just as she was about to withdraw her impulsive little offering, Zhongli Jing finally moved. His face drew slowly forward, and the dappled gold of sunlight filtering through the leaves fell across it, flickering with the breeze.

Xiao Nanhui froze.

He did not take it with his hand. Instead, he simply leaned in, and his lips closed around the berry, lifting it directly from her fingertips.

His movement was so unhurried and precise that her fingers did not brush against his teeth or his lips — only a warm breath grazed past. Even so, something about it felt strange, and she drew her hand back instinctively.

In truth, it was over in an instant. Zhongli Jing’s face had already retreated back into the shadow behind the window. He seemed to be tasting the berry slowly, and a faint blush of red juice rested at the corner of his lips, lending a touch of warmth to that otherwise expressionless face.

Xiao Nanhui blinked, wanting to break the peculiar atmosphere. “Well? Not bad, is it?”

A pause. Then three words, slow and quiet: “A little sour.”

“Sour? That can’t be right — I know how to pick fruit.” Unwilling to accept this, she pulled a few more from her robe, tasted one herself to confirm, and held out the rest to Zhongli Jing. “Try these.”

This time, the man fell more silent than before. His gaze shifted from the fruit to Xiao Nanhui’s face, and his expression became somewhat odd.

It was not the first time she had looked into those eyes of his, yet every time she found them unreadable. She sometimes thought: perhaps those beautiful eyes had never held any emotion at all.

But this time, she distinctly caught something there.

It flickered past too quickly, and she could not be sure whether she had seen it in time to name it.

“Hey — what are you doing?”

Ding Weixiang’s voice rang out suddenly from behind her. Xiao Nanhui startled. Imagining how he might react if he knew she had been feeding his master strange unknown things from the wilderness, her first instinct was to pull her hand back and erase all evidence.

But the man in the carriage was faster. He had already gathered all the remaining berries into his hand, and then, with complete composure, offered a perfectly unreadable smile.

“Young Master Yao mentioned the carriage was stuffy and asked me to open the curtain for some fresh air.”

Xiao Nanhui nodded along obligingly. Ding Weixiang looked between them with some skepticism, glanced around and finding nothing out of place, handed the freshly filled water skin to Zhongli Jing.

Seizing the moment, Xiao Nanhui quickly found a pretext to slip away.

“Shouldn’t we be on the road? I’ll go get Bolao.”

She had already walked quite a distance, yet Ding Weixiang’s gaze clung to her back like a leech. After turning the matter over in his mind, he felt compelled to confirm once more: “Master, were you truly all right just now?”

Zhongli Jing did not even lift his eyelids. “What could possibly be the matter?”

Ding Weixiang thought back to what Xiao Nanhui had said at the riverside, and could not help but voice a reminder: “Miss Xiao is unaware of your identity, my lord. Some things still call for a measure of restraint.”

Zhongli Jing said nothing for a moment. He raised the water skin and took a small sip — the river water was clean and cool, rinsing away the lingering taste of the rubus on his tongue.

The berry had not been sour at all. Yet in that moment, for some reason, a fleeting mischief had stirred in him — a desire to see her reaction.

He was rarely curious about people. Was this, he wondered, a good thing or a bad thing?

“That recklessness of hers is both her foolish flaw and what makes her interesting.” Zhongli Jing rested his temple against his hand, and at the corners of his brow there lingered a smile with a touch of something almost boyish.

Ding Weixiang saw it, and was struck still for a moment.

He had followed this man for more than ten years. It had been a very long time since he had seen that expression on his face.

Zhongli Jing seemed to notice. He looked up and glanced at him. “What is it? Why are you staring?”

Ding Weixiang shook his head. “Nothing. I only thought — my lord seems to carry more feeling than before.”

The faint smile that had still clung to the corner of Zhongli Jing’s mouth vanished in an instant, replaced by a cold that chilled the blood.

“Perhaps I ought not to have saved her.” Zhongli Jing’s gaze settled on the young woman in the distance, laughing and sparring with Bolao, and he spoke each word with deliberate clarity: “One who unsettles my mind — ought to be killed.”

Ding Weixiang’s heart seized. He had nearly forgotten how unpredictable and changeable the man before him was — and he could never discern how much of what this man said was true and how much was merely words.

A warm wind passed across the cold sweat at his temple. Then, gradually, the man’s voice returned to its usual calm.

“Never mind. It hasn’t come to that yet. Consider it a favor owed to Xiao Zhun. The Qinghuai Marquis Mansion has always been a lonely place — I would not have it invite people’s pity.”

The several rubus berries were still cradled in his palm. The fine fuzz of fresh-picked fruit tickled against his skin.

A little itch.