Xie Queshan let the blood that had splattered on his face trickle from his forehead into his eyes, then flow down along his eye sockets.

He was like a pitiless asura, merely glancing at the carnage on the ground. His gaze swept in a circle before finally settling on Nanyi.

Nanyi covered her mouth in shock as she watched this scene, two streams of tears flowing down her face without her even noticing.

Whether from fear, shock, or regret—she couldn’t tell.

Gusha nervously gripped the blade in his hand. He sensed something strange about Xie Queshan’s emotions at this moment and worried he might suddenly do something extreme.

“Throw the corpse to the mass grave. Take the rest back for interrogation.”

However, Xie Queshan remained very calm, seemingly unmoved.

Gusha wanted to say something more, but Xie Queshan’s words brooked no doubt and allowed no rebuttal.

Though he had real military command authority, in terms of official rank he was Xie Queshan’s subordinate. Having just killed Pang Yu, an important figure close to Prince Ling’an, could be considered a great achievement, so he said no more and left with his men.

The Qi soldiers dragged away the corpses, and Gusha also departed with the inn workers. Only Xie Queshan’s trusted aide He Ping and a few Qi guards remained at the scene.

Xie Queshan just sat on that section of dead wood, seemingly staring at the bloodstains on the ground in a daze, lost in thought.

The surroundings suddenly fell quiet again, as if only the sound of falling snow remained. After a while, Xie Queshan looked up and beckoned to Nanyi.

Nanyi tried hard to control her fear of Xie Queshan as she slowly moved before him.

“What did Pang Yu tell you?”

“After he saw the silk cloth, he said he wanted to take me somewhere. When I didn’t trust him, he said he served in the Palace Front Division and was escorting Prince Ling’an to Yingtian Prefecture. But he didn’t tell me where Prince Ling’an was, nor what was written on the silk cloth. He only said knowing too much would lead to a quick death.”

“He wanted to keep you out of it from the beginning—he was protecting you. Do you regret betraying him?”

“I only regret stealing your pouch. People in this world each live for their own survival—I owe him nothing.”

Xie Queshan’s expression was cold, but a trace of a smile played at the corner of his mouth: “You’ve seen the silk letter. I cannot let you live.”

Nanyi frantically fell to her knees: “Sir, I’m illiterate! I did see the silk letter, but I don’t know what was written on it.”

Xie Queshan didn’t answer. Nanyi crawled forward a few more steps on her knees, grasping the hem of Xie Queshan’s robe, tears streaming down her face as she begged pitifully.

“Please spare my life, sir! I’m willing to serve you like an ox or horse, as slave or servant.”

“Willing to be my slave?” Xie Queshan gripped her chin, forcing her to look directly at him. His smile disappeared, leaving no expression at all. “You already know what kind of person I am. Do you have no backbone?”

“How much does backbone weigh? It can’t compare to a human life.”

Nanyi’s eyes filled with tears as she was forced to meet his profound gaze. At this moment she was terrified, answering purely on instinct.

Xie Queshan couldn’t suppress the disgust in his eyes—such a detestable answer.

A spineless woman was like duckweed, only able to tilt her head up and beg desperately like this, placing her life in others’ hands. But what earth-shattering words could you expect from a petty thief?

All her instincts were for staying alive. Concepts like loyalty to family and country, or a gentleman’s integrity—she knew nothing of such things.

Such a person wasn’t even worth killing with a blade, but he needed to confirm one last time.

Xie Queshan released his grip and pushed her away.

“Since you claim to be illiterate, then listen to heaven’s will and choose your own fate.”

Xie Queshan wrote several characters in the snow—死 (death), 薨 (death of nobility), 卒 (death of soldiers), 殁 (demise), 夭 (premature death).

“Choose one from among these characters. If you pick ‘life,’ I’ll let you go.”

“Truly? If I choose correctly, you’ll really let me go?” Hope kindled in Nanyi’s eyes, but the recent incense stick incident made her wary.

“Gusha is a Qi person—Qi people act on whim and don’t value promises. But I’ve read the books of sages since childhood, and some principles are carved into my bones. Most of the time, I keep my word.”

“Most of the time… when is that?”

“When controlling others’ life and death.”

“Then when can you not keep your word?”

“When I cannot control my own life and death.”

What he said made sense, and Nanyi was convinced. At present, she could only let him lead her by the nose. She settled her mind and began seriously selecting from among those characters.

Xie Queshan watched Nanyi’s expression. If she could read, she would know there was no “life” here, only “death”—no matter what she chose, it would be death. Yet her face showed not the slightest hesitation as she earnestly entered this gamble.

“This character is ‘life.'” Nanyi pointed to 薨.

“Are you certain?”

Nanyi nodded with certainty.

“Why?”

“This character is the most complex. I think life should be much harder than death, so it should be this character.”

Life is much harder than death—Xie Queshan’s face paused, slightly lost in thought.

薨 was the death of nobles and princes, a more complex game than the life and death of common people. That’s why each stroke was so difficult to write.

“Did I choose correctly?” Nanyi looked up anxiously at Xie Queshan.

Xie Queshan gazed into those clear eyes. He felt she was just a light leaf in this world—her life and death hadn’t been given much other meaning, not even good or evil.

She just wanted to live so humbly.

In this moment he believed it—she truly knew nothing.

But an evil thought flashed through his mind. He wanted to extinguish this trace of clarity and make this world forever murky. Yet for an instant, he felt that occasionally having such foolish clarity might not be a bad thing.

Xie Queshan picked up the extinguished incense from the ground, relit it with a fire starter, and stuck it in the earth.

“You chose correctly, but not completely correctly, so—”

Light smoke rose up, symbolizing the beginning of some hunting game. Nanyi didn’t know what trick he had up his sleeve, but she knew clearly that her life hung by his whim.

“I’m only giving you one stick of incense worth of time to run. Don’t let me find you, or else—” Xie Queshan stood up, looking down at Nanyi from above, “eternal damnation.”

Nanyi ran forward desperately, the bitter wind rushing into her throat, giving even her breathing a taste of rust. The snow grew heavier, making the mountain path increasingly difficult.

Her conversation with Pang Yu still rang deafeningly in her mind.

“What if the Qi soldiers find us? This silk letter definitely won’t be saved.”

“Then you betray me.”

“What?”

“Betray me—that’s your only chance to gain the Qi people’s trust and survive. Even if the worst happens, one of us must live to get the message out. I’m already a dying man, so I die, you live.”

“But even if I live, what can I do?”

“You just need to go to Guoyu Tower in Li Du Mansion and tell the innkeeper word for word: ‘Buy a portion of orange sand dumplings, made in the shape of peach blossoms. Peach blossoms naturally have only five petals, but I want them in six-petal form.'”

Nanyi was somewhat confused: “Then what?”

Pang Yu stopped walking and looked at Nanyi very seriously.

“Then find a place to hide, and never, ever let Xie Queshan find you.”