On the side blocked by the painted boat, Xie Zhu’s family had already climbed down along ropes, transferring to a safe small boat below. Behind them was another faintly visible small boat—that one was prepared for Nanyi.

Song Muchuan had considered everything thoroughly. To help her make a clean break from the Xie family, naturally he couldn’t let her travel with Xie Zhu.

Nanyi climbed out through the window, but she didn’t immediately climb down the rope. Gripping the railing, she barely managed to steady her footing on the boat’s wooden wedge—she suddenly remembered something she had to clarify before leaving.

“Master Song, when we first met and you told me about ‘Yushu,’ which two characters were those?”

He paused, then answered honestly: “Yu meaning ‘to give,’ and shu meaning ‘to forgive.'”

Nanyi had learned these two characters—she knew how to write them and understood their meaning. Only now did she comprehend why Xie Queshan had reacted so violently when he heard that Song had chosen the courtesy name “Yushu” for himself.

At the moment of departure, she still inevitably thought of Xie Queshan. The fear was real, but after such a long time together, he had left vivid and profound marks in her life.

“Master Song, could you… not hate him so much?”

Song Muchuan hadn’t expected Nanyi to say such things to him and was immediately stunned.

“He didn’t want Master Pang to die either. He may be someone who has done bad things, but he’s not a bad person.”

She didn’t hate Xie Queshan that much. It was just that she was too afraid—always living on edge around him. She desperately wanted to go somewhere she could breathe freely. She yearned for the clear streams Song Muchuan spoke of, and also wanted to find her beloved Zhang Yuehui.

Song Muchuan nodded deeply: “Madam, I’ll remember that.”

“Until we meet again.”

Only then did Nanyi climb down the rope with peace of mind, landing steadily on the small boat below.

Standing on the boat’s gunwale, she looked up at that enormous painted boat. Even with the lights dimming, she could still make out his figure.

In the night, she waved vigorously at that figure.

The river current was swift, and the small boat drifted downstream, soon distancing itself from the painted boat.

All this commotion was finally leaving her behind. Nanyi sighed in relief and turned to enter the boat’s cabin, when her entire body suddenly trembled violently.

—In the small boat sat a person, appearing from who knows when.

He sat quietly in the darkness. By the faint light scattered from the distant shore, she saw an unlit octagonal palace lantern placed beside his hand. He seemed to have been soaked in darkness for a long time, like an evil spirit crawling out from hell—no amount of light could reach his side.

Song Muchuan had said that once in Jinling, it would be impossible for him to find you.

But they hadn’t calculated that he would intercept her at the source.

She was like a thief caught red-handed.

River wind swept by, causing her to shiver uncontrollably.

On this small boat, on this river surface swallowed by night, no one knew that the Xie family’s young madam was here, nor would anyone care that a beggar named Nanyi was here.

A dark and windy night perfect for murder.

She was covered in darkness, and within that darkness, countless invisible tentacles called despair grasped at her.

She dared not move, dared not speak, letting the river wind cut across her face while her mind went completely blank. Xie Queshan also remained silent. After a long time, when the small boat had already traveled far from Li Du Mansion, he pulled out a fire starter from his sleeve and lit the flower lantern.

This bit of light filled the entire boat cabin.

This brand-new flower lantern, with its bells, tassels, and even the gauze of the lampshade—all chosen by her. She actually felt guilty.

“I told you not to betray me,” he was utterly calm, with gentle light gathering on his face, his expression even appearing mild. “Nanyi.”

She rarely heard him call her name like this. She knew very clearly that those profound eyes contained crushing fury.

She moved closer, her teeth chattering uncontrollably with trembling. But she understood that the moment requiring complete honesty had finally arrived. Thoughts she had never dared voice before—now she could only lay them bare.

“You also said you would let me go. I don’t want to keep playing in this game anymore.”

She knelt down, crouching beside him. She firmly remembered that he didn’t allow her to kneel, but she also knew her place. She was always carefully seeking ways to interact with him.

Always pulling and testing—it was exhausting. She simply wanted to leave.

He raised his hand to grasp her chin, letting the tears that fell from her eyes drip onto his tiger’s mouth. Bit by bit, with extreme patience, he used his fingertips to brush away her tears.

“But you don’t trust me, and instead sought Song Muchuan’s help… The sky is high and roads are far—there will always be times when Song Muchuan can’t look after you. What’s wrong with staying by my side?” His tone contained no hint of murderous intent, as if he were very seriously and confusedly discussing a perplexing problem with her.

She couldn’t speak, only shaking her head desperately.

“You want to drift in this world again, living day by day without knowing what tomorrow brings. Isn’t what I’ve given you enough?”

“But I’m afraid of you,” her expression showed fear, but her voice didn’t retreat. She boldly spoke all the words in her heart. “I’m just a small person. I don’t want to be drawn into such complex conflicts… I just want to live simply with three meals a day. Why… why can’t you let me go?”

He seemed struck silent, left speechless.

He had never hoped for anyone’s understanding, but in the past days, he had gradually opened his heart to her. He thought there was a tacit understanding between them. Yet she still regarded him as an enemy.

Only at this moment did he realize that he hoped to travel alongside someone—no, alongside her. People always felt disappointment because of hope. If he had never grown close to her from the beginning, he wouldn’t be in pain now.

The pain was so intense he wanted everything to be destroyed. What did the world’s chaos have to do with him?

He even had an impulse to reveal his true identity to her, to make her treat him with the same respect and trust she showed Song Muchuan, to let them fight side by side.

But as soon as this thought emerged, reason instantly returned. They had only known each other for a few months—how could he trust her? He had taught her many things, yet she remained a little deceiver, proving this fact time and again.

His palm slowly moved to her neck, the burning palm pressed against her skin, making her hair stand on end.

A slender neck, fragile yet beautiful.

His impression of her was always influenced by that grimy beggar appearance. He subconsciously tried to ignore her beauty, but as she shed those tattered clothes and received three meals a day, that skeletal frame gradually filled out. Day by day, radiance bloomed on her face. The only thing that remained unchanged was those eyes brimming with watery light.

He finally remembered that when he first saved her, it wasn’t entirely because of her courage, but because of these captivating, beautiful eyes.

So time and again, facing these eyes, he had spared her.

But this unremarkable little beggar he had picked up—her power gradually exceeded his control. Even the proud Song Muchuan could risk everything for her, sending her out of Li Du Mansion.

At this moment, he could no longer ignore her beauty. Everything appeared especially beautiful just before its destruction.

He allowed his loving gaze to fall upon her, feeling regret. If she hadn’t run, they should have been carrying flower lanterns together, weaving through the lively crowds of the Lantern Festival, letting human warmth fill their entire beings.

“Tell me, where is the Yucheng Army hiding?” He suddenly asked a seemingly unrelated question.

He had never believed her explanation from that day. He hadn’t asked then only because it wasn’t time. But now was the moment for forced interrogation.

His palm merely rested lightly on her neck, but Nanyi was terrified. She thought that as long as she was obedient, she could beg for a thread of hope, just like in all those past close calls.

She hesitated briefly, then still said: “In… in the ruined Daoist temple in the valley.”

Xie Queshan wasn’t surprised at all—he laughed.

“You really do know.”

In this instant, Nanyi suddenly regretted it. She realized she shouldn’t have spoken. This was a trap.

In this trap, she had exposed her fatal weakness—to save her life, she would spill any secret.

If she could betray Madam Gantang and the Yucheng Army, then she could betray Xie Queshan.

But this was because, subconsciously, she trusted Xie Queshan. She didn’t believe Xie Queshan would actually betray Second Sister.

However, such a reaction, in Xie Queshan’s eyes, was fatal.

He had so many secrets in her hands. Previously, no one had connected them, so he could accomplish certain things through her. But if these matters were intentionally or unintentionally revealed by her, it would destroy years of his careful planning before the Qi people. He would be utterly ruined.

This boat could drift downstream, escaping all the troubles she spoke of. They could stop being Xie Queshan and Nanyi—it seemed they could achieve eternity.

But it was impossible. They had already been given meaning by this chaotic world. They were already players in the game. The mighty eastward-flowing Yangtze River couldn’t ferry them across—it would only send them to more dangerous circumstances. One wrong move, and everything would be lost.

His ability to penetrate so deeply into Qi positions represented years of arduous climbing and sacrifice by countless people. He wasn’t just himself, but a secret blade the dynasty had thrust deep into enemy territory, bearing the life and death of millions on his shoulders.

On the night before Youdu Mansion fell, he had been prepared to die with the city, defending to the last moment, when he encountered his teacher Shen Zhizhong, who had rushed through wind and snow to the military camp.

His teacher said that the city’s fall was inevitable, the Yun Dynasty was declining, and the emperor was single-mindedly seeking peace, lacking the strength for prolonged war with the Qi people. But peace wouldn’t bring even a few years of tranquility—the Qi people’s ambitions were vast, and someday they would make a comeback. The frontal battlefield couldn’t resist them, but perhaps the hidden battlefield could win a thread of hope.

His teacher asked: Chao’en, are you willing to live?

To die would mean being a loyal general defending the nation, leaving his name in history. But to live meant a future of mountains of knives and seas of fire.

From the moment he chose to live, there was no retreat. He could only move forward—no personal feelings, no wishful thinking, no mercy.

How could someone like him, walking on a cliff’s edge, allow someone who had betrayed him to leave alive?

By the time Nanyi realized what was happening, the strength in Xie Queshan’s hand had suddenly increased dramatically.

Since rotten wood couldn’t be carved, it should be broken.

Air was instantly seized from her throat, and the suffocating sensation made Nanyi’s eyes bulge. She truly and clearly felt his killing intent. This was a feeling she’d never experienced before.

At this moment, finally pushed to the edge of life and death, Nanyi struggled. She frantically grasped at his clothing, whimpering and pleading. Her face flushed red, then turned deathly pale. Her strength was gradually weakening, but he remained unmoved.

Before, he had spoken words about killing her and made ambiguous gestures of wanting to kill her, but none of it was real. This time, however, he was serious. He numbly watched her life ebb away in his hands, applying pressure, but in a daze—whether it was her dying hallucination or not—she seemed to see him shed a tear.

Even he hadn’t expected that this tear was genuinely shed for her.

He remembered not long ago, also in such a small boat, she had shared one of his tears. Her world had few rules, always revealing some unexpectedly wild instincts.

She would be curious about his tears, would see through his disguises, would silently accompany him at appropriate moments. Each of her edges perfectly complemented his torn soul.

The strength in his hand unconsciously relaxed. Two torn versions of himself were fighting—half flesh and blood, half iron-hearted. These two selves had always coexisted peacefully, but now they were fighting to the death over this girl. Yet they were both him, and regardless of who prevailed, he would be the one in pain.

Was there really no other way?

Suddenly, with a click, a mechanism engaged in the darkness. A crossbow bolt shot from her sleeve into his shoulder blade. He reflexively contracted in pain, withdrawing his arm. Nanyi actually broke free and began coughing violently.

Frigid air rushed into her chest—she was alive again. Not daring to relax, she immediately drew a dagger from her sleeve and, without thinking, stabbed toward Xie Queshan. This was her survival instinct—if she didn’t kill in return, she would die.

Her movements were reckless and without technique, yet Xie Queshan seemed frozen. This moment was bizarre—he clearly could have dodged, yet he didn’t, allowing her dagger to penetrate his chest.

These were the blade and arrow he had given her, the skills he had taught her.

The flower lantern on the table was knocked to the ground by their violent movements, flames licking the cloth shade and instantly catching fire.

The firelight illuminated the boat cabin bright as daylight.

She was stunned.

She hadn’t expected to succeed. Looking at her blood-covered hands, she trembled uncontrollably.

This was Xie Queshan—she had actually tried to kill the all-powerful Xie Queshan? How could she possibly succeed?

No, it was because he hadn’t dodged… One of them had definitely gone mad.

What was he trying to do?

She loosened her grip, tears flowing chaotically, wanting to retreat, but he grasped the back of her neck, preventing her movement. In their close entanglement, if she pushed that dagger just one more inch inward, he would surely die. But she didn’t dare—she had exhausted all her strength and courage.

Blood gushed from the wound. Though he was clearly at a disadvantage, even leaving himself completely exposed to her, he showed no trace of fear.

Panting, with bloody heat spraying onto her face, he said: “Nanyi, very good.”

Before she could react, Nanyi only felt a sharp pain at the back of her neck, followed by darkness before her eyes as she lost consciousness, softly collapsing backward.

He casually threw away the silver needle from his fingertip that had knocked her unconscious. Having exhausted his last bit of strength, he slumped down, covering his chest wound, his face finally showing real pain.

The boat cabin also caught fire, like a ball of flame wrapped on the river. In the firelight, Xie Queshan gazed at this wreckage and the unconscious Nanyi. They seemed destined to move together toward destruction on this river under the solitary hanging moon.