Xin Ziyan’s anguished howl in the prison shook the entire office, rebounding off iron walls and shooting out like blood-stained steel blades. In that storm of piercing blades, Feng Zhiwei closed her eyes. For an instant, a gleam of light flashed at her eye corners.

Grievance begets grievance, hatred breeds hatred…

Fat Ahua’s corpse lay sprawled before her eyes. Five years ago, her husband had made a decision with far-reaching impact on Feng Zhiwei. Five years later, as if in fate’s cycle, the deep black shadow of death carried by that decision now fell upon her.

I did not kill Boren, yet Boren died because of me.

Feng Zhiwei’s fingers twisted tightly together in the darkness, ice-cold to the point of having no warmth… Throughout her life, she had killed countless people yet never felt guilty. However, at this moment, she ultimately could not open her eyes to face such absolute innocence.

“Thud.” A sound—Xin Ziyan, overcome by extreme pain attacking his heart, fainted.

The seven golden flowers, sheltered for many years under their sister and brother-in-law’s care without concerning themselves with worldly matters, suddenly matured considerably in the face of this great change. Seeing Xin Ziyan collapse, they didn’t foolishly wail. First Flower immediately knelt before that leader, sobbing, “…Please, Sir, take care of our brother-in-law. We must return… to lay our sister to rest…”

That leader helped her up, glanced at Feng Zhiwei, and nodded silently. The golden flowers silently lifted Fat Ahua’s corpse. They didn’t head directly for the exit but circled around to Feng Zhiwei’s cell.

They said nothing. Tearful yet calm, carrying their sister’s corpse, they walked past the cell door one by one.

“Ptui!” First Flower suddenly turned her head and viciously spat on the corner of Feng Zhiwei’s robe.

“Ptui!” Second Flower followed, thick phlegm landing on Feng Zhiwei’s sleeve.

“Ptui!” Third Flower had great force—she spat right before Feng Zhiwei’s face.

By the time all seven flowers had passed, Feng Zhiwei was thoroughly disheveled.

She never moved throughout.

When things happened, they must be faced. She never feared bearing any blame for consequences she had caused.

Including these country women who had painfully lost their eldest sister, expressing their hatred and disgust in their most direct way.

The chaotic footsteps faded into the distance. The Golden Feather Guards silently cleaned the blood on the floor. Though the ground was washed clean, the faint scent of blood still lingered at the nose. More so were the eternally torn wounds in their hearts—unable to heal, waiting only to expand again, straight unto death.

Xin Ziyan remained unconscious, seemingly unwilling to wake and face such a nightmare. The Golden Feather Guards exchanged glances but didn’t attempt to revive him. Instead, they left many people on guard inside and out.

After today’s events, the two Grand Scholars had become mortal enemies. They feared what might happen next and didn’t dare be careless again.

The prison that had been desolate just moments ago now stood full of guards like nails—silent as statues in the darkness. In that multitude of breathing sounds, Feng Zhiwei slowly opened her eyes.

At the small window diagonally across from her cell, at an angle imperceptible to others, a light suddenly flashed.

It was a signal from her guards lurking in the darkness, awaiting her next instruction.

Feng Zhiwei remained silent for a long time, slowly wiping clean the spit marks on her body and face. Finally, she slowly raised her palm upright.

Her palm’s shadow, illuminated by oil lamps, cast on the wall—a straight vertical symbol, a code between her and her secret guards.

“Stop.”

Then she slowly lay down. The spot of light at the small window disappeared. The secret guards had withdrawn.

But she didn’t know.

There was someone freely traversing through the dark, heavily guarded office. At several inconspicuous corners, he paused, seeming to have discovered something. Then he walked outward all the way until reaching the sparse grove not far from the office. He stooped with hands behind his back examining the ground, then leaped into the treetops, looked around at the directions, traveled through the treetops for a while, and stopped at a certain tree.

In the tree’s branches, he searched and found some fine cloth threads. On the tree trunk, he examined and saw some familiar marks.

Then standing atop the treetop, he turned around, drew a small mirror from his breast, pointed it in a certain direction, and slowly made a gesture.

Through clever repeated reflections, light shot out.

In the distant dark prison, the small window diagonally across from Feng Zhiwei flashed with light.

Exactly the same signal her secret guards had given her earlier.

Only Feng Zhiwei, believing her secret guards had already withdrawn, didn’t look up at the small window again. She closed her eyes—whether deep in thought or fast asleep was unclear.

In the distance, that person nodded with satisfaction.

He raised his face. White moonlight illuminated half his face—features not remarkable, but when his gaze occasionally swept past, like wind crossing a rice field with a flash of green light, his sharpness was formidable, yet instantly concealed.

Commander of the Golden Feather Guard.

The “River Region Book Case” of the eighteenth year of Changxi that shocked the realm and implicated two Grand Scholars—due to an unexpected death, its final outcome was dramatic.

When Grand Scholar Xin’s wife learned her husband had been arrested and mistakenly broke into the office prison where she died, this news reached the Emperor of Tiansheng’s ears. The old Emperor was also stunned for a long moment.

Ning Yi and others took the opportunity to speak at length before the throne about the deep righteous affection between the Xin couple, their words sighing with emotion. The Xin couple had always been the Imperial Capital’s most peculiar and controversial pair. The Emperor of Tiansheng had previously heard of this couple’s anecdotes and had even jokingly asked Xin Ziyan whether he wanted help divorcing that Hedong lioness of his household and being granted another fine match. As a result, Xin Ziyan, who had been crying and shouting about divorce, immediately turned pale and repeatedly thanked him and declined. The Emperor of Tiansheng had made this a laughingstock at the time, thoroughly teasing him for a while.

Though teasing, everyone’s hearts still held some admiration. Success and fame easily changed hearts—how many men could manage not abandoning their wife from humble origins? Especially such an ill-matched couple.

The old Emperor stroked his knees in silence for a long while, finally sighing, “Since ancient times, husband and wife harmonizing like zither and lute comes easily, but following each other in life and death is difficult. Ziyan is unfortunate yet also greatly fortunate. Such marital righteousness and affection—we cannot match it.”

For the Emperor to evaluate thus was rare indeed. Everyone sighed with tears, the atmosphere sorrowful.

It was said that at that time, Prince Chu had one phrase—”Master Xin could remain devoted to the wife from humble origins who caused him to lose face everywhere. How much more so toward Your Majesty with whom he shares deep grace?”—that immediately moved the Emperor of Tiansheng.

Then came a gracious edict postponing the “River Region Book Case” for later retrial. Grand Scholar Xin could temporarily return home to handle funeral matters. Of course, the Golden Feather Guard followed throughout. Though saying “postpone for retrial,” the Emperor of Tiansheng’s attitude of raising high and setting down gently had already been revealed. Because when Xin Ziyan’s funeral arrangements were nearly complete, an edict released Feng Zhiwei with “writing was reckless and absurd, but was an unintentional mistake—demoted one rank but retained in position, salary forfeited for one year” as the final disposition of Ning Yi’s accusation that Wei Zhi “harbored treasonous thoughts and yearned for the former dynasty.”

The day Feng Zhiwei left prison happened to coincide with Madam Xin’s burial. Half the city scattered with paper money, wailing mournfully all along the route. Xin Ziyan wore hemp mourning clothes, his expression numb, supported at the front by many people. In just these few short days, he had thinned considerably, his half-grayed temples shocking to behold. As the funeral procession passed, all common people were moved.

The Xin couple, famous in the Imperial Capital for their comical antics, ultimately left the Imperial Capital with the most sorrowful and moving legend of grace and righteousness.

The funeral procession and the Grand Scholar’s ceremonial escort welcoming Feng Zhiwei from prison met face-to-face on South Market Street.

On a midsummer morning, gloomy with impending rain, the cloud layer pressed very low. Beneath the eaves, black butterflies and pale paper money flew together. The air currents they stirred were suffocating and scorching.

At the end of the long street, hemp clothing like snow. At the street entrance, Feng Zhiwei in black clothing astride a black horse. White and black—equally austere and severe.

Feng Zhiwei on horseback and Xin Ziyan walking at the front of the procession—almost unavoidably, their eyes met first.

In his eyes, she saw endless emptiness and desolation—not that nothing existed, but because it was too full, he had simply thrown it all out, together with his life, waiting for life to exchange.

In her eyes, he saw endless blackness and profundity—having retained too many things, it had become emptiness. That blackness was fearless yet desolate, as if awaiting fate’s final swan song.

They silently gazed at each other from both ends of the long street.

Between them flew paper money like snow.

Feng Zhiwei’s gaze finally slowly fell upon the approaching coffin. Her face pale and calm, she reined in, dismounted, moved to the roadside, and bowed.

Common people on all sides praised Grand Scholar Wei’s bearing with clicking tongues, praising Grand Scholar Wei’s grace and righteousness toward Grand Scholar Xin.

In folk legends, Grand Scholar Wei had voluntarily accompanied his mentor to prison.

Fortunately, the good person was safe.

The golden flowers, hearing such praise, their pale faces turned red, their entire bodies trembling.

But Xin Ziyan remained the same, standing dazed in the August wind.

Then he continued forward with an empty expression.

He accompanied the coffin, under the eyes of ten thousand people, in the tightly held breath of the seven sisters-in-law, under the Golden Feather Guard’s tense, knife-grasping watchful gaze, step by step walking toward Feng Zhiwei.

Walking before Feng Zhiwei.

Feng Zhiwei stood silently.

Xin Ziyan raised his head emptily and blankly.

Then.

Brushing past.

Her shoulder.

The wind on all sides drifted leisurely, stirring black butterflies and white paper money. The Xin family members just walked straight past, brushing her shoulder, as if that bowing figure in the corner never existed.

The greatest hatred isn’t finger-pointing, spittle-flying curses on the street. Hatred that can be cursed out still isn’t deep enough.

The greatest hatred comes from deep within the heart—powerful and vigorous force that can only be expressed through forcefully suppressed silence.

Words can’t kill people, so need not be wasted.

Whatever strength remains is saved for revenge.

Feng Zhiwei stood silently at the street corner. Those people never said another word, yet she seemed to hear those walking figures—even their bones were desperately compressing, emitting cracking sounds ready to shatter.

After the entire procession passed, she straightened, mounted her horse, and rode forward, her expression as serene as before.

They saw their enemy and used all their body’s strength to compress their hatred.

When she had seen her enemy that year, she used all her body’s strength to kneel before him, shed tears, and express thanks.

No one suffered more than another. Only this heavenly cycle never ceased its suffering.

On horseback, she was somewhat lost in thought, not noticing that Zong Chen following behind her, watching the Xin family’s backs, slightly frowned.

Though Feng Zhiwei appeared constantly calm, her spirit was ultimately somewhat distracted. Zong Chen, however, sensed Xin Ziyan’s powerful killing intent toward Feng Zhiwei.

He frowned, thinking that while Feng Zhiwei had repeatedly instructed that all affairs occurring in the Imperial Capital must not reach the grasslands or Xi Liang, some matters couldn’t be left to run their course.

Xue Futu was loyal to his master but didn’t blindly obey. In the iron rules of Xue Futu from Great Cheng’s secret archives, Great Cheng’s founding Emperor and Empress had once decreed: as long as it benefited the master, or in matters Xue Futu deemed threatening to the master’s life, Xue Futu had the right of independent decision.

What she couldn’t do, didn’t want to do—he would do it.

Zong Chen raised his head, considered briefly, and made a gesture. Immediately, several guards with ordinary faces naturally fell back a few steps, then soundlessly disappeared at the street corner.

Ten miles outside the city, Falling Plantain Mountain—scenery beautiful, terrain excellent. Many high officials and nobles in the capital had enclosed land as family burial grounds.

Xin Ziyan purchased a mountain peak and buried Fat Ahua high atop the summit. From that high vantage point, one could see very far. Xin Ziyan felt Ahua would like it there. She loved climbing high, always saying if she climbed high enough, perhaps she could see their old house in the River Region countryside.

Their old house in the River Region countryside had actually long fallen into disrepair. Last year, Xin Ziyan had secretly sent people back to repair the house, planning in a few years, after His Highness ascended the throne, to take Ahua and retire back home, giving her a surprise. He had also found an auspicious burial site behind the mountain, planning for him and Ahua to be buried together there in the future.

That surprise would never come in this life. Nor did he carry her coffin home for burial in the River Region. On one hand, he still wasn’t free. On the other hand, he still had matters to complete in the Imperial Capital. Once completed, perhaps his life would be forfeit too. Then he could have the golden flowers send them back together for joint burial.

He spoke these words flatly to the golden flowers. The sisters-in-law burst into tears. He found their crying annoying and shooed them away.

When the last handful of earth fell atop the grave, he carefully patted it with his hands, then sprawled out before the grave and waved his hand, telling the funeral procession to return.

The Xin household servants dared not disobey their master’s command, especially with Golden Feather Guard soldiers present.

A contingent of guards stood far away, three zhang distant, unwilling to disturb the Grand Scholar. Xin Ziyan leaned against the grave mound, staring blankly for a long while, then drew out a wine flask and raised his head to gulp it down.

His alcohol tolerance wasn’t very good. Combined with his suppressed emotions, half a flask down and he was drunk. His hand lifted—the wine flask spun and fell, dropping into the mid-mountain mist.

The mountain was damp. Wisps of white mist coiled upward. Xin Ziyan foolishly extended his hand and smiled stupidly. “Ahua, you’ve come? Eh, why are you wearing white? I remember you hated white clothing the most.”

He stumbled forward trying to embrace her, embraced empty air, and toppled with a thud against the grave mound. He simply hugged the grave mound and nuzzled it, mumbling, “Don’t hit my face. Tomorrow I won’t look presentable…”

Then with drunken, sleepy eyes, he said, “Your face is so cold… Were you crying?… I told you to give that coarse grain bun to the eldest… Don’t give it to me… I’m not hungry…”

The mist on all sides grew heavier and heavier. The Golden Feather Guards in the distance, seeing his drunken state, felt somewhat uneasy. Afraid he might lose his footing and fall off the cliff, they wanted to approach for a look. Just as they reached the edge of that fog bank, they all soundlessly collapsed.

Xin Ziyan remained completely unaware, hugging that grave mound and murmuring about old matters.

A person suddenly walked out from the white mist.

That person also wore white clothing—tall and refined, a purple jade flute at his waist, its jade-green tassel swaying leisurely in the wind.

He walked over calmly, lowered his head to look at Xin Ziyan, a trace of hesitation also flashing in his eyes. Finally, he sighed slowly.

“I promised him I’d protect with my life, regardless whose life it is.”

Then he reached out his hand.

Xin Ziyan tightly embraced the grave mound, eyes closed, focused on being together with Fat Ahua.

The mist suddenly rippled.

In the dense whiteness, a figure suddenly flashed—a corner of black robe appeared, vaguely with deep red collar flaming bright. Immediately all around, the air cracked with explosive sounds. Mountain wind gathered like a clenched fist, descending upon Zong Chen’s head.

Zong Chen instantly withdrew his hand and retreated. The mist dispersed. A man in black robe with deep red inner garments appeared before him—his face rigid as wood.

It was unmistakably the black-robed man who had constantly accompanied Xin Ziyan, coming and going from Qingming Academy in those years.

Zong Chen paused, his gaze sweeping over the man from head to toe. He frowned, recalling that Feng Zhiwei had mentioned Xin Ziyan’s guard. “Is it you?”

That person didn’t answer. His robes danced with the mountain wind.

Xin Ziyan, awakened by this noise, lazily rolled over. Seeing that man, he squinted for a long time trying to recognize him, then suddenly smiled foolishly. “It’s Old Xu… Didn’t you say you were going to travel the world? You’ve returned from your travels?”

The black-robed person glanced at him and moved to lift him away from the cliff edge. Zong Chen raised his hand, the jade flute crossing horizontally.

The black-robed person looked without looking, his five fingers curling like an eagle’s beak, his backhand striking at the jade flute.

Zong Chen spun the jade flute in his hand. In a flash of light and shadow, it tilted strangely and counter-struck the opponent’s tiger’s mouth.

That person swept his robe sleeve and spun his body. At waist level, a sound of rending air suddenly arose. Leaves all over the ground flew up rustling. A black short blade appeared ghost-like from the fallen leaves, shooting like lightning toward Zong Chen’s eyes.

Zong Chen leaned back and kicked with his toe. In midair, he kicked away that blade. His body had already borrowed that blade’s momentum to spin a circle. That blade shot straight toward the sky but suddenly turned and stabbed toward Zong Chen’s back. This move came so suddenly, yet Zong Chen seemed prepared—very naturally his waist and back tilted forward. With a swoosh, the blade edge grazed past his back and fell into the black-robed person’s hand.

These few moves came fast as lightning. Though the methods were subtle within a square inch of distance, each was dangerous. But looking at them, there was something rather strange. Both people’s movements were too practiced and natural, as if they knew the next move’s path without consideration, as if they had already sparred long ago.

Zong Chen stood still, his expression already changed. Watching the opponent, he slowly exhaled a long breath. “It’s you!”

Clearly the same two words, but the tone when spoken was completely different. The black-robed person coldly glanced at him, still not speaking, and again reached to grab Xin Ziyan.

Zong Chen’s expression shifted, but he immediately blocked again, coldly laughing. “I don’t care about past matters, but this person—you cannot take him!”

The black-robed person snorted coldly, suddenly threw Xin Ziyan aside, raised his hand, and struck at Zong Chen.

Zong Chen’s brow frosted over. Seeming truly angered, he coldly laughed once and met the attack. The two instantly fought together. In the mountain, air currents surged. Human figures flashed like threading flowers. Great masses of white mist were stirred and scattered, constantly gathering then dispersing, dispersing then gathering again. From a distance, it looked like a pot about to boil.

The black-robed person’s palm force was heavy and powerful, his flying blade like lightning. Zong Chen’s form was light and nimble, his jade flute flowing gracefully. In clusters of feather-like mist rolling and tumbling together, white light and purple light interwove like silk, interspersed with Zong Chen’s occasional low questioning shouts.

“When did you switch to using flying blades?”

“Where have you been all these years?”

“That matter back then—what really happened?”

But from beginning to end, the opponent only made moves, never made sounds.

As the fight grew spirited here, suddenly from below the mountain cliff came a long laugh. A person eagerly bounded up, eyes bright as he shouted, “What’s happening? Fighting? Oh my, count me in!” Without waiting for permission, he squeezed in. Regardless of anything else, he first kicked at the black-robed person, then slapped a palm toward Zong Chen.

This person fought with no method whatsoever, yet his strikes were shockingly fast. Guard Ning, who feared nothing more than peace under heaven, had arrived.

Both the black-robed person and Zong Chen knew him. Seeing him gave them both great headaches. With this person stirring things up, nothing could be accomplished. The two exchanged glances, simultaneously withdrew their hands, and retreated three zhang.

Ning Cheng stood alone in the middle, looking left then right, quite aggrieved as he pouted and cursed, “Petty!”

Then he remembered what he’d come to do. While patting dust from his robes, he cursed, “This damn mountain has so many fork paths! I ran to the wrong peak! Oh my, Old Xin, are you alright? I came to fetch you.”

Zong Chen sighed. It seemed Ning Cheng had received Ning Yi’s instructions to come protect Xin Ziyan but carelessly ran to the wrong path. Regardless, with Ning Cheng and that person present, he had no way to deal with Xin Ziyan today.

Glancing at the silent man in black, he prepared to leave without interest. His gaze turned and he suddenly froze.

At the same time, Ning Cheng also shouted out, “Where’s Old Xin?”

The black-robed person whirled around, only now seeing that the place where he’d just thrown Xin Ziyan was already empty.

All three stood frozen in place, staring at each other in the lonely wind atop the cliff.

But Xin Ziyan felt quite comfortable at this moment.

Beneath him was soft warmth. Fragrant wind on all sides. A pair of gentle, delicate hands was using a silk cloth emanating the same fragrance to slowly wipe clean the mud from his face.

Xin Ziyan narrowed his eyes and grabbed that wrist, mumbling, “Ahua, is that you?”

That person laughed softly, the laughter soft and melodious.

Xin Ziyan jerked as if burned, quickly releasing that hand and slapping it away with disgust. “I must be confused. If Ahua were this gentle, who are you?”

He forced his eyes open, discovering this seemed to be a cave. Only somehow his vision seemed problematic—no matter what, he couldn’t see clearly the person before him. He only vaguely sensed a black-clothed woman walking away from him. Though her robes were clearly quite loose, they magically conveyed her nearly bewitching waistline. Walking so gracefully away, her bearing was that of a supreme seductress.

In the past, he would have immediately watched with shining eyes appreciatively. Now he had no interest whatsoever. He only heard that woman walking deeper into the cave while laughing, “Who would have thought this romantic, dissolute Grand Scholar is actually deeply devoted at heart? Alas, today on behalf of all those sisters who looked down on him in the past, I must apologize to him.”

A chorus of laughter echoed in the cave, along with sighing sounds. Someone deep in the cave slowly turned around and waved her hand. Those women immediately stopped laughing and bowed, retreating into the darkness.

Xin Ziyan sat up somewhat bewildered, mumbling, “Have I entered a den of ghosts and foxes…”

“You could say that.” The person in the cave’s depths smiled faintly. Her voice wasn’t crisp—slightly hoarse, each word’s ending slightly imprecise with a faint upward lilt—but this made her even more alluring and seductive. From voice alone, one felt this was a supreme seductress who could turn even her flaws into charm.

But Xin Ziyan only felt this voice was familiar.

“Lord Xin has suffered.” The person in the darkness gazed with focused eyes, her tone gentle.

Xin Ziyan remained silent. After a long moment, he said, “If there’s something, speak.”

“Does Sir not wish revenge?” That woman was also quite direct, smiling. “On the long street today, were not Sir’s five organs crushed? A shameless traitor caused your family to be destroyed, yet still deceives the realm while enjoying the common people’s veneration—how unjust! Social order inverted, right and wrong confused—sorrow and grief exceed this. Because of that traitor, Qingming Academy no longer belongs to you. Because of that traitor, your beloved wife who shared weal and woe died miserably beneath ten thousand arrows. He harmed you, seized your power, toppled your family, killed your wife. You…”

“What concern is it of yours?” Xin Ziyan remained coldly indifferent.

“Such a person who deceives the world and steals fame—anyone may punish him.” The woman smiled slightly. “Sir, don’t you know? You’ve now become the man all women under heaven admire. They admire not your grace or position but your deep righteousness and affection toward your wife from humble origins. All women under heaven hope to have such a husband. All women under heaven respect you, Sir.”

“That still doesn’t include you.” Though drunk, Xin Ziyan’s heart remained clear. He felt inexplicable disgust for this woman’s tone and said flatly, “Revenge—naturally. I’ll do it myself. No need to trouble yourself.”

The woman wasn’t angered. Her beautiful eyes gazed at him as she said leisurely, ‘Sir likely has the will but lacks the power. Will Sir rely on a common man’s courage—wielding a sword to assassinate the traitor in the marketplace? Or in court, again use your three-inch tongue and cabinet position to strike political enemies? Regarding the former—Sir lacks the strength to truss a chicken, yet the opponent has thousands of guards. Moreover, the opponent himself is a martial arts master. Sir would likely become flesh and mud before approaching within three chi. Regarding the latter—does Sir think that after experiencing the River Region Book Case, you can still occupy a position in the cabinet? Since Wei Zhi was demoted but retained, how would His Majesty keep you to oppose him? His Majesty has already issued an edict. Sir will probably soon go to Shannan to be a carefree prefect.”

“How do you know—” Xin Ziyan spoke halfway and suddenly drew a sharp breath, understanding with shock. “So it was you—”

The other party smiled without speaking.

“So you also have grievances with him?” Xin Ziyan stood dazed for a long moment, then laughed coldly. “In that case, I’m even less willing to cooperate with you. Who can wade into the muddy waters of you palace women?”

“Then who does Sir think you can cooperate with?” The woman smiled faintly. “Lord Hu only obeys Prince Chu’s commands. And Prince Chu… he won’t help you take revenge.”

“Stop sowing discord.” Xin Ziyan waved his hand. “His Highness isn’t that kind of person.”

“I think Sir is wishfully thinking.” The woman smiled. “Let me tell you the truth. Originally, you didn’t have to go to prison. His Highness actually had other methods to help you escape guilt and topple Wei Zhi, but he didn’t act, leading to your wife’s miserable death. Since he couldn’t bear to act against Wei Zhi then, naturally he won’t in the future either.”

“How do you know?” Xin Ziyan’s body trembled as he raised his eyes to look at her.

“Don’t ask how I know. I only tell you—it’s absolutely true.”

Xin Ziyan grew quiet again. After being stunned a while, he shook his head. “Then I’ll do it myself. A gentleman’s revenge—ten years isn’t too late…”

“Your power is weak, his is strong. What’s to fear is that while you want ten years of dormancy for revenge, will he let you live ten years?” The woman smiled leisurely. “Doesn’t Sir know? If I hadn’t rescued you in time today, just now that man surnamed Zong beside him would have already taken your life.”

Watching Xin Ziyan’s wavering expression, she added another sentence. “Look—you were in danger and no one cared. In the end, the one who saved you was me. Think carefully—was I wrong?”

Xin Ziyan turned his face away. After a long moment, he sniffed and said, “…I do have a method that could move against Wei Zhi… but I’m not certain it will work…”

“Sir’s wisdom, plus my manpower.” The woman smiled gently. “Surely we’ll succeed immediately.”

Xin Ziyan turned his head, gazing dazedly at the not-too-distant place. There, vaguely, was the cliff edge where his Fat Ahua was buried. From now on, she would sleep eternally in the mountain wind, leaving him to walk the world alone.

“Alright.” After a long time, he said softly, “I’ll tell you…”