Ning Yi’s body trembled.

Feng Zhiwei knelt on the cliff face, looking up at him. She recalled the unfocused look in his eyes when she first saw him in the cellar, remembered his first action upon encountering her was sniffing that scent of blood and fire, recalled he didn’t know about his own injury, remembered he’d faced the eye worm—that thing which made her tears stream just from catching a glimpse of it accidentally.

She’d been careless. Since Chunyu Meng had been pulled aside by Ning Yi to avoid directly viewing that thing, how could Ning Yi, who faced the eye worm head-on, possibly escape unscathed?

Above her, Ning Yi had already calmed down, saying lightly: “It’s fine. I know something about this thing’s origins—there are ways to resolve it, just not immediately.”

Feng Zhiwei responded with “Mm,” then looked up with a smile. “Then let me be your eyes for now.”

Her tone was light and cheerful, carrying an openness unusual for her. That simple phrase, like this fierce mountain wind, struck Ning Yi and made him tremble again. He leaned down obliquely, using a field of gray-white vision to “look” at Feng Zhiwei. Though he couldn’t see that face clearly, though what he saw wasn’t real, he could still imagine her current expression—brows lightly raised, autumn-water eyes reflecting moonlight, sparkling bright.

This woman showed her true colors most in moments of crisis. One could see her retreat and compromise, but never see her cry or lose direction.

The prolonged silence above made Feng Zhiwei look up in surprise. Ning Yi had already turned his face away. “All right.”

The answer was simple, yet Feng Zhiwei felt this single word carried some special meaning. However, from her angle, she could no longer see Ning Yi’s expression.

“Be careful.” After hesitating, Feng Zhiwei extended her arm to embrace Ning Yi’s knee hollow. Positioned beneath him, only this posture could ensure the blind Ning Yi wouldn’t lose his footing on the cliff face. But this was almost like half-embracing him, her face nearly pressed against his leg—Feng Zhiwei turned her face aside, telling herself a thousand times that desperate times called for desperate measures, yet her ears uncontrollably flushed with suspicious redness.

When she embraced Ning Yi’s leg, Ning Yi trembled again. For an instant, even through the not-thin autumn clothing, he seemed able to feel her face pressing against him so delicately—a warm, small face, her ears surely already flushed, transparent and exquisite like coral beads, and skin fine as thin porcelain close at hand, so close he seemed to feel her warm breath, softly brushing against his knee hollow… Ning Yi’s leg suddenly went weak, his breathing rapid.

As his leg weakened and fingers trembled, they scraped the jagged cliff face—ice-cold and harsh against his hand, bone-chilling. He instantly snapped to alertness, tilting his head to “look” at the sky perpendicular above. Though unable to see, he could still sense that congealed darkness before dawn about to be broken by daylight.

Drawing a breath and steadying himself, he carefully moved downward. In his current state, if he lost his footing again, two lives would be lost.

Feng Zhiwei searched for footholds while carefully embracing his leg, guiding his correct foot placement. In the darkness, having to watch below while protecting above, after just a few steps she felt dizzy and had to catch her breath. Her head spinning, her face planted into Ning Yi’s knee hollow, causing his knee to bump against the cliff wall.

The bump hit a sharp stone, blood blooming with a sharp pain. Ning Yi ignored it, only anxiously leaning down to ask repeatedly: “Zhiwei, what’s wrong?”

The person beneath pressed her face tightly against his knee hollow without answering. Ning Yi froze. His normally calm and steady heart, undisturbed even when facing the eye worm and losing his vision, suddenly began pounding. He fumbled to touch Feng Zhiwei, but only reached the top of her head—her hair disheveled and coarse to the touch, with uneven lengths, far from its usual smooth-as-silk quality. The fire scene must have burned away much of her beautiful hair.

Ning Yi’s hand paused on that disheveled hair, his fingers curling slightly, his heart growing more anxious. Gritting his teeth, he was about to try releasing his grip to bend down when the person below suddenly spoke, her voice muffled against his knee hollow, her tone actually carrying laughter: “Mmm… every time you call my name, it feels so strange…”

Ning Yi exhaled in relief, then asked: “What just happened?”

“Nothing.” Feng Zhiwei moved her face away, her voice already returned to normal. “Just a bit tired.”

Ning Yi felt something odd at his knee hollow—it seemed slightly wet. He tentatively reached to touch it, but his hand was gently pulled away by Feng Zhiwei, followed by her reproachful tone: “Hold onto the rock properly. What are you fumbling around for?”

Normally, he would have seized the opportunity to tease her about such a remark. But now he had no such mood. Ning Yi silently withdrew his hand, increasing his downward climbing speed.

When they’d climbed down about halfway, voices came from above the cliff. Someone peered down, and both pressed tightly against the cliff wall, not daring to move. Then they heard someone shout: “Go search! Send two more down to look!”

Feng Zhiwei’s heart tightened as she hurried downward. However, these assassins from Fujian were naturally skilled at climbing cliffs and were uninjured—she saw two black shadows descending like monkeys, rapidly closing in.

Feng Zhiwei drew the sword at her waist, calculating how to instantly kill both to avoid detection by those above. After thinking it through, she found it truly difficult—if even one escaped, they would be sitting ducks on this cliff face.

Above her, Ning Yi stopped moving and raised his head, his unfocused eyes “fixing” on the assassins rapidly descending.

He suddenly said: “In my belt are the Imperial Commissioner’s seal and Prince Chu’s insignia. Remember to retrieve them before going to Jiyang.”

Feng Zhiwei froze, thinking—you’re not coming with me? Before she could ask, an assassin had climbed down.

Feng Zhiwei was about to strike with her sword.

Ning Yi suddenly tapped the cliff wall.

In the darkness, the other party hadn’t immediately spotted Ning Yi. Hearing this sound, he turned his head and saw Ning Yi at a glance, reaching out to grab him while calling out joyfully: “Here—”

Ning Yi suddenly embraced him!

Upon hearing the first word, he’d accurately determined the location, embracing the jubilant assassin. Both feet kicked off the cliff wall, and vaulting over Feng Zhiwei’s head, the two tumbled downward!

Feng Zhiwei only felt something flash before her eyes as sleeves brushed her face—a huge black shadow vaulted over her head and plummeted downward with a whoosh, followed by a dull thud.

This thud made her heart turn cold. Looking up, she came face to face with the second assassin. The man had been climbing fine behind his companion when suddenly the person below vanished. Still dazed, Feng Zhiwei turned her head, cold light flashing in her eyes.

“Sshh—”

Her sword shot out from under her elbow, instantly piercing the opponent’s brow.

Another dull sound of falling. Feng Zhiwei bit her lip and descended as fast as possible. It was very dark below the cliff—protruding rocks blocked the light from below. In the dim haze, she groped around, calling softly: “Ning Yi—”

Above, someone was calling from afar: “Did you find anyone!”

Feng Zhiwei recalled the somewhat shrill voice of the assassin who’d spoken earlier, imitating it to answer: “Still searching, it’s very large down here—”

Cursing from above was blown away by the mountain wind, unclear and indistinct. Feng Zhiwei had no time to mind him, anxiously groping around. She touched a corpse with a hole in its brow—tossed it aside and reached for another body not far away. In a trance, she was back at the fire scene, fearfully yet hopefully pulling out charred corpses from broken wood and damaged chairs—one wasn’t him, another wasn’t him…

This feeling was truly terrible. She hoped it wouldn’t happen a third time in this lifetime.

The body beneath her hand remained still and cold, seemingly with another body layered beneath it. Feng Zhiwei recalled Ning Yi’s falling posture, her heart turning cold—had he been crushed into bloody pulp?

With this thought, she felt her face turn cold. Reaching up to touch it, her fingers came away wet. She stared blankly at her fingers—the faint light from above vaguely reflected off them like a tiny mirror, reflecting her myriad thoughts at this moment.

How long had it been since she’d shed tears?

When was the last time she cried?

Seven years ago when the Qiu family young lady lost her golden hairpin, accused her of theft, and starved their family for five days?

Ten years ago when Mother knelt outside the Qiu Mansion gate for three days and nearly died of illness?

Eleven years ago when Father left, Mother took them away from that mountain and burned their home before departing?

Twelve years ago when she accidentally witnessed Mother burning paper offerings for some unknown person in the courtyard and was severely scolded?

She couldn’t remember clearly, yet knew these tears were both utterly foreign and utterly real.

The tears gradually dried on her fingertips. After a long daze, she gathered her last bit of strength, preparing to move this corpse to extract Ning Yi beneath. Until she confirmed whether Ning Yi was truly dead, she didn’t want to waste time crying.

If he was confirmed dead, she also wouldn’t waste time crying. Him, Chunyu, and the hundreds of dead guards—those lives—she had far too much to do.

Her hand had just reached out when someone’s hoarse voice lazily drawled: “How long were you planning to wait before touching me?”

Feng Zhiwei’s hand froze mid-air. When she recovered, it immediately formed a fist, falling neither lightly nor heavily on the chest below.

With an “Ow,” Ning Yi’s tone carried some amusement. “What a vicious woman.”

He asked again: “What were you doing, spacing out for so long just now?”

Feng Zhiwei pressed her lips together without speaking, feeling the body beneath him had already gone cold. Ning Yi must have killed him during the fall and used him as a cushion. Her heart relaxed as she asked: “You’re not injured?”

“I’m fine.” Ning Yi said. “Just seems like I twisted my ankle.”

“Didn’t damage your brain?”

Ning Yi glanced at her in surprise, thinking this woman herself seemed a bit brain-damaged. He wanted to mock her, but suddenly remembering her trembling voice calling him earlier, his heart softened and he honestly answered: “Yes.”

“That’s good.” Feng Zhiwei smiled and collapsed into his arms. “I can finally pass out now…”

When Feng Zhiwei woke, she felt sore all over, as if she’d endured a marathon journey or just fought ten thousand people in a dream.

Somewhat dazed, she lay there blankly, then noticed warmth on her body. Looking down, she saw Ning Yi’s outer robe covering her.

The sun had already risen above, though only faint, hazy light reached the cliff bottom. Ning Yi sat opposite her, wearing only his inner garment, eyes closed in meditation. In the milky-white vapor, his features looked exceptionally beautiful.

Feng Zhiwei turned to look around, sensing they were in a different place from last night. Beneath her was soft grass padding, and nearby water gurgled. She didn’t know how Ning Yi, with his injured foot, had managed to move her, a perfectly good young maiden, to this location.

He didn’t drag her by the ankle, did he? Feng Zhiwei hurriedly checked her body, afraid of finding countless scrapes.

Her bustling about with small movements made considerable noise. Ning Yi had already been awakened and opened his eyes, listening to the woman’s nervous little actions, couldn’t help smiling to himself—women were women, such contradictory creatures. They could be mentally strong and unfazed by crisis, yet never forgot to care about the most trivial, useless little things.

He smiled faintly, his gaze watching her with a tenderness he himself hadn’t noticed.

He thought of how she’d calmly and coolly asked those two questions earlier, only allowing herself to faint in his arms after confirming he was fine—both amusing and touching. Such a resilient woman!

Thinking of how light and soft she’d been in his arms when she fainted, completely shedding her usual gentle surface that kept people at arm’s length, delicate and charming as a peach blossom petal, possessing a special grace never seen in court—for a moment he couldn’t help but…

Ning Yi’s face flushed slightly for just an instant.

This happened to be caught by Feng Zhiwei as she looked up. “You’re awake? Eh, your complexion looks a bit strange.”

Ning Yi touched his face, and in that touch had already returned to normal, smiling: “Does it?”

Feng Zhiwei looked admiringly at Prince Chu’s face, thinking people like this didn’t even need masks—blushing when they wanted to, not blushing when they didn’t.

“Where are we?” she said languidly. “In storybooks, when protagonists wake after falling off cliffs, they should be in mountain caves with roaring fires.”

“Not every cliff bottom has caves, not everyone is so lucky to have a flint.” Ning Yi couldn’t help laughing. “Especially when others are still searching for you—lighting a fire, are you stupid?”

Feng Zhiwei smiled and sat up. “Is the foot injury serious?”

“It’s fine.”

But Feng Zhiwei had already moved over, helping him remove his boot. “Still need to treat it, otherwise you won’t be able to walk, which would be worse.”

She carefully pressed his swollen ankle, her technique gentle with just the right amount of pressure. Ning Yi leaned against the mountain rock, eyes half-closed as if very comfortable, suddenly saying: “You seem to have learned this? Better technique than several people in my mansion.”

Feng Zhiwei smiled slightly. “Mother campaigned on battlefields in her early years and has old injuries and ailments that flare up on rainy days, so I learned this from childhood.”

Ning Yi said nothing, then after a while: “Lady Feng has had it very difficult.”

He seemed unwilling to elaborate on this topic, lazily half-reclining, feeling those fingers nimble and warm, soothingly pleasant—his heart seemed soaked in warm water, comfortable and drifting. Just as he was indulging in this, he heard the woman say: “Done.” He couldn’t help opening his eyes in surprise. “So fast?”

Feng Zhiwei smiled charmingly. “Very sorry this humble one doesn’t have the consideration, gentleness, meticulousness, massage skills, time, and patience of those several people in Your Highness’s mansion who can massage as long as desired however desired.”

Ning Yi turned his head to “look” at her. For an instant, even his unfocused eyes seemed to brighten, his expression somewhat strange, as if suppressing laughter. “Are you jealous?”

Feng Zhiwei went “Ah,” touching her face, thinking earth-shakingly—Am I jealous am I jealous am I jealous? Impossible impossible impossible—

“Those born into wealth and privilege will never understand the hatred poor struggling boys feel toward natural aristocrats.” After a long while, she answered sorrowfully, feeling this reasoning was absolutely correct.

Ning Yi still looked at her strangely, then slowly and contentedly drawled: “I hadn’t finished earlier—several… old women in my mansion.”

After a moment of silence, Feng Zhiwei answered with a radiant smile: “Oh my, Your Highness, it’s quite bright out now, we should figure out how to leave.”

After this bizarre exchange, Ning Yi seemed in very good spirits, corners of his mouth curved in an eerie smile. Feng Zhiwei found his expression irritating and quickly changed the subject: “Have the people above left?” As she handed him his clothes, she noticed the ties showed signs of being forcibly torn, as if violently removed.

“Since they discovered we’re still alive, how could they give up so easily?” Ning Yi said lightly while dressing. “Getting out of Jiyang Mountain won’t be easy.”

Feng Zhiwei sat opposite him with arms around her knees, watching him dress, responding with “Mm.”

Half a quarter-hour later…

Feng Zhiwei sat with arms around her knees, watching him dress.

A quarter-hour later…

Feng Zhiwei sat with arms around her knees, finally unable to bear it, blinking as she asked: “Your Highness, can you not dress yourself very well?”

Ning Yi stopped his fingers that had been struggling with the ties for ages, thinking shamelessly for a moment, nodded, then criticized her: “You noticed this ages ago but didn’t say anything.”

Feng Zhiwei pursed her lips, thinking—the ultimate in shamelessness, that’s Prince Chu.

She slowly moved over to serve His Highness in dressing. Ning Yi occasionally criticized her: “Your hands aren’t particularly deft either!”

“…Is this tie done wrong?”

“Are you buttoning buttons or strangling me?”

Feng Zhiwei smiled as she worked, occasionally tightening the ties a bit more. “…At least I don’t take a quarter-hour and still can’t dress properly.”

“…What’s wrong with it? If you’re so capable, do it yourself?”

“…If I really wanted to strangle you, how would this be enough?”

Both had very pale faces. Feng Zhiwei coughed occasionally while fastening buttons, but neither mentioned it, smiles as usual.

Crisis not past, peril before them—one blind, one internally injured, powerful enemies watching from above, conspiracies lurking ahead—precisely because of this, they remained even more composed than usual.

Both were born leaders, both knew tension would only cause chaos. After a night of rushing about, repeatedly injured, bodies covered in wounds—they needed mental relaxation all the more.

Easier said than done, yet they were the same kind of people, both knowing the other could do it.

Clothes donned, Feng Zhiwei tore off a strip from her sleeve to simply bandage Ning Yi’s injured knee, then treated her own wounds before helping Ning Yi stand.

The two exchanged glances, simultaneously dropping their smiles. Ning Yi said flatly: “Let’s go.”

Feng Zhiwei wiped the dried blood from her sword with grass leaves, wrapping it where she could draw it with one motion.

“This water is flowing—following it out should lead to a path.” Ning Yi said. “I estimate it won’t be long before those above realize those two never returned and send people down to check.”

“Let’s go.” Feng Zhiwei took his sleeve and led the way, feeling her injuries seemed somewhat better—perhaps while she was unconscious, Ning Yi had either given her medicine or transferred his inner energy to her.

She didn’t know Ning Yi’s current condition, nor what symptoms followed being infected by the eye worm, but Ning Yi’s complexion was very poor. Even if he’d been drunk and powerless, several days had passed—his current weakness should still be from the eye worm’s damage.

“Can you hold my hand instead?” After walking a while, Ning Yi said from behind her. “Sleeves tear easily.”

Feng Zhiwei was still hesitating when Ning Yi had already grasped her hand. One hot, one cold hand touching, both trembled. Ning Yi smiled: “Just looking at our hands, we’re quite compatible.”

Feng Zhiwei ignored him, but heard him continue: “When we reach the imperial mausoleum joined together, yours won’t be hot and mine won’t be cold—even better.”

Feng Zhiwei froze, taking a moment to realize His Highness was again circuitously discussing marriage, even deciding on his own where to bury them after death. The words “Who’s getting buried with you in the imperial mausoleum?” reached her lips but were withdrawn. Thinking of those words “imperial mausoleum,” somehow a desolate feeling suddenly surged in her heart, as if seeing distant tomb chambers with eternal lamps, huge dragon coffins and white jade steps, the gold-and-jade-wrapped layers of coffins—what countenance would sleep within?

And when she herself grew old, in what grave would she be buried? All the various things in this life—in whose history would they be written in the end?

Recalling her agreement with Mother to leave the Imperial Capital, she couldn’t help saying: “If I left the Imperial Capital and disappeared forever, what would you think?”

Ning Yi was silent a moment, then suddenly gripped her hand tightly, saying clearly: “I’d find you.”

“What if you couldn’t find me?” Feng Zhiwei felt she was being somewhat neurotic today, insisting on asking such random things at this time.

“You can’t escape.” Ning Yi “looked” at her, his tone calm. “All the realm’s territories, wind, rain, water, and soil will ultimately all belong to me. Even if you turned to ash and dissolved to bone, those would still be my ash, my bone.”

Feng Zhiwei fell silent, then after a long while rubbed her arms, forcing a smile: “Your Majesty, don’t say such terrifying things.”

Ning Yi also smiled, though his eyes held no mirth.

Feng Zhiwei looked at him, knowing if she smiled, her eyes would also hold no happiness. Chunyu’s cries from the cliff edge still echoed in her ears, each one cutting dully at her heart. Though neither mentioned it, both avoiding it, that didn’t mean they would forget.

The two followed the water flow upward. This was a broken valley that gradually entered the mountains. Once in the mountains, Feng Zhiwei felt more at ease. After all, Jiyang Mountain was so vast, and the other party couldn’t possibly conduct a large-scale search. Two people scattered in the great mountains were relatively safer than before.

After walking a while, hearing both their stomachs growling loudly, they couldn’t help exchanging bitter smiles. Feng Zhiwei looked around but didn’t dare leave Ning Yi to hunt. “Let’s negotiate with the upstairs neighbor to share some food.”

“What upstairs neighbor?”

Feng Zhiwei pointed to the pine tree overhead where a squirrel was happily hopping past. Ning Yi listened intently. “I think the neighbor’s meat might be better.”

“Then you negotiate with it about cutting its meat to offer the prince.” Feng Zhiwei said with a half-smile. “This subordinate is clumsy with words and can’t manage it.”

“You’re such a fussy woman.” Ning Yi sneered at her. “You kill people like cutting vegetables, but can’t bear to kill a squirrel.”

“Human evil exceeds that of beasts.” Feng Zhiwei said lightly. “Animals rarely provoke you, betray you, trample you, or harm you without cause. But people do.”

Ning Yi glanced at her obliquely, his beautiful black pupils lustrous as if immersed in mercury, then smiled and pushed her. “Eunuch Feng, go gather pine nuts—by the time you finish preaching, I’ll be ready for the imperial mausoleum.”

Feng Zhiwei rolled her eyes at him and went to climb the tree. Ning Yi leaned against it waiting as fine pine needles continuously fell, brushing his face with slight itching. He raised his face, “surveying” the surroundings. Though unable to see, he could imagine this autumn mountain forest’s beauty—mountain ranges layered emerald and jade-green waves, one layer green and one layer yellow among the trees, fallen leaves like a russet-colored thick carpet on the ground, afternoon sunlight sweeping across the tree tops, the canopy brilliant as gold.

And that slender woman was busy above his head. He could feel the tree trunk’s slight trembling, branches and leaves rustling. She was speaking gently and softly, negotiating with a squirrel, negotiating to empty its entire nest. That lucky yet unlucky squirrel retreated step by step under her silver tongue, scurrying away and leaving its storage room for the mountain bandit to plunder.

That nest was at the top of a thick branch. He heard her boldly crawl across a thin branch, stepping until branches and leaves swayed leisurely.

He suddenly felt playful.

Stepping forward, calculating the position, he cried “Ah!” in alarm, then kicked the tree.

Only after kicking did he remember his foot was twisted—piercing pain. This time he really cried “Ah!” again.

Hearing these two “Ah”s, Feng Zhiwei’s heart jumped and she quickly looked down. Not expecting the tree trunk to shake, with her feet on a thin branch she lost balance, also crying “Ah!” in alarm. She released her handful of spoils and fell from the tree.

Right into Ning Yi’s scheme.

And right into Ning Yi’s arms.

Ning Yi, already waiting in the correct position, caught Feng Zhiwei fully in his embrace, saying leisurely: “How could I not accept a beauty throwing herself into my arms?”

Feng Zhiwei, falling into his arms, immediately knew she’d been tricked. Anger rising from her heart, she pushed him: “Rather than having a tyrant above, better to stab him!”

Pushed by her, Ning Yi leaned back, stumbling against the tree, but his arms didn’t release. By her ear, he said unhurriedly: “Then stab away—I’m waiting.”

Looking up, Feng Zhiwei only felt his face was close at hand, features elegant yet radiant, possessing a strange dizzying power. His tone was light and drifting, like morning mist in these mountain forests—invisible, intangible, yet threading around like gossamer.

Her heart trembled. She quickly turned her face aside to avoid him, grabbing a handful of pine needles and calling: “Stab!”

Ning Yi cried “Ow!” and released her, panting and smiling: “You actually stabbed—what a cruel woman…”

Feng Zhiwei ignored him, picking up scattered pine nuts and handing them to Ning Yi. Ning Yi didn’t take them, leaning against the tree lazily: “Can’t bite them.”

Wanting her to crack them for him? Feng Zhiwei coolly reminded him: “Your Highness, your injury is to your eyes, not your teeth.”

“Haven’t you heard of eye worm poison?” Ning Yi’s expression was truly hard to judge as real or fake. “Supposedly this is a descendant of Zhujiuyin, the underworld serpent from earth’s depths. Its eyes connect directly to the underworld. From birth it feeds on myriad poisons and young women’s eyeballs. Upon maturity, it becomes the master of myriad poisons. Moreover, because infinite resentment of the dead congeals within it, those infected necessarily lose sight, and the seven orifices gradually lose function until death. So my teeth being poor is to be expected.”

Feng Zhiwei looked at Ning Yi suspiciously, feeling he didn’t seem quite so miserable. But this person’s eyes went blind yet he never mentioned it—she’d discovered it herself. Thinking this, her heart softened. Sighing, she patiently cracked open pine nuts one by one.

The great king opposite leisurely waited to enjoy ready-made pine kernels, not forgetting to remind her: “Be careful not to get saliva on them.”

Feng Zhiwei fumed, cracking several pine nuts in succession.

A small handful of pine nuts warm in her palm, emanating a fragrant scent, somewhat moist. Ning Yi lowered his head to “look,” his mood troubled by blindness suddenly rippling with slight joy, as if this blindness perhaps wasn’t entirely without benefits.

Using his heart to perceive everything, the scenery became more beautiful, her breathing became clearer, and the pine nuts, never fragrant before, were intoxicatingly aromatic.

He slowly chewed that small handful of pine nuts with a faint smile.

“This can only stave off hunger a bit, won’t make us full. Still need to find something else to eat.” Feng Zhiwei said. “Let’s walk farther and see where we can dig up some solomon’s seal or poria.”

Ning Yi suddenly stopped walking. Simultaneously, Feng Zhiwei also fell silent.

Opposite came shuffling footsteps. Someone was loudly singing as he approached. Suddenly the song stopped and a northern-accented voice said in surprise: “Who are you people?”

Feng Zhiwei assessed the other party—an ordinary woodcutter carrying a full load of firewood, with some gathered mountain goods and a wild rabbit hanging from the pole’s end. He looked completely unsuspicious.

“Good sir.” She said politely. “We brothers got lost in the mountains and were injured. What place is this? Do you know a shortcut out of the mountains?”

“This is the southern foot of Jiyang.” The woodcutter said. “See that ruined temple ahead? Go straight south from there, about a day’s journey should get you down the mountain. You look seriously injured, and it’s about to rain. My home is halfway up ahead—come rest at my place.”

Feng Zhiwei didn’t dare seek lodging now. Smiling, she declined, saying: “We’d rather hurry on our way. If it rains, we’ll take shelter at the old temple.” She asked if he could sell them the game. Not daring to produce gold beans, she searched all over for silver. The woodcutter shook his head: “Just some mountain goods—what money? Take it, take it.”

Feng Zhiwei thanked him. The woodcutter handed her the items. Feng Zhiwei hesitated, then said: “Kind sir, if you happen to encounter people asking about our whereabouts, please say you haven’t seen us.”

“Sure, sure!” The woodcutter agreed readily, grinning and glancing at the two, then saying loudly to himself: “Must be a young couple eloping in disguise as men, eh?”

Feng Zhiwei pretended not to hear. The woodcutter smiled ambiguously, shouldering his firewood and passing them.

Ning Yi’s shoulder suddenly twitched.

Lightning-fast, Feng Zhiwei’s fingers touched down on his hand.

Ning Yi raised his head, looking at Feng Zhiwei. Feng Zhiwei stared into his eyes, slowly shaking her head, her attitude insistent.

Ning Yi frowned but made no further movement.

That woodcutter, completely unaware of their actions, even less aware he’d just brushed past Death himself, walked away in good spirits, singing his song.

“Feng Zhiwei is actually so compassionate?” After a long silence, Ning Yi spoke flatly, his tone somewhat sarcastic.

“I kill those who deserve killing. Wrongly killing the innocent only creates evil karma for myself.” Feng Zhiwei didn’t look at him.

“When he guides people to pursue and kill us, you’ll know he won’t be innocent. But by then, neither you nor I will have lives left to kill those who deserve it.”

“How can you be certain he’ll definitely guide people to pursue and kill us?”

“People die for wealth, birds for food.” Ning Yi said lightly. “Once someone offers heavy rewards, he’ll definitely speak. If you were smart enough, you shouldn’t have stopped me earlier.”

“But it’s also possible he won’t encounter people searching for us at all.” Feng Zhiwei sighed. “You can’t take someone’s life just because something might possibly happen.”

“Feng Zhiwei, I really didn’t see you were so compassionate.” Ning Yi sneered. “One general’s success built on ten thousand bones—those who accomplish great things don’t worry about small details. Do you understand?”

“I understand.” Feng Zhiwei stood up, handing Ning Yi the poria she’d washed clean in the nearby stream. “So eat quickly, then we’re going to his house.”

Ning Yi, holding the poria, was actually stunned. Feng Zhiwei’s complete lack of temper made him feel like his fist had hit cotton—empty and very uncomfortable.

Then he understood Feng Zhiwei’s meaning—having already indicated they were going to the old temple, if searchers reached the area and actually asked this woodcutter, they would certainly search the old temple. Hiding near the woodcutter’s house would actually be safest.

These two injured invalids couldn’t run fast. Rather than exhausting themselves running all over the mountain to be chased, better to play hide-and-seek with the enemy while recuperating as much as possible.

He was silent for a long while, suddenly feeling his tone earlier had been too harsh. But Feng Zhiwei had already taken his hand, eating her own poria while saying: “Eat quickly—we might not have time later.”

Patting the rabbit tied at her waist: “If I’m really wrong, I’ll roast rabbit later to apologize.”

Ning Yi smiled, turning his head to look at her. “If I’m wrong, how about I give you this jade pendant at my waist as an apology?”

“Better not.” Feng Zhiwei quickly finished eating. “You’d be at a loss.”

“I can afford to lose to one person.”

“But I don’t want to take advantage of one person.” Feng Zhiwei answered rapidly, then softly shushed. The two saw the woodcutter enter a solitary courtyard halfway up the mountain. Quietly approaching, they discovered the half of the mountain cliff adjacent to the house actually had a cave, concealed by vines and hard to spot—a good place. They hid inside.

Ning Yi seemed extremely tired. Entering the cave, he closed his eyes but wouldn’t let Feng Zhiwei take his pulse. Feng Zhiwei sat meditating to regulate her breathing, ears constantly alert.

The sunlight on the cave wall gradually faded bit by bit. Dusk descended leisurely like a crow’s wings. As darkness approached, a light rain indeed began falling, rustling on the vines.

Ning Yi suddenly opened his eyes.

Feng Zhiwei sat up straight.

Not far away came the sound of footsteps splashing through water, the courtyard gate creaking open, the woodcutter’s voice inquiring, then a somewhat strange accent asking: “…two young people… that tall… injured… have you seen them?”

The woodcutter’s rough voice: “No, I just got back from gathering firewood!”

Those people seemed somewhat disappointed and were about to leave. Feng Zhiwei breathed a sigh of relief, smiling at Ning Yi. Ning Yi naturally knew what she meant, smiling faintly back.

But then someone over there suddenly spoke: “Since you’ve just returned from gathering firewood, you must have some harvest. Give it to us.”

This voice was precisely that of the leader who’d attacked the post station that night. His accent was somewhat strange, impossible to forget once heard.

The woodcutter hemmed and hawed, seemingly handing over some things. The leader took them, apparently examining the items. All around fell silent.

Feng Zhiwei suddenly felt uneasy.

Then from the courtyard erupted a long, agonized cry.

Within the screams, the leader’s harsh voice: “These aren’t fresh game! Who did you give your things to! Where are they now! Speak!”

Feng Zhiwei’s heart jolted. Neither of them had anticipated this current situation. Well, those assassins sent thousands of miles by the Chang family to execute this mission—which one wasn’t ruthless and merciless?

The screams had already changed pitch. The woodcutter’s hoarse voice: “South mountain old temple… old temple… don’t kill me—don’t kill me—”

His voice cut off abruptly, followed by the leader’s vicious command: “Go!”

A group rapidly departed. After a long while came the sound of something heavy being thrown down the mountain cliff.

Feng Zhiwei closed her eyes, not knowing whether to count this as her own sin or another’s.

After another quiet period, just as she was about to stand and leave the cave to rest in the courtyard, Ning Yi suddenly pressed down on her shoulder.

Then she heard someone say: “Searched all day without eating—let’s roast some game here and send it to the boss later. After waiting at that ruined temple to finish off those people, we need to hurry back. The boss said we won’t be able to conveniently enter towns to buy food.”

Another responded. The two took down the game hanging on the mountain house wall one by one and lit a fire.

Feng Zhiwei glanced at Ning Yi. Ning Yi nodded. Both stood, Ning Yi supporting himself on her shoulder as they walked out.

The two calmly opened the courtyard gate and strode straight in.

The two roasting game heard sounds from outside and felt cold wind on their faces. Turning their heads, they saw the two supporting each other as they approached—cloth clothes bearing scorch marks and bloodstains, the taller one seemingly inconvenienced and leaning on the shorter one, looking very bedraggled.

Yet their demeanor was composed, their attitude calm. That appearance didn’t seem like destitute fugitives appearing in mountain wilderness, but more like noble young masters inspecting their domain. Especially the taller one’s countenance—like moonlight briefly revealed through clouds—made both of them stare blankly.

In that daze, they heard the taller one say: “Three steps left.”

Both were startled again, then saw a black serpent-like sword light arrive in an instant, so fast there was no time to think. Hurriedly rolling to avoid it, they were already covered in sparks from the roll. Before they could pat them out, the tall one frowned: “Nine right.”

The black sword light pressed in again. Both tried to evade—shoulders just moving, steps barely taken, the tall one had already rapidly said based on the wind sound: “Three back.”

Retreat blocked, they tried charging forward—feet not yet moved: “Front left one.”

That annoyingly long sword entangled them again, drawing out a trail of blood droplets with a hiss.

“Seven left.”

“Four right back.”

“Five forward.”

The soft, long sword circled and turned, instantly sealing off escape routes. Under that person’s advance warnings, blocking all four sides watertight.

Those two gradually discovered that though the opponent seemed injured with insufficient sword power, their coordination was seamless. One sword forcibly contained two people, the encirclement growing smaller and smaller, blood spilling more and more, like a cat toying with mice—coldly and cruelly harvesting their blood and lives bit by bit.

This soft-knife death-by-a-thousand-cuts style was more frightening and unbearable than a single stab to death. Finally, both terrified out of their wits, threw down their swords and collapsed to the ground: “Don’t kill me—don’t kill me—”

“Sshh.”

The extraordinarily long sword blade swept across both guilty throats in one stroke, fresh blood spraying together with the fine rain outside.

“Just waiting for you to say that.”

Feng Zhiwei sheathed her long sword at her waist, saying lightly.

After resting in the small courtyard and eating some game, Ning Yi calculated the time: “Those people should have already found the old temple empty.”

“Do you think they’ll go down the mountain or turn back to search?” Feng Zhiwei asked.

“They don’t dare linger here too long. The post station incident must have been discovered. With my three thousand guards’ Imperial Commissioner regalia there, no one can make them disappear. Even if it’s an act, Shen Xuzhi must give the court an explanation.” Ning Yi said. “Moreover, from those two’s conversation just now, they’re already preparing to descend the mountain.”

“Then let’s go. Having searched the old temple and found no one, they won’t go again. Here they might send people back for food.” Feng Zhiwei helped Ning Yi up.

Fine, dense rain fell outside. Feng Zhiwei found a hooded straw raincoat for Ning Yi, preparing to bravely yet shivering walk in the rain herself. But Ning Yi without explanation pulled her into the spacious raincoat. Feng Zhiwei hesitated, telling herself again that desperate times called for desperate measures—if she got sick from rain, who would be Ning Yi’s eyes? So she let him be.

The two shared one raincoat, walking in the rain. From afar they looked like conjoined twins. Because they were so close, arms and legs constantly brushed against each other while walking. No way to avoid it—the more they tried avoiding, the more their exposed skin touched. Both felt somewhat uncomfortable. Ning Yi turned his head, gaze fixed on the unseeable void. Feng Zhiwei lowered her eyes, counting her own steps one by one.

Outside, fine rain drifted over. The ground was muddy, footsteps making splashing sounds. Yet inside the raincoat was very quiet. Both felt each other’s presence and breathing mixed with the raincoat’s faint grassy scent. Not knowing whose heartbeat was pounding so forcefully—perhaps both hearts were beating.

Occasionally turning to see the other’s profile, both felt the arc was beautifully outlined in the rainy night as the most exquisite silhouette. Looking one more time, they didn’t know which way to walk…

Clearly inconvenient with stumbling steps, yet they walked especially fast. In a blink, the ruined temple’s broken flying eaves had come into view.

Both stopped from afar, concentrating on listening to sounds from all directions. In the autumn night’s rain, only crickets made their final struggling chirps in desolation. After waiting a long while, finally confirming those people had left after finding no one searching.

Feng Zhiwei breathed a sigh of relief and entered the old temple, hurrying to remove the raincoat while saying: “Having already searched here, they must think we’ve already fled down the mountain overnight. At least we’ve gotten through this…”

Before finishing the sentence, suddenly eerie laughter rang out!