As the laughter rang out, Feng Zhiwei raised her hand to pull Ning Yi, but Ning Yi had already pulled her behind himself with lightning speed.

Both moved quickly, yet hampered by the raincoat, their movements were awkward and they nearly stumbled. Feng Zhiwei’s long sword pulled—rip!—the raincoat tore, hemp grass flying as dazzling snow-white light filled her vision.

Dozens of long swords gleamed cold and sharp, like a pool of autumn water rippling before their eyes, aimed at their vital points. One thrust forward and there would instantly be Feng-the-sieve and Ning-the-sieve.

Feng Zhiwei lifted her eyelids to look, smiled faintly. “Fine swords.” Yet in Ning Yi’s palm she secretly wrote: “Twelve people, all using swords, Eight Trigrams positions—three at Thunder, two at Fire, two at Marsh, one at Water, two at Wind, two at Earth.”

Ning Yi frowned, writing in her palm: “Don’t act rashly. They might not be that same group.”

Feng Zhiwei agreed entirely. If it were that group, swords would have already struck. Moreover, she remembered their weapons weren’t swords.

“What’s the meaning of this, gentlemen?” She raised her brows and asked coldly. “My brother and I were touring the mountain and accidentally fell. We came to this old temple to shelter from the rain. Even if we’ve disturbed you all, is it necessary to meet us with swords?”

Having already drawn her sword earlier, pretending to be frightened common folk was impossible. Better to speak directly in martial world parlance—it made them seem closer in status to the others.

The twelve people all wore gray cloth with blue trim, their features sharp and capable, temples bulging high. Their bearing and temperament suggested they were from some martial sect. Hearing her words, a flash of surprise crossed their brows. The leader spoke in a grating voice, saying coldly: “This raincoat is the style commonly used by mountain folk. If you encountered mountain people and borrowed their raincoat, why didn’t you rest at their home instead of coming to this ruined temple to shelter from the rain?”

This question struck at the heart of the matter. Feng Zhiwei’s heart jumped as she considered how to answer, but Ning Yi beside her was already laughing: “That mountain couple only had one small room, and the house reeked. We brothers couldn’t stand those smells, so we preferred to find another place.”

The leader saw that though the two wore ordinary cloth, they indeed possessed noble bearing and composed manner. This explanation seemed credible. His expression showed slight hesitation. Feng Zhiwei had already raised her hand to push aside their swords, smiling: “We’re all martial world comrades. This meeting is fate—why meet with blades drawn?”

A trace of disdain flashed across the man’s brow, thinking: you two young masters who learned some crude martial arts from household instructors dare call yourselves martial world people?

He frowned, examining the two. Both had blood and mud on their faces they’d deliberately left uncleaned, yet their features were still discernible. His gaze swept over Ning Yi’s face, suddenly flashing with insight. “Brother speaks truly—indeed we were discourteous. May I ask your honored names? How did you fall into such straits?”

Who holds someone at sword-point while making small talk? Feng Zhiwei cursed inwardly but smiled outwardly: “We’re from Longnan. We came to Jiyang to visit friends and stay temporarily. My brother’s surname is Tian. Hearing Zanyang Mountain’s scenery was magnificent, we came touring. Who knew we’d accidentally fall from a low cliff and become separated from our attendants? We were just thinking of hurrying down the mountain.”

She sighed and reached for Ning Yi. “Gentlemen have surely noticed—my elder brother… his eyes aren’t well. It’s a condition from childhood. We came to Jiyang partly to help him relax.”

The leader’s face showed less suspicion.

Feng Zhiwei maintained her calm smile, yet her sword-holding fingers gripped tightly. Those flashing sword points were right before Ning Yi—one light thrust and even the Great Immortal himself couldn’t save him.

So she could only proactively mention Ning Yi’s eyes—currently no one but her knew of Ning Yi’s blindness. If this group was also searching for them, this blindness alone could dispel their doubts.

The leader finally waved his hand, signaling the others to sheathe their swords.

Feng Zhiwei secretly breathed a sigh of relief. Once the encircling swords withdrew from this desperate situation, even if the twelve later attacked together, it was better than being meat on a chopping block.

“Where are you gentlemen headed, staying overnight at this old temple?” The twelve dispersed to light fires and find lodging, intentionally or not keeping the two surrounded in the center. Feng Zhiwei appeared completely oblivious, chatting with a smile.

“Into the mountains.” The leader seemed unwilling to speak further with her.

The old temple was extremely dilapidated, dust thick on the ground, with some wild foxes and temple mice that were now startled into scurrying everywhere. The drizzling rain fell from the eaves, distant mist rising hazily.

A large man walked over, roughly pushing Ning Yi. “Good dogs don’t block the path—move!” He squeezed next to the leader and sat down, pulling from his pack an oil-soaked paper package.

Ning Yi stumbled. Feng Zhiwei quickly steadied him. In the firelight she saw no anger on his face—he still smiled faintly.

This smile was clear yet radiant, flickering eerily in the firelight like a demonic flower silently blooming in darkness.

No one saw this smile. The large man was busy extracting food from the paper package when suddenly the leader frowned: “Isn’t this the letter the sect master received then suddenly went missing? Niu Qi, you’re too reckless—actually using this to wrap food! If the sect master finds out, watch him punish you according to sect rules!”

“What letter? What’s so special about it?” The man called Niu Qi grinned, shaking the stack of greasy papers with a rustling sound. “Left in a hurry, had nothing to wrap the beef. I grabbed a stack of paper from the sect master’s desk—he’d already read it anyway.”

Feng Zhiwei’s gaze fell on the topmost sheet, her heart suddenly jolting.

Between the large man’s fingers appeared a corner of bright red seal impression—the standard nine-fold seal script reading “Longxi Bureau Office Seal,” the semi-official seal commonly used by bureau offices at all levels. Because bureau secretaries of regional officials were their personal confidants and advisors, handling all internal and external affairs, for convenience these secretaries often had their own seals. To some extent, they represented the regional official’s personal will. For instance, this Longxi Bureau Office was precisely Shen Xuzhi’s advisory bureau.

Seeing Shen Xuzhi’s advisory bureau’s letter to their sect master on these crude martial world people at this moment, the implications were self-evident—ninety-nine percent certain Shen Xuzhi, fearing the two of them hadn’t died, had muddied the waters by inviting martial world forces to pursue and kill them. Dying at martial world hands—there’d truly be nowhere to investigate.

Niu Qi set the stack of papers aside and took his sword to cut the beef. Feng Zhiwei, sitting beside him, secretly lifted a finger and discovered the thick stack of letters seemed to contain a drawing.

What drawing?

Could it be portraits of Ning Yi and herself?

Then why hadn’t these people recognized them?

Feng Zhiwei thought for a moment and suddenly understood. The drawing in this letter was originally meant to be delivered to them, but Niu Qi had accidentally taken it to wrap beef. When the sect master couldn’t find the letter, he probably just let it go, likely only verbally describing the two’s appearance. So earlier that leader was somewhat suspicious but couldn’t verify. And these martial world people were nine-tenths likely illiterate—seeing the first page densely covered in characters, they’d have no interest flipping further. So that portrait remained undiscovered.

But it would be discovered soon, because Niu Qi was using the letter papers one by one to wrap beef and distribute to everyone. Any moment now he’d flip to that drawing.

Feng Zhiwei’s heart tightened. Suddenly she clutched her stomach and groaned.

This groan immediately drew attention. Everyone stopped chewing and looked over. Niu Qi also paused. Feng Zhiwei grimaced: “Why does my stomach suddenly hurt? Could I have eaten something bad?”

Martial world people were always cautious, especially sensitive about poisons. Hearing this, all set down their beef and looked at each other suspiciously. Niu Qi said: “He didn’t even eat our beef—what are you afraid of!” Though saying this, he used that stack of papers to wrap up the remaining beef.

Feng Zhiwei cried out “Ow, ow” in pain, standing up: “Can’t hold it—need the latrine.” Swaying, she walked out, then suddenly stumbled and kicked over the fire.

Sparks flew everywhere. Everyone dodged. Sparks landed on those beef-wrapping papers, immediately catching fire.

Feng Zhiwei’s heart leaped with joy. But Niu Qi strode over, grabbed that package of beef, and patted it repeatedly. “Can’t let it burn—otherwise the grease will dirty my pack and I won’t be able to carry it.”

Feng Zhiwei watched helplessly as he carefully put away the beef. Ning Yi suddenly stood up, supporting her: “Be careful. Perhaps you caught cold from the rain. I’ll help you to the latrine.”

Everyone watched them leave. The leader jerked his head, signaling Niu Qi to follow.

Feng Zhiwei supported Ning Yi as they walked forward, yet her gaze fixed tightly on the wall opposite that had been washed clean by rain until it shone like a mirror. She saw the movements behind them, disappointment flashing in her eyes—the other party still didn’t trust them and had followed, and Niu Qi hadn’t brought the pack containing the portrait.

In Ning Yi’s palm, she rapidly explained the situation. Ning Yi pondered briefly, then whispered low in her ear: “Defeat them one by one.”

Feng Zhiwei fell silent, thinking that though risky, this was the only way. The two of them couldn’t shake off this group, and the portrait temporarily couldn’t be destroyed. So no matter what, Niu Qi couldn’t return. Once they flipped through casually, the portrait would be seen.

Since they had to kill Niu Qi, the matter couldn’t be concealed for long. Once they faced a group attack, there’d be no way out. So killing one meant killing a string—only by striking first was there hope of survival.

How to kill most effectively became a very important question.

The urgent priority was killing Niu Qi.

The two had just entered the latrine when Niu Qi strode in, claiming a pit. He undid his pants with a splashing stream, thrusting out his black-haired belly and laughing: “Damn, that feels good!”

Ning Yi frowned in disgust. Feng Zhiwei’s ears flushed slightly. She averted her eyes, clutching her stomach as she climbed onto another pit, groaning “Ow, ow” while undoing her pants.

Niu Qi glanced sideways at her, laughing: “Just like a woman—takes forever just to undo your pants—”

He suddenly saw a length of black sword tip protruding from his mouth.

He stared with ox-eyes, somewhat confused how a sword could appear here when the young fellow beside him was still undoing his pants.

His throat felt torn and painful. His gaze weakly dropped to see a length of black, bloody sword tip slowly withdrawing from that tall, beautiful blind man’s hand.

His body suddenly flew up, tumbling into the pit. The last words he heard in his life were: “Good dogs don’t block the path—move.”

Ning Yi returned the sword to Feng Zhiwei. When he’d supported her earlier, the sword had already changed hands.

Now the two conferred in the dilapidated latrine about their next moves.

“Do you have any poison on you?” Feng Zhiwei searched herself for harmful substances, then slapped her forehead in frustration. She’d left in such haste—she had some wound medicine but nothing else.

Though that group was very alert and poisoning wouldn’t be easy, nothing could drop a batch faster than poison.

Ning Yi shook his head, thinking Ning Cheng loved playing with poisons, but unfortunately wasn’t here.

Feng Zhiwei looked at him dejectedly, then asked on a whim: “Are your tears poisonous?”

Ning Yi looked at her strangely, saying after a long while: “I’d rather kill them one by one.”

Feng Zhiwei was seriously considering how to squeeze out crocodile tears, whether she needed to suddenly punch his stomach to force out tears, when she saw Ning Yi had already very prudently retreated three steps away.

“Fine.” Feng Zhiwei resignedly went to help him. “We’ll think of another way.”

Ning Yi responded “Mm,” reaching out to support her. Feng Zhiwei suddenly cried “Ow!” and crouched down, then called out in panic: “Niu Qi, you—”

Ning Yi’s heart jumped. He quickly bent to pull her up. Feng Zhiwei raised her head—bang!—her head struck squarely against his nose.

Ning Yi cried “Ah!” and covered his nose. Tears instantly burst forth. Feng Zhiwei, completely without shame, quickly took out a gold leaf to catch them.

Then she sighed: “Gold vessel for tears—that’s worthy of Your Highness’s precious tears.”

Ning Yi, covering his aching nose, once again confirmed in his heart that Feng Zhiwei was actually an untameable she-wolf.

The she-wolf watched His Highness cover his nose, fingers glistening with tears like autumn waters, looking truly fragile and interesting—so different from his usual composed sharpness, almost like a different person. For an instant, her meager conscience revived. Smiling, she went to rub his nose: “It doesn’t hurt, doesn’t hurt.”

Her delicate-skinned fingers brushed across Ning Yi’s face, gentle as spring breeze. Her voice carried faint amusement and apology. Hearing it felt like being stroked by fine down—ticklish and stirring the heart. Ning Yi’s hand trembled, then suddenly grasped her fingers.

He held her fingers in his palm, five fingers lightly entwining. Feng Zhiwei instinctively tried to pull free. Ning Yi’s hand clung firmly, not releasing.

Wide sleeves fell down, concealing the somewhat ambiguous posture. Ning Yi led her back, Feng Zhiwei still cupping those tears, not daring to use force, having to follow him while muttering: “Too bad there’s so little…”

The two walked to the well platform in the courtyard where a man was drawing water. Feng Zhiwei called out: “Brother, give us some water to drink and wash our hands.”

“Young masters are so particular!” The man handed over the bucket. Feng Zhiwei drank from the bucket, scooped some water to wash her hands, thanked him, and the three returned together. The leader saw Niu Qi hadn’t followed back and asked: “Where’s Niu Qi?”

“That big brother?” Feng Zhiwei covered her mouth and laughed. “Said he ate too much beef and also has diarrhea.”

“That boy is just greedy!” The man cursed but didn’t suspect anything. He placed the bucket in the center, calling everyone to drink. The martial world people, unconstrained by formalities, all gathered around the bucket and drank their fill.

Feng Zhiwei watched with a smile, diligently adding wood to the fire.

After eating and drinking, they all found places to sleep in the great hall, still very deliberately surrounding the two in the center. One person closed the hall door and stood guard, keeping watch through the night—the unique vigilance of martial world people, never relaxing around anyone.

The firelight in the old temple gradually weakened. Faint mist rose on all sides. Feng Zhiwei lay silently beside Ning Yi, eyes wide open waiting for the poison to take effect. She didn’t know how much effect the crocodile tears could have—after all, just those few drops diluted in a bucket of water, the efficacy would certainly be discounted.

Ning Yi lay with eyes closed, motionless, always clasping her fingers. Feng Zhiwei couldn’t pry them loose, so she tickled him, scratching in his palm. Ning Yi flinched. Feng Zhiwei was delighted and scratched harder. Result—he got used to being tickled and stopped flinching. Feng Zhiwei sighed in frustration. Beside her, Ning Yi turned his face, listening to her sighs with a smile, finding it quite satisfying.

The two waged this palm-hidden war to dispel the constantly surging drowsiness. From last night to tonight, both in their injured state had been constantly on the move, constantly in tense situations. Both spirit and body were exhausted to the limit. At this moment with snoring rising on all sides and warm firelight, if they didn’t find something to distract themselves, they’d immediately fall asleep.

Not knowing how much time had passed, just as Feng Zhiwei was about to succumb and close her eyes, Ning Yi suddenly pinched her palm hard.

Feng Zhiwei startled awake, then noticed a man not far from them emitting low groans.

Taking effect?

Feng Zhiwei was delighted, then noticed the others showed no movement. Probably each person’s internal power varied, so onset times differed.

This man making noise, the guard rushed over, lowering his head to call softly: “Fei Zi, what’s wrong?”

He suddenly felt his back go cold.

His heart also went cold. Instinctively wanting to turn his head, but his head could never turn again.

Feng Zhiwei gently supported his collapsing body, leaning him against a pillar in the shadows where he looked like he was meditating.

The man whose poison had taken effect felt something warm on his face—warm liquid covering his face. Opening his eyes, he saw thick mist seemingly rising on all sides. Behind the mist was vaguely a tender smiling face, grinning grotesquely as it approached.

He froze, reaching for the sword at his side, but felt his arm go weak. Then his chest hurt. His last consciousness was something shooting skyward, spattering down on his face—the same warm, slightly fishy liquid as before.

The commotion here, a person sleeping nearby vaguely sensed. Opening his eyes, his heart first went “Eh?”—thinking how had the fire gone out? And this morning mist was so thick.

The mist seemed to sway, vaguely revealing human figures. The man widened his eyes to look but couldn’t see clearly. His heart already knew something was wrong. Based on vague sense of the direction they were coming from, he suddenly rolled in the opposite direction.

One roll and he felt pain at his waist, then felt his body lighten. His own eyes vaguely saw his own legs roll into a corner.

Before him, Ning Yi, responsible for disrupting vision, calmly adjusted his sleeves. Where he’d rolled, Feng Zhiwei withdrew her blade that had been waiting there.

She’d just withdrawn her blade when Ning Yi, who’d been listening intently, suddenly pointed behind her. Feng Zhiwei didn’t turn her head—her long sword flashed like lightning, sweeping back under her own arm.

One man collapsed clutching his throat, dying without understanding how the opponent’s sword angle could be so strange—how a blade thrust back under the arm ended up at his throat?

Four killed in succession—there had to be some sound. Everyone woke.

The instant they woke, all doubted they were awake—why was it so dark? Everything seemed shrouded in clouds and mist, only vague outlines visible.

Taking advantage of this instant of dazed confusion, Feng Zhiwei flung out her sword, plunging into the throat of someone nearest her who’d just risen.

The sword entering his throat, she didn’t even withdraw it. Carrying that corpse, she slid sideways, precisely moving before someone diagonally opposite who was charging.

In that person’s blurred vision he only saw a body rushing near, naturally thinking it was the enemy. With a low roar, he struck out with his palm—smack!—shattering that unfortunate fellow’s skull.

One strike and his palm hurt—a black sword pierced through his palm and shot into his brow.

Another two killed in a flash.

These people were closest to her, moved slowest—clearly the weakest in martial arts.

Feng Zhiwei picked the soft persimmons first.

Obviously that leader had the highest martial arts, but he slept furthest away on the offering table at the back. By the time she reached him, he’d have noticed. Better to kill them now while they hadn’t reacted—kill one and that’s one.

Amid spurting blood, some clutched their throats and collapsed gurgling. Others rolled in sparks and charged forward, fierce wind violent. Though vision was blurred, it didn’t affect their movements and positions.

Feng Zhiwei’s heart tightened, knowing the rest would be increasingly difficult to handle. And clearly, the higher the martial arts, the lighter the poisoning.

That fierce wind was so violent, suffocating upon approach. Feng Zhiwei raised her sword, lifting it halfway when sudden chest pain made her hand involuntarily drop.

Just thinking her little life was finished, her body was suddenly knocked aside. Rolling away, she saw Ning Yi flash forward like lightning, replacing her position beneath that person. In an iron bridge backward-leaning slide, his elbow flipped—snow-white light flashed.

Rip!—blood and organs gushed forth. A horrific wound from chest to abdomen gaped open. That man roared madly, desperately lunging upward, struggling to gather his spilling intestines. Ning Yi, blood covering his face, sneered coldly as his blade twisted horizontally.

Thud!—the man crashed down heavily. Upon landing, the splashing blood drenched Ning Yi’s face.

Amid roaring on all sides, Feng Zhiwei, having caught her breath, charged over. She grabbed Ning Yi and fled into the side hall. The moment they shot through the door, she immediately kicked back hard, slamming the hall door shut.

Almost the instant the door closed, various hidden weapons rolled in like violent storm, thud-thud-thud nailing into the door, shooting the already half-rotten wood until large chunks broke off and flew.

Feng Zhiwei, hearing those forceful launching sounds, secretly rejoiced at her quick reaction. Heart still pounding, she turned to lean against the door back to catch her breath.

Ning Yi extended his hand and pulled her away.

“Bang!”

Where Feng Zhiwei had just leaned appeared a hole. A blue-gleaming three-edged spike was viciously embedded within.

If Ning Yi hadn’t pulled fast, this spike should now be embedded in Feng Zhiwei’s back.

Feng Zhiwei exhaled a long breath, murmuring: “You saved my life again…”

“No need to count.” Ning Yi’s face was pale, saying lightly: “You’ve also saved me many times.”

Feng Zhiwei listened to sounds outside, sighing: “This poison still isn’t potent enough. Only made them lose sight—their martial arts suffered little damage. We’re in trouble now…”

She spoke halfway then suddenly stopped, recalling that first afflicted person’s anguished groaning. This poison flowed from Ning Yi’s body, already diluted by a bucket of water, separately drunk into so many stomachs, yet could still be this domineering, making physically robust martial world people unable to control their groans—then how strong must the original worm poison be?

And Ning Yi, directly infected by this poison—what suffering must he endure?

Yet from infection that night until now, nearly two days had passed. She’d never heard him groan once, never complain of pain.

Feng Zhiwei looked at Ning Yi’s pale face, momentarily not knowing what to say.

But Ning Yi only leaned against the wall, carefully listening to outside sounds. Earlier they’d had no way to approach the outer hall door. In emergency they’d been forced into this side hall. Now this hall had no windows, the only entrance already sealed. The poison hadn’t completely robbed the enemy of combat ability. They’d killed seven, leaving five—the ones with higher martial arts. At this moment, the situation couldn’t be worse.

Outside argued briefly, then also fell quiet—probably knowing they couldn’t escape, and concerned about their own poison, temporarily trying to meditate and expel it.

The air held a tense stillness, pressing heavily on hearts.

After a while, Ning Yi leaned against the wall and sat down, beckoning to Feng Zhiwei. “Come, sit.”

Feng Zhiwei smiled and went over, finding some old fabric curtains to pile together. She lit them, and the two sat before the fire warming themselves.

Both were exceptional people. At such moments they possessed composure beyond ordinary people. By the gradually roaring flames, listening to the faint pattering rain, their faces reddened by firelight both showed unshaken calm expressions.

After a while, Feng Zhiwei said: “Ning Yi.”

“Mm.”

“Our luck isn’t very good this time.” Feng Zhiwei coughed several times, secretly wiping away a trace of blood from her mouth corner, turning her head to smile at Ning Yi. “We might die here.”

She smiled at Ning Yi that way, yet felt even her smile was gradually stiffening on her face. Her heartbeat drummed irregularly tight and loose. Her fingers trembled constantly. Her vision kept going dark. All her joints seemed slowly coming apart. Two days and nights of rushing about in extreme tension, suffering internal injuries with no rest—she knew she was mentally and physically exhausted, at the end of her strength. Worse, within her body that usually very stable heat flow showed signs of unstable surging. That feeling was like a long-dormant volcano awaiting the next moment’s thunderous eruption.

She really was about to die… exhausted to death.

She vaguely heard Ning Yi’s low “Mm,” saying: “Not our fault.”

“Yes.” Feng Zhiwei wearily lowered her lashes, feeling her eyelids heavy as a thousand catties, strung with countless iron balls. “Just that I caught your bad luck.”

“I think I was harmed by you.” Ning Yi wouldn’t yield an inch.

Feng Zhiwei lacked energy to banter, saying lazily: “Oh…”

Her hand suddenly hurt—Ning Yi had reached over to pinch her hard. “Zhiwei, don’t sleep, don’t sleep.”

Feng Zhiwei smiled silently. Suddenly she heard Ning Yi ask: “Why did you rush to save me?”

Feng Zhiwei was too tired to answer. Ning Yi kept pinching her. “Speak! You dare not answer this king’s question? Did you truly come to save me or have other motives? Why did you probe me that day? What exactly do you know?”

This man is so noisy… With her currently extremely sluggish thinking, Feng Zhiwei contemplated Ning Yi’s questions, only feeling her brain getting more tangled. With a bang she collapsed into Ning Yi’s arms, murmuring: “…All stupid questions…”

Ning Yi embraced her. For an instant his mind also spun. He first thought he was also exhausted, then thought Feng Zhiwei had knocked him. But his nose suddenly caught a strange scent. He froze, then suddenly understood.

Those martial world people were burning poison incense outside the door!

Feng Zhiwei, long battling in exhaustion, had succumbed first. He’d been concerned about Feng Zhiwei, and his eyes weren’t well—he also hadn’t noticed.

Now he also felt all the accumulated fatigue in his body surge up at once. Those pains that had been finely slicing his organs flooded forth. His breathing caught, brow and eye corners showing pale blue.

He himself… was also nearly finished…

Tightening his embrace of Feng Zhiwei, her slender body formed a small bundle in his arms, like a child. Some soft parts touched him, warm and yielding, calling to mind all the world’s tenderness and intimacy. At this moment he had no sensual thoughts at all, only wanting to hold her tightly in his arms like this, sitting until the road’s end.

Perhaps he should feel unwilling—full of ambition, imperial schemes and hegemonic ambitions. Yet to fall at this ruined temple in Jiyang Mountain—how absurd. But truly at such a juncture, he seemed unable to muster the energy to feel regret or unwillingness. This peace and tranquility also seemed rare. Even such an ending seemed acceptable.

He gradually lowered his eyes, no longer trying to wake Feng Zhiwei. His slender fingers trembled, resting on her brow and lashes.

Her brows and lashes held traces of perspiration like morning dew on flowers. The firelight crackled and dimmed. Night rain sounds seemed far then near. Wisps of rain mist drifted in through broken wall cracks.

Hazily, suddenly as if distant music sounded—a flute.

Clear, desolate, ethereal and remote—the flute came leisurely from the long sky, hung down from the Milky Way. A thread of bright light, myriad miles of clear sound—instantly crossing cloud-wrapped mountains and seas, entering straight into the heart.

One piece: “Rivers and Mountains Dream.”

Mountains and rivers in dreams, mountains and rivers like dreams. How many years of cherished aspirations, who cast away a lifetime’s heroic spirit? Despite golden spears, iron horses, silver vases suddenly broken—nothing more than a hundred years of wealth and honor ultimately returning to yellow earth. Hegemonic enterprise and imperial plans buried behind oneself, four seas’ solitude, late-coming wind’s rest.

Ning Yi’s chaotic mind, following the flute’s approach, gradually cleared, as if the hand of heaven brushed away dark clouding mist.

Feng Zhiwei in his arms also suddenly moved.

Ning Yi lowered his head, gently patting her shoulder. “Zhiwei, wake up. Listen.”

Feng Zhiwei struggled in his arms, propping her head up with eyes closed listening to that flute sound. Her slightly raised shoulders were thin as winter butterfly wings—she seemed to have lost even more weight in two days. Ning Yi felt his palm covering them hurt from the harsh angles.

The flute sound drew several degrees closer. Within that flute seemed some divine transcendent power. The people outside also seemed to stop, a wave of panicked commotion rising.

Feng Zhiwei raised her head, exchanging glances with Ning Yi. Both saw a trace of joy in the other’s eyes.

At this moment both still lacked strength, only able to quietly lean on each other, listening intently to that thread of flute music. Under night rain’s shroud, the old temple was tranquil and silent. Firelight cold, fine rain gentle. In the deep hall’s misty haze they sat on the ground, rain-dampened robe hems slowly spreading.

Suddenly both felt peace in their hearts, all matters beyond concern. Not only were rivers and mountains but a dream—all worldly things, human sorrows and hatreds, towering ambitions, infinite mysteries all seemed disposable in this moment, exchangeable for loud laughter and departure, releasing the mortal world.

Feng Zhiwei didn’t notice she leaned very close to Ning Yi.

Ning Yi didn’t notice his hand supported her shoulder.

The quietest moment of their lives. A lifetime to this point—the closest distance with defenses lowered.

After a long while, Ning Yi said softly: “This piece—amidst freedom lies noble spirit, within desolation holds disdainful bearing. Certainly not achievable by ordinary martial world people.”

Feng Zhiwei responded “Mm.” “Truly a fascinating person.”

Both looked toward that direction, waiting for that person to approach so they could glimpse their true face. But they heard from even closer a long whistle rise—piercing clouds and splitting stone, cleaving empty sky with startling lightning, instantly drawing near!

The flute sound stopped abruptly, no longer approaching.

Both in the hall started. Ning Yi, hearing that whistle, suddenly showed even deeper joy in his eyes.

That whistle initially still distant, instantly arrived. Then from the outer hall came startled cries. Feng Zhiwei vaguely heard that grating-voiced leader cry in panic: “Heavenly War…”

Before finishing his sentence, suddenly a terrible scream. Immediately followed by a heavy “Bang!”—crashing against the side hall door, shaking the entire hall. After a long while, bright red sticky blood flowed in like a snake through the crack beneath the door.

Feng Zhiwei watched that blood flow, thinking of that leader’s martial arts—even at her peak she might not have been his match. Yet the person who’d just arrived took his life in one encounter. Truly formidable.

Thinking of those words “Heavenly War,” her heart stirred again—the Heavenly War family? Holding the martial world’s leadership, steadily controlling both orthodox and heterodox paths for many years—the War clan?

This family, in the martial world was already a god-like existence. No wonder those outside were so panicked. But this family, called descendants of the imperial clan, always had no connection with court people. Why would they act for their sake?

From Ning Yi’s expression, he clearly recognized them. Who was it?

And that flute player—why, upon hearing this Heavenly War person’s whistle, did they stop approaching?

Feng Zhiwei was about to go out to see who it was when she suddenly heard another rustling of sleeves in the wind. The Heavenly War person outside, hearing that continuously approaching sound of wind-carried sleeves, suddenly gave a low cold snort, then fell silent.

Immediately followed by a familiar voice.

“Here? Let me look inside!”

Then another familiar-to-death voice, mixed with chewing sounds, said coldly: “Noisy. Stinks!”

Feng Zhiwei banged into the half-opened hall door.

Helian Zheng, Gu Nanyi!

Really! Either none came, or all the dead crawled out!

Feng Zhiwei, with tears in her eyes, turned back toward Ning Yi, smiling gently.

When Helian Zheng saw Feng Zhiwei, his mouth gaped. “Uh-ah!”—speechless.

Young Master Gu stopped his eternally walnut-eating mouth, casually stuffing the walnut into Helian Zheng’s gaping mouth beside him. Whoosh!—he floated over at divine speed, grabbed Feng Zhiwei, and felt her up and down all over.

Then from his person he felt out a large handful of pills, stuffing them like broad beans into Feng Zhiwei’s mouth, not allowing her to voice any opinion.

Prince Chu was rather pitiful—no one asked him, and he still had to rescue Helian Zheng, nearly choked to death by the walnut.

Helian Zheng, catching his breath, cursed loudly: “You directionally-challenged fool! If not for me, could you have found this place? Crossing the river and demolishing the bridge! Shameless!”

Young Master Gu simply wouldn’t listen to others’ words. The concept of insults was completely beyond him.

“Do you have medicine for eyes?” After a long while swallowing down all that chaos, Feng Zhiwei pointed at Ning Yi. Ning Yi said lightly: “No need to ask him. He hasn’t that ability.”

Young Master Gu, hands in sleeves, fondling his walnut, had absolutely no reaction to His Highness’s provocation.

Feng Zhiwei saw by the door beside that leader’s corpse a small porcelain vial labeled “Long Breath Incense Antidote”—probably the antidote to the poison incense they’d been affected by earlier. From how it sat there properly, it had been searched out by that Heavenly War person intending to give to them, just not knowing why, when Gu Nanyi and Helian Zheng arrived, this War clan member also withdrew.

Feng Zhiwei vaguely felt that from the flute sound beginning to just now being rescued, the events that transpired had something unusual about them. Very obviously, the flute player avoided the Heavenly War family, and the Heavenly War person avoided Gu Nanyi—this was very interesting.

Of course right now this interest couldn’t be researched, because Little呆 Gu wouldn’t answer her.

After taking medicine and resting a while, Young Master Gu transferred some inner energy to Feng Zhiwei. At her entreaty he reluctantly took Ning Yi’s pulse, stuffing Ning Yi with a pill whose color and smell were both extremely hard to accept. When handing it over he was very reluctant—from his expression, if Ning Yi showed the slightest hesitation he’d immediately take it back.

Unfortunately, His Highness showed not a trace of reluctance. Not only did he accept it, he smiled and thanked him. Not only thanked him but immediately ate it. Watching this, Young Master Gu immediately fumbled in his robes for walnuts—pulled out eight in one grab.

While resting, they heard Helian Zheng explain the pursuit’s beginning and end. That night, Young Master Gu had indeed gotten lost, circling and circling thirty li from that post station. Only when Helian Zheng, worried about Feng Zhiwei, also chased out and ran into him halfway did he bring him along. The two pursued to the post station, seeing so many charred corpses—hearts half-frozen. Later at Jiyang Mountain’s foot they saw Feng Zhiwei’s markers and followed the trail in. Only finding markers in the mountains wasn’t so easy, so they were delayed until now.

Hearing they’d also been to that Huayan Du Village, Feng Zhiwei couldn’t help asking: “Did you see Chunyu Meng…”

Helian Zheng’s expression darkened. He shook his head.

Feng Zhiwei lowered her lashes, silent. Helian Zheng said hatefully: “Dozens of our guards died. The post station side was completely annihilated! Too much—these bastards!”

“Debts owed will always be repaid.” Ning Yi stood up, having Feng Zhiwei find those several greasy beef-paper sheets stamped with the Longxi Bureau seal to keep safe. He said lightly: “Let’s go. Still the original plan—to Jiyang. Jiyang is already not far from Fengzhou, the Longxi capital where Shen Xuzhi is located. We should have a good heart-to-heart with Shen Xuzhi.”

Young Master Gu slowly stood up, grabbed Feng Zhiwei in one motion. Feng Zhiwei twisted her head in his grasp indignantly: “I can walk myself!”

Unfortunately, Young Master Gu, both cherishing fragrant jade yet not sufficiently cherishing fragrant jade, had already tossed her onto his back and sped away like lightning…

Ten li down from Jiyang Mountain was Jiyang Prefecture. Feng Zhiwei and Ning Yi discussed—after all, they were unfamiliar with Jiyang Magistrate Peng Hexing. To avoid alerting the enemy, they’d first use the Long Tassel Guard badge to request an audience. Once confirming Magistrate Peng was reliable, they’d reveal their identities depending on circumstances. Anyway, Long Tassel was the imperial guard—wherever they went, local governments indeed had responsibility to receive them.

Magistrate Peng was a refined-looking middle-aged scholar, very genteel in temperament. He received them properly and arranged for them to stay in the magistrate’s inner courtyard. He also sent for a physician. Yet between his brows always showed some worry, as if he had troubles on his mind.

Feng Zhiwei inquired with concern a few times. Magistrate Peng showed a bitter smile, shaking his head: “Thank you for your concern. Strong dragons can’t suppress local snakes. You can’t manage affairs here…”

Feng Zhiwei laughed lightly: “We’re imperial guards, after all.”

“Imperial guards…” Magistrate Peng gave another bitter smile, shaking his head as he left. “In Longxi, the Shen family is imperial. What can one guard accomplish…”

Feng Zhiwei smiled, having Helian Zheng go investigate. After a while, before Helian Zheng returned, vaguely from the front courtyard came sounds of commotion.

The front courtyard was the magistrate’s great hall and office—this was a county’s primary location. What kind of people dared make trouble here?

She heard Magistrate Peng’s distant stern rebuke, his voice grieved and indignant: “This official became a jinshi in the tenth year of Changxi, appointed Jiyang Magistrate to this day. Commissioned by the Emperor, loyal to the nation’s affairs. What wrong have I committed that Your Excellency would dismiss me like this!”

There seemed to be more arguing sounds. Feng Zhiwei listened from afar, showing a cold smile.

After a while Helian Zheng returned, his face also showing both anger and excitement: “Longxi Administrative Commissioner Shen Xuzhi says Magistrate Peng is implicated in bribery and corruption. Dismissed on the spot pending investigation, to be temporarily replaced by Vice Magistrate Shen Junxin. Oh, should clarify—this Vice Magistrate, he’s Shen Xuzhi’s distant cousin.”

As his words fell, a group of people had already burst in. The leader barked: “New master taking office—Jiyang’s under martial law in the near term! All sorts of riff-raff not permitted to stay in the magistrate’s compound! Report your credentials, then get out!”