The sun sank in the west, and under that fading light, all things in heaven and earth turned a dim amber, their shadows stretched long and thin.

The last ferry from Mu Er He’s river crossing had less than one incense stick’s time remaining before it would depart.

The turbulent waters of the Hun River now ran without ice. After the rainy season, the murky river was slowly clearing. Xiao Nanhui gazed at the darkening surface of the water, and felt a wave of quiet reflection wash over her.

A few days ago, when she had first set foot in this place, she could never have imagined she would live through so much turmoil in such a short span of time.

Not far behind her, Hao Bai finished tying up Li Jingsheng and settling him aboard the boat, then came back down to bid farewell to the group.

“This journey allowed me to fulfill the commission entrusted to me by my family’s elders — and for that, I must thank each of you for your assistance. Now that we part again today, who knows when we may meet once more.”

Zhongli Jing returned the courtesy with a slight bow — perfectly measured and impeccably gracious.

“Those with fate will meet again. Only I wonder — when that day comes, by what title shall we address you?”

Hao Bai laughed freely, his teeth rather whiter than his face. “My given name is Qu Mo, though my household established a rule long ago that one must not use one’s real name when traveling abroad. Hao Bai is the name I use when walking the jianghu — please continue to call me Hao Bai.”

Xiao Nanhui listened from the side, barely suppressing her amusement.

What a name Mo was for him. After all, born that dark — how could he have the audacity to be called “Hao Bai”?

Hao Bai seemed to sense Xiao Nanhui’s expression and turned a leisurely gaze toward her. “I wonder — next time we meet, should I address you as Brother Yao, or as a young lady?”

Xiao Nanhui immediately schooled her face. “Brother Hao is joking. My name, though perhaps not as evocative as Brother Yao’s, is hardly one that could be mistaken for a woman’s.”

Xiao Nanhui knew that a physician like him would have no difficulty determining whether she was male or female. But she was absolutely not going to admit it here.

Out in the jianghu, who didn’t have a face they had to keep?

Hao Bai blinked, deliberately putting on an injured expression and clasping a hand to his chest with theatrical flair. “To think Brother Yao sees me this way. True, I was a bit on the darker side when I came into the world, but surely that doesn’t call for a name like Mo. The name is my parents’ gift to me, and there’s no shirking it — but in my heart I still prefer when people call me Hao Bai. That’s the name I use with everyone I befriend, and I’ve never had any intention of deceiving anyone.”

Hmph. Arguing his way out of it.

Xiao Nanhui gave a slight smile, preparing to see him off. “Brother Hao needn’t explain himself to me. This journey, though full of difficulties, could be called a complete success — let us consider it a fortunate connection. In the future—”

Xiao Nanhui had been about to say something polite about the vastness of the world and an uncertain next meeting, but the other party seized on the opening and climbed right up it. “In the future I must certainly visit Brother Yao properly in Quecheng — and when that time comes, I hope Brother Yao won’t have forgotten me.”

Truly shameless.

To no one’s surprise, the very next moment the man opened his mouth and truly leaned into it.

“There is one more thing — though it is an imposition to ask, I hope Brother Yao will lend a hand.”

Xiao Nanhui turned wary at once. “What is it?”

Hao Bai pointed toward Jixiang and Hua Qiu, who were wandering about nearby with Bolao. “I am in rather a hurry to return home, and I certainly cannot dawdle along the way as I did coming here. Horses are not easy to obtain at the river crossing, and finding one could cause further delays. I’d like to ask Brother Yao to generously lend me your horse for the journey — once I reach home, I will find a way to return it as soon as possible.”

Borrow a horse?

Xiao Nanhui was somewhat conflicted. “It’s not really a question of willingness or not. My horse has a somewhat difficult temperament — strangers may have trouble handling her.”

Just as she saw Hao Bai’s face beginning to fall, and as she was still hesitating — after all, river crossings were bustling with all manner of travelers in a hurry, and there truly weren’t many people to turn to — a cool voice cut in without warning.

“Doesn’t Brother Yao’s attendant still have a horse? Why not lend that one to Brother Hao?”

Xiao Nanhui glanced at Zhongli Jing. “If Hua Qiu goes with him, what does Bolao ride?”

“Little Brother Bolao can ride Brother Yao’s horse. And if Brother Yao doesn’t mind, you’re welcome to share my carriage — we are both headed overland back to Quecheng, so we should be going the same way.” He paused, then, for reasons best known to himself, added one final remark: “My carriage is quite spacious. Brother Yao need not worry about that.”

With those two angles neatly blocked off, if Xiao Nanhui refused, she would come across as petty and quarrelsome.

Oh — right. And there was the secret seal.

Either way, she still needed to keep an eye on the hard-won item. If she let that man sit alone in the carriage, who could say whether he might pull something when no one was watching?

She certainly couldn’t match his seven-aperture quick-thinking mind. Better to rely on her own eyes.

“Very well.” Xiao Nanhui gave a nod, made a few brief arrangements, and handed Hua Qiu over to Hao Bai.

Hao Bai was effusively thankful once more, and at the last moment secretly pressed two large boxes into Xiao Nanhui’s hands — a parting gift in gratitude.

Once he had sorted out the horses, the timing was just right.

The ferry slowly pulled away from the shore. Hao Bai’s conspicuous white robes shone brightly at the boat’s stern, and finally vanished toward the far bank.

After the last boat left shore, the merchants and travelers along the riverbank dispersed in all directions until only a scattered few remained, coiling up ropes on the dock.

Ding Weixiang brought the carriage back around and reached out to help Zhongli Jing board, but paused when his hand made contact.

The skin beneath his fingers was ice-cold as snow. He instinctively moved to check the pulse — but the other man pulled his hand away.

“I’m fine.”

Ding Weixiang’s face was something that could only be described as alarmed — but since that person would not allow him to examine him, he did not dare overstep a single inch. He had no choice but to drop to one knee in apology.

“This subordinate failed to take proper care of my lord. I deserve death.”

Zhongli Jing simply gave a light wave of his hand, signaling that he would not hold it against him.

Even in illness, this man’s face showed little change — only within those eyes, if one looked carefully, was there a faint, barely perceptible weariness.

At this point Bolao had already mounted up, and Xiao Nanhui came forward with Hao Bai’s boxes in her arms, just about to say that since she would be making use of the other person’s carriage, she hoped not to be too much trouble — when she received two dagger-sharp looks from Ding Weixiang.

The smile on Xiao Nanhui’s face froze. She swallowed back the words before they could emerge.

Zhongli Jing had already settled himself inside the carriage. Ding Weixiang shot Xiao Nanhui two more hard looks, vaulted up from the other side, and did not look at her again.

Xiao Nanhui scratched her head and had no choice but to climb aboard herself.

The interior of the carriage was very quiet — clearly well-insulated and sealed against sound. It was clean and spare, without a single superfluous object in sight. Zhongli Jing sat on the left side, his eyes lightly closed. When he heard her enter, he did not say a single word more.

The carriage set off. Night was already falling, and they needed to reach the border of Huozhou before full darkness, so there would likely be no more stops along the way.

The light filtering through the window gradually shifted from warm to cold and faded away. The interior of the carriage fell into a quiet stillness. Sitting beside that person, Xiao Nanhui found the peculiar atmosphere a little uncomfortable.

A recollection of the scene when they had seized the secret seal flashed through her mind. She grasped for something to say.

“You — why didn’t you kill An Lu?”

Between them was a gap of about one cushion’s width. Though she could only see half of his profile, she could read in it that signature, utterly unruffled composure.

The question had come from nowhere, yet he answered swiftly — as though he had known all along she would ask this.

“Even a lone bee always finds its way back to the hive eventually.”

As she had thought — he had not truly let An Lu go. He was simply waiting for a larger fish to take the bait. An Lu was nothing more than a lure he had cast out.

Perhaps because that young man was, like herself, someone who had lost both parents and wandered the world alone for many years, she felt a certain reluctant compassion. “Well — actually — I think An Lu is only fifteen or sixteen years old. He may not have that many schemes in him. And besides, the item is already in our hands — the person who used him probably won’t bother with him anymore. And he’s here in Huozhou — if you go back to Quecheng and still need to keep an eye on him, that’s a great deal of trouble. Don’t you think?”

Zhongli Jing said nothing. He seemed too disinclined even to turn his neck — he only slid his gaze sideways to glance at her, sending a look that communicated something clearly.

Xiao Nanhui knew that look. It said: you understand nothing.

Hmph. Fine, don’t say it then — it has nothing to do with me anyway.

She had just turned away when she stopped and looked back again at the man beside her, feeling that something was off.

After that glance at her, Zhongli Jing had closed his eyes. His lips had gone somewhat pale, and the strands of hair at his temples were damp — he appeared to be perspiring.

“Hey?”

No response.

She instinctively reached out and touched his arm, and through the fabric felt an abnormal heat. When she touched his forehead and the back of his hand, both were burning.

Xiao Nanhui was startled, and was about to call for help.

“Ding—”

The last two syllables never made it out. A hand clamped over her mouth.

“What are you shouting for? I’m not dead yet.”

Xiao Nanhui turned her head with a trembling start and met a pair of pitch-black eyes.

Zhongli Jing’s scorching breath was right at her ear — close enough that she could see his eyelashes dampened by cold sweat.

No wonder he hadn’t moved at all since getting into the carriage. He was clearly suffering greatly, and must have caught a chill in the swamp. He’d had no chance to rest before this, and had been holding himself together the entire time — and now he simply couldn’t hold on any longer.

If she counted carefully — from the night before last when the Zhuming Ceremony ended, through yesterday when they had chased Zou Sifang into the swamp, to now as evening fell — they had gone nearly two full days and nights without closing their eyes.

This man — he truly could endure.

Zhongli Jing’s ice-cold fingers slowly moved away from Xiao Nanhui’s lips, and lightly pointed toward a corner of the carriage.

“There’s a box over there with several porcelain vials. Bring me the green one.”

Considering that he was a sick person, Xiao Nanhui let the near-imperial-decree tone slide without comment. She rummaged through the large trunk in the corner of the carriage until she finally turned it upside down, then placed the medicine in the man’s hand.

“In this state — why didn’t you say so earlier? We could at least have gone back into the city and found a physician. Why insist on suffering out here in the middle of nowhere?”

“We need to get back quickly.” Zhongli Jing opened the porcelain vial with practiced ease, tipped out two pills, and swallowed them without water. “Besides, suffering is preferable to dying.”

Xiao Nanhui fell silent.

He was not wrong. Right now, despite appearances, they had not truly won. There were still dangers all around them.

As long as they had not crossed out of Huozhou’s borders, nothing could be considered settled. The matter of An Lu might not be known only to them — and there was still that mysterious figure behind An Lu, who had never shown himself. Was that person even now watching them from some hidden vantage point?

At the thought, the drowsiness that had begun to creep over her was jolted away. She solemnly adopted a military meditative posture, and every few moments lifted the carriage curtain to check on the situation outside.

Yet the carriage’s steady rocking and the rhythmic noise it produced were the most potent lullabies in the world. Before Xiao Nanhui had maintained her vigil for even half an hour, she toppled over and was dead to the world.

The person beside her, who had been quietly resting since taking the medicine, slowly opened his eyes and glanced at the figure sprawled on the floor: her high-bound hair had come somewhat loose; her clothes were twisted and crumpled beneath her; the whole effect was that of a thoroughly drunk reveler. Only her sleeping face had softened, and without the sharp alertness of her waking hours, she no longer looked nearly so ferocious.

In truth, even at her most fierce, she could hardly be called ferocious. At best, she was bluffing. It was the bearing of someone who had never been truly wounded — striking out freely, but incapable of genuine ruthlessness.

Zhongli Jing regarded her for a moment, then abruptly reached over and pulled a blanket from nearby, tossing it onto the figure on the floor.

The blanket landed squarely over Xiao Nanhui’s head, covering it completely.

And with that, the carriage seemed to settle at last into genuine quiet. Zhongli Jing shifted into a more comfortable position, and gently closed his eyes.