They sat facing each other. Meihong didn’t insist on toasting but drank several more cups on her own. Meng Jianqing smiled, “Miss Meihong, you’re not trying to get yourself drunk to avoid this situation, are you?”

Meihong shot him a glance, “I’m drinking for courage. Who wouldn’t be afraid of seeing you people? During the day, I was thinking that Lieutenant Meng is quite different from others—courageous and responsible, truly admirable and impressive. But now… I fear I’m just like those soft-shelled turtles, destined to be dealt with by Lieutenant Meng sooner or later.”

Meng Jianqing knew her seemingly resentful, soul-stirring tone was all practiced from daily performance, so natural it flowed that it shouldn’t be taken seriously. But Meihong had probably acted so much that truth and falsehood had become confused even to herself, spoken so naturally that he momentarily couldn’t distinguish reality from illusion.

Under flickering lamplight, Meihong chatted casually, asking about the capital’s customs and Hangzhou’s scenery, then sighed wistfully, “I suppose I’ll never set foot on shore or see the scenery there in this lifetime. In my next life, I must be reborn far from water—oh my, I can’t say such things! What if the King of Hell hears and sends me to some waterless desert—wouldn’t that be even worse!”

Her words seemed both resentful and sorrowful, yet spoken lightly and gracefully, like self-mocking consolation.

Something stirred gently in Meng Jianqing’s heart.

Meihong’s seemingly casual conversation had a refreshing quality that made people feel at ease, as if anyone could open their hearts freely in her presence.

He thought of Limu. Limu was nearly middle-aged, plain-looking, taciturn, and melancholy. With his hidden weapons and poisons, no one dared get close to him.

But before such a Meihong, even someone like himself who’d practiced meditation at Tiantai Temple would feel this way—how much more so Limu?

He stopped himself from thinking further, steadied his mind, and said, “Now we can have a proper talk, can’t we?”

Meihong said with some surprise, “Not waiting until we reach the river’s center? Very well, as you wish. What do you want? Whatever I have, I certainly won’t be stingy with.”

Speaking the last sentence, Meihong glanced at Meng Jianqing with a half-smile, her expression seeming to say: See, I’m seriously listening to you.

Meng Jianqing watched her intently. “I want you to go to Xiaoxi Tian and testify to Ouyang Buxiu that Limu wanted to kill his disciple because of you.”

Meihong turned to stare at him in shock.

Meng Jianqing continued, “Limu wanted to kill Ouyang Buxiu’s disciple, then frame the Imperial Guard, thereby stirring up Xiaoxi Tian’s hatred toward the court, venting anger for Chen Youliang’s former subordinates, or even inciting Xiaoxi Tian to rebellion so Chen Youliang’s old followers could seize the opportunity. I’ve explained very clearly—I hope you won’t pretend not to understand.”

After a long pause, Meihong said, “You have quite an imagination. But setting everything else aside, even if what you say is entirely true, do you think I’d be stupid enough to serve as such a witness to Xiaoxi Tian? Do I not want to live? That old demon Ouyang Buxiu would wring my neck! Besides, I’m just a boat woman—whatever I say depends on the client’s wishes. It’d be a miracle if Ouyang Buxiu believed me!”

Meng Jianqing said, “Whether he believes you is my concern; whether you go is yours.”

Meihong sighed, “I’m afraid of dying.”

Meng Jianqing’s expression didn’t change. “You’ll die if you don’t go too.”

As he spoke, a faint smile unconsciously appeared at the corner of his mouth.

Meihong spoke so frankly that even the most frightening words sounded melodious and worth hearing from her lips.

Meihong sighed again, “I naturally believe that. The Imperial Guard can easily fabricate a murder charge—didn’t you just demonstrate that with the Suzhou merchant when you boarded?”

She suddenly looked up, “If you can’t solve this case, what happens? Will your Commander Shen cut off your head to explain things to Xiaoxi Tian?”

Meng Jianqing evaded answering, “That’s Commander Shen’s business.”

Meihong thought for a moment, then suddenly smiled brightly and leaned closer, “Since it’s death either way, if I can drag Lieutenant Meng along, the road to the underworld won’t be lonely! If I drag you with me, would that count as mandarin ducks sharing the same fate? Is there any woman who would grieve for you her whole life? Oh, I’m sure there is, and more than one, right?”

Meng Jianqing truly didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Yet his heart wasn’t unmoved. Meihong had seen that he had no other path, hadn’t she? That’s why she dared joke with him so boldly about such serious matters.

The full moon hung overhead, the sea tide had arrived, and boats in the river rose and fell with the tide, appearing and disappearing. Suddenly a large wave struck, and Meihong, who’d been leaning casually against the table, stumbled and fell against Meng Jianqing.

Meng Jianqing could have easily avoided her, but as Meihong fell toward him, a delicate, lingering sweet fragrance suddenly penetrated straight into his heart without obstruction. In that moment of bewilderment, Meihong’s warm, soft, fragrant body tumbled into his chest.

He’d intended to push Meihong away immediately, but she whispered in his ear, “Your Commander Shen seems to want to use others’ hands to kill you—why torment yourself so? Since you’re here, why not open your heart and enjoy this night properly? Tomorrow’s matters, we’ll discuss tomorrow, all right?”

Meng Jianqing froze there.

The boat shuddered slightly—the sail must have been raised.

With full sails, the boat met the tide head-on, seemingly about to be swallowed by giant waves, then suddenly turned, borrowing the wind’s power to ride above the waves and meet the next tide.

Wave after wave of wine and rouge fragrance from Meihong’s mouth assaulted him. Her flushed face was inches away, that mysterious sweet scent coiling within Meng Jianqing’s body. Meihong’s voice was barely audible: “Do you know that the moment you boarded, I understood—you truly are my calamity!”

She sighed like a low chant, “Calamity—do you understand?”

Perhaps when she’d seen that young, vigorous Lieutenant shoot five arrows and drive away five pig dragons from afar during the day, Meihong had already glimpsed her calamity.

And now, so close, so near, that vitality hidden behind composed maturity—rising and falling, surging and swelling—suddenly ignited a small but inextinguishable flame in Meihong’s heart.

After experiencing so much, what she yearned for was so simple.

Nothing more than every young woman’s shared dream.

A young, handsome, vigorous man who appreciated her qualities and would hold her in his arms to cherish and caress her tenderly.

Perhaps Meng Jianqing just happened to arrive at the right moment.

But Meihong didn’t want to think so much.

She wanted only this present moment.

Meng Jianqing felt two forces struggling within his body. One self greedily indulged in Meihong’s gradually warming soft body, while another frantically wanted to escape this nightmare-like situation.

Sweat beaded on his forehead.

Before Meihong, he’d greatly overestimated his shallow meditation skills.

That thread of delicate, sweet fragrance had somehow made his body burn like fire.

Meng Jianqing suddenly startled—what fragrance was this?

He’d almost gathered enough energy to push away the body in his arms.

But Meihong suddenly opened her mouth slightly and bit his lip, cutting off the breath he’d barely managed to gather.