On the late autumn plains, galloping horses raced frantically, their tails trailing clouds of dust through the sky, cutting ghostly shadows through the gray-yellow air.

Two horses, two riders, covered head to face in gray dust, still desperately whipping their mounts, lips cracked and parched yet not daring to drink a drop of water, eyes bloodshot yet not daring to close them for an instant.

Because behind them was a killing god.

This killing god had been pursuing them for three days. Originally they’d been a group of ten or so, but this relentless killing god had chased them from within Puyang City all the way to the Juye plains near Meng City. Ten-odd people became five or six, then finally just these two. Their remaining companions had all been killed one by one on the yellow dirt roads by this death-pursuing killing god using arrows, blades, concealed weapons—every possible means of ambush.

Initially they hadn’t worried, relying on their numbers. Later they’d chosen mountain paths, water routes, splitting up—but no matter how they moved through hidden mountain trails or disguised themselves within crowds, they couldn’t avoid being killed by various methods.

Now only two remained. Meng Kingdom’s capital Meng City wasn’t far ahead. Ten more li forward lay Prince Ping’s Yao Mountain Army main camp. Getting close to there might offer hope of survival.

Even though they’d been Prince Li’s trusted bodyguards, ultimately they were capable people. After Prince Li’s death, surrendering to Prince Ping—His Highness would surely welcome them gladly.

The two fleeing men on horseback exchanged bitter glances.

They didn’t know how they’d provoked this killing god.

They were Prince Li’s personal guards. When Prince Li mysteriously died in Puyang Prefecture’s government office, these guards recruited from the martial world mostly scattered immediately—especially those who’d participated in humiliating Miss Zheng. To avoid revenge from the powerful Zheng family, they’d simply left Puyang to resume their free-roaming martial world lives.

However, not long after leaving Puyang, brothers began being tracked down, then inexplicably picked off one by one.

The two men frantically whipping their horses occasionally glanced behind. Swirling dust obscured their vision—they saw no human figures, but this couldn’t dispel the deep fear in their eyes.

…

Meng Hu was currently on a hillside one li away, holding a special eagle-eye scope from Jade Mirror Palace.

Through the round lens tube, he could see the dust trails of horses ahead.

He was that killing god.

He’d been pursuing and killing that group.

As Jade Mirror Palace’s Grand Commander, he’d brought back his trusted guards. Through investigation, he’d quickly learned what happened in the government office that day, learned the reason for Miss Zheng Seven’s well-jumping.

After hearing about that incident, this man who’d joyfully rushed home to prepare for marriage fell silent for a long time. His first action was refusing the Zheng family’s request to break the engagement. His second was taking his men out the door with weapons and killing intent to begin revenge.

He wanted to avenge Miss Zheng Seven.

He wanted to wash away his shame with blood.

His fiancée, the gentle lady he’d fallen in love with at first sight, had been destroyed by that group of filthy killers ahead. How could he let them go?

Prince Li was already dead, but those guards who’d participated in humiliating Miss Zheng Seven were still alive, still fleeing.

Now only the last two remained.

A guard beside him carefully reminded: “Grand Commander, Prince Ping’s military camp isn’t far ahead. If we kill here, it might cause trouble.”

“Then kill them outside Prince Ping’s military camp.” Meng Hu descended the slope and mounted his horse.

Half a quarter-hour later, he caught up with those two horses. This time he needn’t hide his tracks—he and his guards completely surrounded the two men.

Those two were covered in gray dust, hair and beards disheveled, gripping weapons on horseback while staring fearfully at the slowly approaching Meng Hu.

Meng Hu stopped. Previously busy with assassination and revenge, many details remained unclear. Now facing these last two living witnesses, he wanted to clarify the entire incident.

Those two suddenly threw down their weapons with a thud, clutching their heads and shouting: “Don’t kill us! Don’t kill us! We surrender! Surrender! Whatever you want to know, we’ll tell you everything!”

Meng Hu slightly raised his chin, signaling guards to bind these two.

Guards spurred their horses forward. Since the opponents had dropped weapons, they naturally relaxed their vigilance. Meng Hu turned to look at the slightly darkening sky ahead, wondering what that dark shadow on the distant mountains was.

Suddenly an angry shout, then a horse’s neigh, followed by a loud crash. Meng Hu whirled around to see his guard knocked to the ground. Those two had actually remounted and were frantically whipping their horses, madly charging outward.

“Shoot!” Meng Hu roared angrily. He no longer wanted to question anything—these people deserved death!

Arrows whistled away—all specially-made crossbow bolts from Jade Mirror Palace. Meng Hu watched the arrows pierce those two men’s backs, blood flowers blooming in the yellow dust like spider lilies opening at dusk.

Yet those two didn’t slow down, lying flat on their horses still desperately charging forward. One was even laughing maniacally, screaming hoarsely: “Worth it! Worth it!”

Not knowing what those words meant, not understanding when these people who’d previously only dared flee desperately had gained such courage—but hearing this in Meng Hu’s ears automatically made him think of Miss Zheng Seven’s fate. Fury blazed up in his chest. Without hesitation, he spurred his horse and shot forward like an arrow.

He would personally use his blade to stab into these bastards’ hearts one by one!

Someone shouted behind him—his guards, their tone vaguely dissuading. But at this moment, Meng Hu’s reason was burned away by rage, unwilling to think.

The galloping pursuit didn’t last long. Cresting a small hill, one of the two men suddenly leaped into the air. Though covered in arrows like a porcupine, he flew extremely fast and high—and that posture appeared very rigid.

Only in the unclear dusk everything was indistinct. With eyes only for those two horses and two people, Meng Hu had no time to observe more. Seeing that person flying so swiftly, about to escape his vision in moments, without time to think, he raised his hand and his crossbow shot straight out.

“Whoosh.” The crossbow pierced through the directly ascending figure’s back, through the heart and out, disappearing into darkness. A clear “thunk” was faintly heard, followed by a “crack” as if something broke.

Meng Hu lowered his crossbow and reined in his horse. He suddenly felt something was wrong.

At this moment from the darkness ahead, someone loudly called: “Halt! Before military camps, no weapons may be used!”

This shout came suddenly, after he’d already fired his crossbow. Hearing this, Meng Hu’s heart thundered—he instantly knew he’d been tricked.

Then someone else exclaimed in alarm: “Oh no! Enemy troops attacking! They’ve destroyed our gate!”

Hearing this, Meng Hu’s dark face had completely sunk, cold as iron.

Rapid hoofbeats—his guards had caught up, about to protect him when Meng Hu urgently said: “Everyone leave!”

“Grand Commander!” The guards were still confused.

“We’ve stepped into a trap—don’t all die here!” Meng Hu pushed aside a guard, quickly pulling a snow-white whistle from his chest and handing it to his guard captain. “This is a token for limited Web mobilization. Use this to find them, then request their help to locate Her Majesty the Queen and ask her to save me!”

“Didn’t the Web already disband?” The guard was shocked.

Meng Hu shook his head. The Web and Sting had always been directly under Gong Yin’s command. When Gong Yin went to Snow Mountain, he’d mobilized almost all Web and Sting operatives—a considerable portion remained there. As for Web and Sting scattered across nations gathering intelligence, when the State Preceptor and Queen had traveled the Great Wilderness, there were always problems, so for safety they’d almost stopped contact. Even after the Queen’s enthronement, there seemed no intention of activation. But now with urgent circumstances, they’d have to use them.

“Leave quickly! Otherwise it’s insubordination!” Meng Hu whipped the guard’s horse. Only after the horse neighed and charged down the slope trailing dust did he turn back, face grim as he looked ahead.

Ahead, lanterns had been lit at some point, hung high and swaying, their pale yellow light like a shallow moon illuminating a small area. The all-black armored troops hidden in darkness could only be seen as undulating vague outlines and armor pieces faintly gleaming, like low black hills crouching in the darkness.

He didn’t know how long they’d waited.

Before the troops stood a laughably makeshift “gate”—a few wooden poles arranged door-like. A banner hung from the “gate,” behind which a crooked, crude watchtower was hastily erected, hidden behind a gentle slope and invisible unless one went around.

Behind these sparse structures stood a newly pitched tent. A fully-armed figure emerged from it with a broad smile.

All arrangements looked like military camp layouts, yet so crude they resembled children playing house—like a farce. But Meng Hu’s pupils had contracted tightly, as if seeing the greatest danger in the human world.

Because this was enough.

There was a gate, watchtower, troops, main tent, even a commanding general present—this was a complete military camp. According to Meng Kingdom and even Di Ge laws, this was a sacred, inviolable military garrison. Even though this damned garrison had inexplicably moved forward ten li and created only a simplified version, it had become a military camp. All unauthorized personnel entering camp vicinity would be expelled; those ignoring warnings could be killed without question; those charging camps and destroying formations would have nine generations executed.

Worse yet, the “gate’s” casually-planted “flagpole” had broken in half, the lower half lying on the ground still attached to a general’s banner covered in blood. This was naturally the blood of that Prince Li guard just now, and that flagpole had been broken by Meng Hu’s crossbow after shooting through the guard’s chest.

According to military law, charging gates, breaking flagpoles, and destroying royal banners constituted the greatest challenge and insult to this army. Regardless of status, all were considered enemies.

Meng Hu knew the laws well. Hearing those shouts, he’d already guessed the situation and could only immediately drive away his guards. Without guards, he could claim accidental entry; with guards meant leading troops to charge formations—the implications were completely different.

Besides, since the opponent had set this trap, it was certainly long-premeditated. Why involve more lives?

Someone dragged away that Prince Li guard’s corpse. Meng Hu watched helplessly, seeing a rope around the corpse’s neck. Apparently this person had already died while being pursued—these people had looped rope around the corpse’s neck and pulled it flying to make him shoot, breaking the “gate flagpole.”

Investigating conspiracies was now useless. He turned his gaze to the opposite side.

That fully-armed person stood smiling before the “tent,” saying: “Grand Commander Meng, long time no see. I heard you’re marrying a lovely wife—good fortune approaches. Why did you suddenly go mad and charge my Yao Mountain camp?”

Hearing the opponent definitively declare “charging camp,” Meng Hu coldly smiled, squinting: “I heard Prince Ping’s Yao Mountain Army was brave and elite. Now I see the reputation is well-deserved—truly appearing and disappearing like ghosts, swift as wind. I was merely hunting nearby and don’t know how I suddenly encountered your camp that should be ten li away.”

Prince Ping seemed not to understand his sarcasm, squinting with a smile: “You’re Grand Commander of Di Ge’s Jade Mirror Palace—you can’t control my Meng Kingdom royal army’s movements. Today you brazenly charged formations and destroyed banners, killing my officers. Is Di Ge dissatisfied with my Meng Kingdom royalty, wanting to destabilize our internal affairs?”

“Who are the rebellious traitors—they know in their own hearts,” Meng Hu answered coldly.

Prince Ping smiled slightly and waved his hand. The front two rows of black-armored archers knelt and stood respectively, drawing bows, nocking arrows—heavy arrowheads converging at one point.

Meng Hu simultaneously heard endless sounds of armor and weapons clashing behind him. Large numbers of soldiers had already surrounded him.

Thousands of troops trapping one man.

“Will you continue charging camps and solidify your rebellious reputation, bringing your Meng family evidence of treasonous extermination? Or surrender your weapons now so we can have a proper discussion?” Prince Ping smiled confidently.

Meng Hu remained silent.

He looked back at the sky—black clouds covered the sun, no light visible.

Conspiracies also pressed close like layered black clouds. The seemingly peaceful Meng Kingdom would eventually be swept into hidden undercurrents. And he, the first to step into the trap, was merely opening the prelude.

After a long moment, with a clang, weapons hit the ground.

…

In the Zhao family courtyard in the western city, Jing Hengbo was packing luggage.

She’d decided to accompany Gong Yin back to the Dragon family ancestral cemetery to bury Nan Jin, then decide their next steps. She’d once enjoyed luxurious, prosperous living, but now understood such prosperous, honored life harbored countless variables and risks. She’d had enough of such days and most hoped to live in seclusion with Gong Yin, no longer dealing with the incredibly complex Great Wilderness.

Gong Yin was noncommittal about the seclusion suggestion. She could see his heart was expectant, yet due to her safety and post-seclusion problems, he hadn’t completely agreed. Because even if they could abandon the Great Wilderness and give up power struggles, it didn’t mean others would stop considering her an enemy. Potential enemies lurking in shadows or that lady from Snow Mountain were all powerful figures. If Jing Hengbo lost power and backing, heaven knew how long peaceful days could last.

Jing Hengbo was quite puzzled by this. Hadn’t Gong Yin recovered? Even if his power couldn’t return to peak levels, cooperating with her plus those willing to follow her, self-protection should be more than sufficient, right? Why did worry still linger between his brows?

She’d repeatedly probed about this but never received clear answers. Helplessly, she could only persist—first go with Gong Yin to see the Dragon family ancestral lands, see if the Dragon family’s originally chosen techniques or living places had problems.

They’d stayed several more days in the courtyard because Doctor Sun was treating Long Wei. Among all Dragon family disciples, Long Wei had the best constitution and mildest symptoms, so Doctor Sun chose him first. During this time, Doctor Sun repeatedly invited Jing Hengbo to Meng City, which she deflected with smiles and silence. She had no intention of dealing with this old man—what did Meng Kingdom’s internal affairs have to do with her? Once Long Wei’s situation improved, she’d slip away first. Did Old Sun really think she enjoyed being some “royal terminator”?

Luggage packed into bundles, Jing Hengbo felt vaguely joyful and expectant. Recently the Dragon family disciples’ attitude toward her was quite respectful—after all, they’d personally witnessed her risking her life for the Dragon family, nearly dying. Previous grudges had been resolved. Long Zhai’s complexion gradually improved due to Long Wei’s treatment. Only the girl Chun Shui, due to her friendship with Pearl, never gave her a good face and often argued with Yong Xue, Meng Potian and others who’d arrived later. But Jing Hengbo was satisfied—the Dragon family were Gong Yin’s relatives, perhaps they’d live together in future. She always hoped for acceptance.

Luggage packed, she turned to look at the box on the table. Made of green jade without patterns, as simple and pure as the person sleeping within—this was Nan Jin’s urn.

Jing Hengbo slowly approached, stroking the smooth jade surface. It seemed that woman holding a bowl bathing in heavenly wind was still before her eyes—wind lifting her long hair, gently brushing across her face, cool and fragrant. Jing Hengbo said somewhat dazedly: “Pearl, tell me, what exactly happened that day? What method did you use to transfer power to him, and why such a manner of death… Must I never get this answer in this lifetime…”

Her palm suddenly felt cold. She shivered violently and quickly withdrew her hand, staring at the urn and saying softly: “Pearl, what are you trying to tell me?”

The urn remained silently still. The image of the woman holding a bowl bathing in heavenly wind gradually faded.

Supporting herself on the table, Jing Hengbo thought dazedly—not getting answers for a lifetime was fine, the fear was getting the answer when it was already too late…

She shivered again when sudden footsteps drove away the room’s ominous atmosphere. Chun Shui strode in, wrapped Pearl’s urn in cloth and left, never looking at her once throughout.

Jing Hengbo wasn’t angry but rather relieved. Thanks to her sudden interruption—she still felt cold all over.

Exiting the door, a cloak enveloped her from above. She pulled the cloak tight and looked up with a smile to meet Gong Yin’s calm yet gentle gaze.

“Cold?” He stared at her somewhat pale complexion.

Jing Hengbo shook her head, tugging his sleeve: “Let’s go quickly, hurry away before that Old Sun catches us…” She sneakily scurried out, peering at the doorway.

Doctor Sun had been running over several times daily recently, watching her and insisting she go to Meng City. Jing Hengbo had lied about needing one day’s rest before leaving with him tomorrow, finally persuading the old fellow to leave. She planned to slip away quietly while no one noticed.

The western city had been quite chaotic recently. After Jing Hengbo stole Black Third Master’s keys last time, he and his guests were reportedly trapped underground for ages. He was currently busy appeasing those irritated customers, and the thugs usually wandering the alleys had decreased significantly.

The group exited the door. Seeing no one at the alley mouth, they hurried outward.

Suddenly someone approached breathlessly with disorderly steps, shouting from afar: “Don’t leave, don’t leave—” It was Doctor Sun’s voice.

“Oh no, we’re discovered.” Jing Hengbo tugged Gong Yin’s sleeve, grinning: “Quick, run!”

Gong Yin actually ran a few steps with her. Jing Hengbo laughed even more brightly—she had teleportation and didn’t need to run like this. Gong Yin even less needed to run like this, but she enjoyed it, did it deliberately. She wanted to see Gong Yin moving freely, see Gong Yin gradually opening up, wanted to be the most ordinary, common couple or even spouses with him, far from worldly troubles and power struggles. Now was just warming up for that future ordinary yet beautiful life, that pure life without facing conspiracies and conflicts. Thinking of living the simplest days filled her with sincere joy, even long-lost childlike innocence suddenly burst forth—wanting to play, wanting to make noise, wanting to rush into fields, wanting to joke with the whole world.

They ran ahead while Doctor Sun breathlessly pursued and called behind. Yélu Qi and others naturally didn’t run. Watching the two run hand-in-hand like children, Pei Shu snorted coldly while Yélu Qi smiled faintly.

In this world, anyone could make her smile, but only one person could make her live most simply and beautifully.

Just for such simple beauty, he was also full of hope for future life, also willing to forget those conspiracies, those potential enemies, that cold, vicious Sect Master’s wife. Why worry so much? First enjoy earthly life.

They’d exited the western city. The Black Mountain Division troops on the streets had disappeared at some point. Doctor Sun’s shouts had gradually become inaudible. Jing Hengbo, tired of pretending to run, threw herself into Gong Yin’s embrace and hugged his waist tightly.

With everyone behind them, Gong Yin felt somewhat uncomfortable but still embraced her.

“Gong Yin…” Jing Hengbo nuzzled around in his embrace seeking the most comfortable position, murmuring: “I already tricked travel passes for Meng Kingdom from Old Sun. After leaving Meng Kingdom and reaching your homeland, let’s find a place without stone mountains, snow, or swamps to build fairy-tale wooden houses, okay? Green bamboo walls with green roofs, courtyards paved with pebbles for exercise, pools with the cleanest mountain spring water, others growing vegetables on mountainsides. Raise herds of deer and rabbits, pools of fish, make a houseful of new furniture. I’ll teach you to sleep in hammocks and rocking chairs. After so many years of bitter State Preceptor and Queen lives, now we’ll be lazy wealthy idlers. I guarantee not to lower your living standards—I have Beauty Hall profits for the rest of our lives, enough to support you…”

Gong Yin above seemed to chuckle softly, humming agreement: “Good, you support me.”

Jing Hengbo truly hadn’t expected such an answer. While thinking the great god was really gradually changing, she looked up with a half-smile: “Since I’m supporting you, shouldn’t you take my sur—”

Before the word “name” emerged, she suddenly noticed Gong Yin’s strange gaze passing over her head toward the wall base nearby.

Jing Hengbo’s heart jumped as she turned toward the wall base. There was a string of familiar symbols—she recognized these symbols.

When she finally decoded the message’s meaning, her face went pale.