The night was very dark, but the Daobei royal palace lit torches all along the way, illuminating the depths of the palace and the passage leading to Black Water Marsh.
On the eastern side of the royal palace was a huge empty field surrounded by iron railings, usually locked tight. Except for guards specifically assigned to watch the marsh’s edge and those bearing royal orders, no one could enter or exit.
When Ming Yan’an arrived, he saw the railing gate had been opened, but not properly—some railings were bent, as if struck and toppled by tremendous force.
Those thick iron railings, some directly overturned, lay twisted and askew with dark objects hanging from them.
When Ming Yan’an made out what those things were, he immediately drew a sharp breath.
And when he looked up again, he saw that person.
Dawn was approaching but hadn’t arrived—the sky and the Black Water Marsh behind merged into chaotic darkness. From the vague depths came mighty beast roars, filling the night with heavy, murderous atmosphere.
Against this black background, a brocade-robed man slowly approached.
His hair was black as night, bound with a jade hairpin, several strands flying behind him, several more clinging to his cheeks.
His wide sleeves and broad robes were spotless, the embroidered fabric gleaming faintly in the darkness.
His gait was distinctive—slow and measured. Even walking through filthy mud, he seemed to stroll among clouds, possessing the unique nobility and grace of court aristocrats.
His appearance made Ming Yan’an, who considered himself Daobei’s most handsome man, suddenly realize he was merely ordinary.
Yet before such leisurely bearing, appearance and clothing seemed merely external things, unworthy of concern.
He came like a descending emperor, sleeves fluttering, majestically approaching, one hand dragging a huge dark object. Half the creature’s body trailed on the ground as he dragged this Black Water beast like a small dog, walking toward the dense army formation ahead.
Behind him over Black Water Marsh, dawn seemed to rise—a line of red light burst forth like a fireball.
He appeared wrapped in rainbow robes, embedded with radiating golden light.
With each step forward, the waiting army retreated a step.
He strolled onward.
Crossing dark seas, capturing fierce beasts, wrapped in clouds and dawn light, plucking celestial flowers, smiling as he awed armored soldiers.
Ming Yan’an felt his breathing stop.
Instinct told him—trouble had arrived.
Because he recognized what the brocade-robed man dragged like a dog: one of Black Water Marsh’s three great beasts, the Black Dragon that terrified many.
This creature was famous for its cunning in the black marsh—it could be killed but never tamed. Even he could handle it, but to casually drag this Black Dragon ashore like this man was impossible.
In this palace, probably the three highest-ranking consecrated masters and the Shangyuan Army’s supreme commander couldn’t do this.
More troubling, this Black Dragon still seemed quite lively, hissing out its tongue and constantly attacking surrounding soldiers—which explained the army’s continued retreat.
Heaven knew how this uninjured Black Dragon had been subdued.
Such an ugly creature in the brocade-robed man’s hands, yet he still appeared clean and noble. Only his expression wasn’t pleasant.
Seeing Ming Yan’an arrive, he finally stopped. The soldiers relaxed slightly. Just as someone was about to demand his surrender, they heard him say: “Ruler.”
Everyone was stunned.
This person had broken into and out of Black Water Marsh, surrounded by the army, and upon seeing the local master, his first words were asking for a ruler?
Wasn’t he here to assassinate or rob?
Ming Yan’an couldn’t react either, staring at him blankly. But the man grew impatient, tossing the Black Dragon at Ming Yan’an’s feet: “I’m not taking it for free. A ruler.”
As the Black Dragon hit the ground, soldiers cried out: “Protect the King! Protect the King!” They rushed forward to block it. A well-trained hundred-man squad immediately swarmed up with special instruments to capture the Black Dragon.
Ming Yan’an looked up through the dense crowd to see the brocade-robed man standing with hands behind his back, silent and motionless, his eyes filled with faint contempt.
His gaze seemed to say: “You foolish humans.”
Ming Yan’an felt stifled, feeling that since seeing this man, everyone and everything seemed diminished by his commanding presence.
This feeling he’d only experienced years ago when visiting Imperial Song to pay respects to the State Preceptor.
But as a clan leader accustomed to important figures, he immediately judged this person’s capabilities.
Undoubtedly a master. At this most difficult moment, was this person’s appearance good or bad?
Was he a wandering expert or reinforcement sent by the Queen?
Ming Yan’an’s heart stirred. He waved his hand: “A ruler!”
The palace naturally had everything. Soon a eunuch from the Clothing Department came running with a ruler.
Several men emerged from behind the brocade-robed man, each carrying huge bundles. One came forward to receive the ruler. Only now did Ming Yan’an notice these guard-like figures—the brocade-robed man’s presence was so overwhelming that he naturally drew all attention, reducing others to human scenery.
That person took the ruler and knelt before the brocade-robed man, first taking scissors from his bundle and carefully cutting a small piece from the left hem of his robe.
Everyone was dumbfounded—what did this mean? Cutting clothes before a thousand-man army—was this surrender? Even for surrender, you wouldn’t cut just a fingernail-sized piece, and his brocade robe wasn’t even white.
The strange fact that a grown man carried scissors seemed less strange now.
The brocade-robed man looked down at the cut piece—it had some mud on it. He indicated to throw it away.
The guard, half-kneeling, measured the cut piece with the ruler, discarded the muddy part, then used the ruler to measure against the clean right hem before cutting an identical piece.
He measured very carefully, precise to the smallest marking, holding his breath when cutting for fear of making a mistake.
One person handled measuring and cutting while two others held the robe’s top and bottom ends, keeping the fabric straight to prevent uneven cutting due to wrinkles.
The guards lacked experience, producing uneven pieces that required re-cutting. When one side was too big, the other became too small, requiring more cutting… By the time both sides were perfectly symmetrical, the master’s robe had become a short skirt…
The entire field fell silent.
Including Ming Yan’an, everyone stared dumbfounded as three to five grown men knelt before the brocade-robed man, busily creating perfectly symmetrical hems…
This scene was too bizarre…
The men carefully finished their work, stepped back to check that both hems were perfectly symmetrical, then breathed deeply in relief and carefully retreated behind the brocade-robed man.
The brocade-robed man only glanced down, seeming satisfied. Though he said nothing, the men’s expressions showed they felt pardoned.
Ming Yan’an straightened, feeling his back suddenly cold and damp with sweat.
This person’s behavior initially seemed like posturing, but seeing this, Ming Yan’an, also born to wealth, was certain this person’s background was extraordinary.
Moreover, his noble bearing lacked any vulgar air, making it unlikely he came from some large underworld organization.
A flash of understanding—could this person’s appearance now be Heaven’s assistance to me…
Thinking this, he quickly descended from his palanquin, signaled the army not to act rashly, and personally approached with a smile: “Where does this honored guest come from? What brings you to visit our Daobei palace?”
His tone was neither servile nor arrogant, giving the other party face while emphasizing “visit” to test whether he was friend or foe.
The brocade-robed man looked up with a weary expression. His eyes were very bright, like stars, yet his gaze was indifferent and superior, creating a strange feeling of illusion and contradiction that was chilling.
He clearly understood Ming Yan’an’s meaning but was impatient with ceremonious responses, saying casually: “Passing through, lost, seeking lodging. This Black Dragon is my payment to the clan leader—how about it?”
This seemingly polite but actually dismissive attitude angered the surrounding soldiers, but Ming Yan’an smiled slightly and said warmly: “An honored guest from afar—I should naturally provide good hospitality. No need to mention payment. Someone, arrange Condensing Snow Pavilion for this gentleman.”
Only then did the brocade-robed man glance at him, nodding: “People say Daobei’s master is like a turtle, loving to hide in his shell. Looking at you, you’re quite the character.”
“Insolence!” A general beside Ming Yan’an couldn’t restrain his rebuke.
The brocade-robed man acted as if he hadn’t heard. His eyes seemed to encompass the vastness of heaven and earth yet held no place for ordinary people. Even Ming Yan’an only received a proper glance after several exchanges.
This behavior would seem pretentious to ordinary observers, but only someone with Ming Yan’an’s experience could distinguish true bearing from false arrogance.
Environment shapes character and position shapes bearing—the dignity formed by long residence in high positions couldn’t be imitated by just anyone.
This made Ming Yan’an appear even more modest and cultivated—already in precarious circumstances, even if he couldn’t gain an ally, he didn’t want to provoke any enemy.
“Please,” he said little, didn’t even ask about the other’s identity or background, and smiled in invitation.
“Your Majesty!” His trusted general tried to stop him: “This person’s origins are unknown and his martial prowess extraordinary. How can we casually allow him into the palace’s important areas? What if he’s an assassin…”
This was also Ming Yan’an’s concern, but glancing at the brocade-robed man, who was looking toward Black Water Marsh with apparent interest in that terrible swamp, completely indifferent to their opinions.
“There are no assassins with such bearing in this world,” he gritted his teeth and whispered: “I’m betting on this!”
The soldiers reluctantly cleared a path. The brocade-robed man strolled into the palace, naturally walking ahead so that Ming Yan’an appeared to be his attendant. The Daobei followers were naturally indignant again, but Ming Yan’an’s eyes flashed with understanding—judging people by their bearing, this person was so accustomed to walking through military formations that he must be someone who commanded troops!
Army formations carried intimidating killing intent. Without experience, few could calmly pass through on first encounter. Moreover, this person walking through the army formation remained superior yet showed some warmth—clearly he often reviewed troops and unconsciously related to them.
Ming Yan’an was more certain his judgment was correct. He quickly ordered palace servants to prepare good food and lodging for the guest and personally asked what he’d like to eat.
Walking ahead, the man answered without hesitation: “Cake.”
Ming Yan’an was confused—what was cake?
The brocade-robed man also paused, realizing this thing couldn’t possibly exist in the Great Wilderness, and compromised: “Sweet food will do.”
So he liked sweets. Ming Yan’an quickly ordered the imperial kitchen to prepare the finest sweet foods and pastries for Condensing Snow Pavilion.
He didn’t follow to the pavilion to continue courting favor—that would be too undignified and invite contempt. Going too far was as bad as not going far enough.
He ordered guards to watch Condensing Snow Pavilion carefully—as long as the guest made no suspicious moves, don’t interfere. He then went to the front palace—he still had the troublesome Queen to deal with.
…
In a crude room—dark, small, permeated with faint bloody smell and the pale mist of hot water.
Someone was groaning inside—suppressed, slightly resentful.
“Hiss.” A soft sound accompanied a heart-rending scream as the bloody smell suddenly thickened and hot vapor rose.
Dim light filtered through window cracks, illuminating someone struggling in blood on the bed. He was held down while another sat bedside treating his wounds—movements steady and methodical.
The screams and bloody smell couldn’t make his hands tremble even slightly.
After filling the shoulder’s through-wound with medicine and bandaging it, he turned to wash his hands, telling the trembling patient: “Finished. Get up.”
The person on the bed stared wide-eyed, seeming not to believe him, then rasped after a long moment: “What do you mean!”
The person wore a black cloak, slowly washing his hands: “Sect Master Chi, don’t you want revenge?”
“If I seek revenge, I’ll find you first!” The injured person on the bed was Chi Ming, his blood-stained face twisted with hatred: “You said there would be a trump card to make the Queen fail, you said you’d help me at the crucial moment—is this how you helped me?”
“Didn’t I help you?” The cloaked figure asked strangely: “I saved you and treated your wounds. If I hadn’t pulled you into the crowd, do you know how many wouldn’t let you go? Not to mention those waiting outside the crowd to eliminate all threats—at least two groups.”
“If you’d acted earlier, I wouldn’t have failed or lost my martial arts!” Chi Ming roared.
“I only promised to act and help you. Did I lie about a single word?” The cloaked figure remained indifferent, still smiling.
Chi Ming, pale-faced, gradually understood, hissing: “…You did it deliberately, you deliberately set me up!”
“Why think so much?” The cloaked figure laughed: “You should think about how I saved you, otherwise you’d be rotting in some mass grave, sloshing around in wild dogs’ bellies.”
Chi Ming shuddered at that terrible image. Looking at the cloaked figure again, his expression changed—not gratitude, but sudden understanding of his situation.
Completely defeated with ruined martial arts, no longer the lofty Lingxiao Gate Vice Sect Master—now others held the knife while he was the fish. Saying anything more might anger these ruthless people, with consequences perhaps worse than mass graves.
“Tell me…” he lowered his head, breathing weakly: “What do you need me to do?”
The cloaked figure didn’t answer, looking him over and examining his build, then telling several masked subordinates: “There’s still time. Polish him well.”
“What are you doing?” Chi Ming sensed terrible implications and stared in horror.
“Do you hate the Queen?” The cloaked figure’s voice was ethereal. Standing beside the bed looking down at him, the dim lamplight cast his shadow on the wall—the towering shadow seemed to engulf the entire room.
Better not to hear that name. Once mentioned, Chi Ming inevitably recalled those humiliating three kowtows, Pei Shu’s coldly smiling beautiful face, the piercing pain of the blade through his shoulder blade. Hatred coiled around his heart like venomous snakes, gnawing pain. He trembled uncontrollably, his chattering teeth making clicking sounds: “Hate…”
“Then that’s settled,” the cloaked figure rose, saying ethereally: “Remember this—it will help you endure.”
He walked toward the door, softly saying: “Death and life, collapse and rebuilding, bright towers in snow, seeing blue sky again…”
A terrible scream suddenly erupted from the room.
The sound was so wretched it seemed to pierce the night, howling out utmost agony.
The cloaked figure stopped, seeming to enjoy listening to that sound. His followers showed alarm—could Chi Ming survive the most terrible experiment?
The cloaked figure entered another room and sat down, ignoring the screams from the small house. He extended his hand and an attendant presented a tray containing a cup of pure white milk-like liquid and many small bottles of various colors that sparkled like crystal in the lamplight.
Emerging from that hell-like environment to sit in lamplight facing this beautiful refreshment, the cloaked figure seemed in good spirits. He waved away the attendant who would have prepared his drink and worked personally.
He first lifted the cup of snow-white milk-like liquid.
“White Stone Spirit Milk is the base liquid for making Jade Celestial Brew—already extremely precious, like Chi Ming, inherently a master.” He lifted the cup with interest as an attendant quickly brought a small clay stove.
He placed the spirit milk on the stove to heat. Under high temperature, the milk gradually turned red.
“Chi Ming now has all martial arts destroyed, his body empty, ten years of foundation completely ruined—like this completely changed spirit milk.”
He took small bottles and used an extremely delicate spoon to carefully measure powders and liquids, pouring them into the milk one by one while saying: “Snow Silkworm Powder one coin, Black Jade Marrow two coins, Dragon Pill one coin, Dragon Blood one coin, Heavenly Fragrance Leaf half petal…”
Those fragrant or disgusting substances entered the spirit milk, which boiled continuously, sometimes even bubbling blood-red foam as if about to explode. Everyone around showed fear, knowing this mixture could explode with the slightest error in proportions, and any splash would doom them all.
Only the cloaked figure remained unchanged, his hands steady throughout.
“Chi Ming’s tempering process is the same,” he rambled on: “Continuously adding these mutually supporting yet conflicting medicines. Ordinary people can’t withstand them, those with martial arts would reject them. Only someone like him—body tempered by martial arts but completely stripped of power—is suitable. Of course, in this process, the control of heat and proportions must be perfect. Like this powder and blood—exactly one coin, not a fraction more, or the entire cup of celestial liquid is ruined…”
The spirit milk on the stove, after strange color changes and terrifying boiling, gradually calmed, changing from red to purple, purple to pale blue, pale blue to white… finally returning to a cup of pure white liquid as if nothing had ever been added.
“Done.” The cloaked figure smiled, lifting the cup to drain it in one gulp. He held the empty cup toward the small house: “I hope Chi Ming can be like this cup of celestial brew—successfully re-brewed.”
“Master, if he should fail…” someone behind him quietly inquired.
He rose and walked out, seeming not to hear the question. Only when crossing the threshold did he say flatly: “What use keeping worthless trash?”
…
“Ming Yan’an has already replied,” Jing Hengbo sat in the main hall, telling her group of miscreants. “He asks if I have the courage to enter Shangyuan alone and negotiate with him.”
“Of course not!” Yi Qi shrieked strangely. “What kind of provocation is that? He sits in control of a city with fifty thousand armored soldiers, walls like iron inside and out, yet asks you, a woman, to enter the tiger’s den alone? Good lord, does Ming Yan’an have no shame?”
“Don’t copy my catchphrases,” Jing Hengbo glared at him, then smiled again. “But Little Seven Seven, you rarely speak so sensibly. Ming Yan’an indeed has no shame.”
“With shameless people, there’s no need for courtesy,” Ying Bai said. “Reply telling him Pei Shu and I will accompany you into the palace, otherwise no deal.”
“Ming Yan’an won’t let me bring people—what he fears is exactly you and Pei Shu. He’d never agree.”
“What use is bringing a drunkard?” Pei Shu also objected, eagerly saying: “Bobo, the drunkard’s unreliable—who knows when his drinking addiction will kick in and he’ll sell you out? I alone accompanying you is enough. Rest assured, with me there, we could fight our way in and out of Daobei royal palace seven times over, absolutely no problem.”
“Sister is going to negotiate and rescue someone, not storm a fortress!” Jing Hengbo wanted to kick him out of Daobei.
“Let me go! Let me go!” The Seven Killers jumped and bounced, all volunteering. Jing Hengbo didn’t even consider it—bring seven comedians? That would be worse than suicide.
“I don’t need to bring many people,” she said. “Best to bring someone familiar with Shangyuan City’s layout and roads for directions and escape routes, then one expert to help rescue Zirui, while I negotiate with Ming Yan’an and keep him occupied. Bringing too many would be troublesome.”
“What if he attacks you? His city has hundreds of thousands, all his people. Killing you would be too easy,” Tian Qi was uneasy.
“Zirui can’t be abandoned. If I let her die in Shangyuan, it would be hard to win Daobei’s loyalty afterward.” Jing Hengbo smiled: “Don’t worry. I am, after all, the court-appointed Black Water Queen, and I’m openly accepting his invitation to enter Shangyuan, witnessed by all and known throughout the land. If he kills me in Shangyuan, he’d put himself in a passive position. If Ming Yan’an were wildly reckless, maybe I really wouldn’t dare go, but his actions are clearly cautious and timid, with many concerns. Such people think of subduing or secretly harming me without trace—they wouldn’t dare act openly.”
Everyone agreed. They also said finding someone familiar with Shangyuan City’s layout wasn’t easy. Shangyuan City rarely communicated with Daobei’s side. City residents preferred using secret passages to secretly trade with neighboring small countries rather than contact local people within Daobei territory. Many people lived and died within the city walls their entire lives.
Jing Hengbo thought of the eight advisors she’d recruited earlier and summoned them for individual questioning. All said they weren’t familiar with Shangyuan City, except for two scholars named Zhao Ziming and Chai Yu, who claimed some knowledge of Shangyuan City. But Zhao Ziming’s knowledge came from years of persistently climbing all the mountains in three counties, observing Shangyuan City from various angles on the peaks, spending ten years drawing the city’s general layout. While this information was valuable, due to distance, visual errors, and some areas lacking mountains for observation, this map wasn’t complete. Most importantly, Shangyuan royal palace, being surrounded by no mountains for observation, was blank on the map.
Chai Yu, however, said his uncle had originally been an old soldier in Shangyuan City’s palace front guard. After offending superiors and being squeezed out with no way to survive, he desperately escaped Shangyuan City at great risk and now lived with him in Ningzin County. He’d grown up hearing his uncle’s stories about Shangyuan City and was quite familiar with it.
Jing Hengbo asked several questions, and indeed he answered fluently. Guards trained by Quan Ninghao had already gone to bring his disabled uncle according to Chai Yu’s directions. After questioning, everything checked out without flaws. Jing Hengbo immediately decided to bring Chai Yu into the city.
As for the other candidate, Pei Shu had already fought Yi Qi, fought Ying Bai, and wanted to fight Tian Qi, but Tian Qi ran away, expressing complete disinterest. Seeing Pei Baolong violently eliminate all competitors and about to win the flower-protecting position, Jing Hengbo wasn’t pleased.
She remembered Master Mu’s words: Commands must come from one source—those in power must never be manipulated by others.
Though Pei Shu wasn’t manipulating her but wanting to accompany her, she couldn’t let subordinates form the impression that “if others want something, the Queen does it.”
The decision-maker should be her, not others’ forceful desires.
She was already recruiting soldiers and governing three counties—she must first establish her authority.
Just as she wondered how to make Baolong back down, a report came from outside: Master Mu had arrived.
Jing Hengbo froze, her heart suddenly jumping.
After that jump, she was stunned—why did she have such a reaction? Why was she nervous?
These past days busy with the Curved River battle, she seemed to have pushed Master Mu aside. But now hearing this name, her heart inexplicably tightened, involuntarily recalling that strange feeling when meeting Master Mu at Shadow Pavilion Mountain Gate.
That sense of familiarity yet strangeness yet familiarity again, making one’s heart tangled and ready to go mad…
During her moment of distraction, everyone below, all being shrewd people, immediately showed various expressions.
The Seven Killers elbowed each other, whispering: “Look, look! The little miss isn’t right!”
Ying Bai’s gaze flashed as he looked up to drink wine.
Pei Shu stared at her expression, his face changing.
In a flash, Pei Shu directly shot out.
Jing Hengbo was startled awake, looking up sharply to see only Pei Shu’s retreating figure. The fellow ran too fast for her to call out.
She cursed inwardly “trouble” and quickly flashed after him.
Pei Shu arrived at the front courtyard like a whirlwind. At the entrance, Master Mu in his silver mask and blue robes waited with a smile.
Seeing Pei Shu come to greet him, he seemed stunned. But Pei Shu smiled at him and said loudly with familiar politeness: “So the master has come.”
Baolong’s demeanor and familiar tone stunned Master Mu again. Jing Hengbo, who’d chased after, heard this from afar, breathed in relief, and slowed her pace, preparing to properly introduce the two.
Before anyone could react, Pei Shu had already passed through the crowd, laughing loudly as he walked to Master Mu’s wheelchair, bent down, and grasped the wheelchair handles with both hands, leaning close to Master Mu.
He showed no hostility, so everyone thought he was following the Queen’s orders to welcome the guest and stepped aside.
Master Mu in the wheelchair looked up to meet his eyes, seeing his smiling face but ice-cold gaze.
Master Mu was stunned.
“I don’t like you,” Pei Shu leaned down, staring at him like a wolf, his tone direct and blunt. “So, go back where you came from!”
Before the word “from” was fully out, his hands gripping the handles exerted slight force. With a swoosh, the wheelchair left the ground as he threw it backward. The wheelchair immediately rolled back over the threshold and slid outside.
With a series of clattering sounds, the wheelchair retreated outside the gate. Pei Shu laughed heartily, bringing his hands together with a clap as the door slammed shut.
“Master Mu suddenly had urgent business and left,” he told the dumbfounded guards nearby. “Let’s go back too.”
Just then Jing Hengbo was approaching and saw the door close, startled.
“He left,” Pei Shu said without changing expression. “Urgent business.”
Jing Hengbo couldn’t see Pei Shu’s earlier actions from her angle, but she didn’t believe this excuse. Master Mu wouldn’t leave without seeing her.
She suddenly heard screams and sounds of falling bodies from the alley outside.
Pei Shu heard it too, his expression changing.
Jing Hengbo flashed out in an instant, immediately seeing chaos in the outside alley.
Master Mu’s wheelchair was rapidly retreating. Master Mu had already taken flight, but the wheelchair’s momentum couldn’t be stopped, frightening people on the street to scatter everywhere. A stall had already been overturned. Seeing the wheelchair about to hit an elderly woman who couldn’t dodge in time, Master Mu, while flying backward through the air, struck the wheelchair with his palm. The wheelchair flipped in the air, passing right over the old woman’s head before crashing to the ground.
When two forces meet, there must be rebound. Master Mu’s form, due to this palm strike, flew backward out of control, and behind him was a city river with a rapidly spinning waterwheel.
If someone hit that, forgetting being caught and ground to death, they’d at least be injured.
Seeing Master Mu’s form out of control and about to collide…
A figure suddenly appeared in front of the waterwheel.
She spread her arms to catch him.
“Bang.” Master Mu crashed into her embrace, causing an “Ah!” scream.
Naturally it was Jing Hengbo screaming, covering her chest, pain almost bringing tears to her eyes.
Her beautiful assets, though past development age, still hurt terribly from such a violent collision.
The impact of someone crashing into her was beyond her expectations. Instinctively stepping back, Master Mu in her arms urgently said: “Don’t!”
Before he finished speaking, she cried out again, feeling her scalp tighten as her hair was caught. Only then did she remember the waterwheel was behind her, and having been set in motion by that collision, her hair was caught between the waterwheel’s crossbars.
Master Mu in her arms raised his hand, splitting half the waterwheel with a crack, then carefully extracted her long hair.
He was still in her embrace, unable to stand due to his leg condition, so he had to lean on her for support. While reaching for her hair, his arm passed over her shoulder, his body pressed against her chest, his cheek almost brushing hers.
The faint masculine scent pressed close—she felt uncomfortable and wanted to push him away, but with her hair still tangled and considering Master Mu’s leg inconvenience, she hesitated. By then he’d already retrieved her hair, holding it in his hands.
Fragrant and silky to touch, like the sensation of their bodies touching that moment, his gaze dropped as his heartstrings trembled.
In that moment when she threw herself forward regardless of danger, when their bodies touched, was it for him, or… him?
He smiled bitterly… This switching and reversing was enjoyable at first, but gradually he could taste bitterness. He suddenly understood her feeling of constant doubt and overthinking.
He didn’t know if it was joy or sorrow.
In Jing Hengbo’s heart, that strange feeling returned.
In her imagination, after Master Mu retrieved her hair, he should have handed it back to her, perhaps scolding her carelessness.
But now, Master Mu holding her hair looked dazed, as if uncertain about certain things, somewhat confused.
The Master Mu in her memory was clear-minded and determined, never confused.
So she became confused.
Fortunately, both his confusion and hers lasted only a moment. Then he removed his hair tie and bound her hair. Her hair tie had fallen into the water during the earlier action.
His technique was quick, casually creating a bun. In the river’s reflection, her profile looked languid and charming.
In that instant, Ouyang Xiu’s poem flowed through her heart:
“Loosely pinned precious coiffure, lightly applied powder and rouge, emotions fall like drifting silk without direction, having feelings yet seeming heartless…”
She suddenly hated that Little Cake had once forced her to memorize poetry. Some lines cut too close to the heart, causing inner torment with nowhere to hide.
His hand fell from her hair bun as he said softly: “You look beautiful with your hair up too…”
His tone was so gentle, like a golden fallen feather blown by wind from distant mountains at sunset.
That feather landed on her heart’s tip, lightly tickling, but before her eyes rose a bewildering mist.
Such gentleness was still different…
The earlier gentleness had still contained ineffable firmness and clarity, like walking on spring grasslands where looking up still revealed distant snowy peaks.
Not this current warm spring breeze and gentle water, warmth from inside out.
Sensing her silence held different meaning, his hand slowly withdrew from where it had fallen, the position seeming ready to caress her face.
She tilted her face aside in time.
But his fingertips slid down from far away, as if he’d never intended to approach her.
She wondered if she’d overreacted.
By now the crowd had rushed over, Pei Shu running at the front, eyebrows raised high, face full of surprise: “How could…”
Seeing him, Jing Hengbo’s anger flared. This Pei Shu was too violent!
Such reckless, willful behavior would cause great trouble sooner or later.
Wanting to discipline him, she raised her eyebrows, cut off his words, and declared loudly: “I’ve decided—I invite Master Mu to accompany me into Shangyuan!”
Master Mu seemed somewhat surprised, then smiled slightly without objection.
Pei Shu’s face changed dramatically. Looking at Master Mu, seeming to understand something, he pointed at him angrily: “Good! So you deliberately…”
“Pei Shu, are you finished?” Jing Hengbo was truly angry now. Pei Shu’s temperament was too unreasonable—making mistakes without admitting them, then trying to frame others?
“Let’s go discuss the plan for entering Shangyuan.” She affectionately supported Master Mu as guards brought the wheelchair. She personally helped him into it, seeing the wheelchair was damaged, and ordered guards to find someone to repair it.
Throughout, she ignored Pei Shu. Naturally Master Mu didn’t acknowledge him either. The two chatted and laughed as they entered, leaving Pei Shu aside.
The young marshal stood dumbly at the entrance. A wind passed, his robes rustling, desolate…
…
Late at night, in a roadside tavern with sparse lights, wine customers gradually departed, leaving only one person drinking alone under the moon.
He drank while talking to himself.
“How is it possible? My push used clever force—his wheelchair should have stopped just outside the door at most. How could it slide all the way down the street?”
“That kid must have played tricks, deliberately letting the wheelchair slide back to cause an accident and frame me!”
“Bang!” He angrily pounded the table. With a crack, another fissure appeared. He irritably said: “Replace it!”
The shopkeeper didn’t dare complain, quickly changing tables. This customer was wealthy anyway—he’d thrown down a silver ingot upon entering. Even if he smashed every table in the small shop, it would be covered.
No matter how bad the wine or how good one’s tolerance, it couldn’t defeat a heart full of sorrow. Pei Shu was nearly drunk.
He felt very depressed—not about Jing Hengbo’s coldness, but about this suffocating misunderstanding.
Wine jars covered the floor so thickly there was nowhere to step, all emptied by him alone. Unfortunately, no amount could extinguish the fire in his heart.
“Women… are all like clothes. Wear them when you want, change when you want. Why get attached to one piece of clothing…” He hiccupped: “…anyway…”
Tilting his hand, half a jug of wine spilled on his robe. A waiter quickly came to clean up. Hearing about clothes, thinking he wanted to change clothes, the waiter eagerly asked: “Does the customer want to change clothes? I’ll go buy some from the clothing shop…”
“Change… change… change your mother’s ass!” Pei Shu suddenly looked up, eyes bloodshot, furiously grabbing the waiter’s collar: “I finally found one I like in this lifetime, and you tell me to change? You dare tell me to change? Hm? You dare tell me to change!”
“Sir… sir…” The waiter was terrified, struggling in his grip: “Yes, yes, yes. If you want to change, change. If you don’t want to change, don’t change…”
“No changing! Get lost!” Pei Shu released him, and the waiter was thrown like a cannonball into the back hall. The owner quickly caught him, pulled him away, and hid in the back hall, never coming out again.
Pei Shu supported his head with one hand, his hair disheveled, long black strands hanging down. Rather than looking casual and gentle, this made him appear more fierce and murderous.
Some night customers, seeing his appearance, didn’t dare enter the shop.
But someone sat down beside him.
“If you want something, why not just take it?” he said gently to the alcohol-reeking man.
Pei Shu didn’t move, seeming to have no interest in looking up, but his other hand rested on his waist where his sword was.
The person sitting beside him seemed completely unconcerned, saying calmly: “Sincerity can move mountains. Human relationships ultimately come down to need and being needed. You need her, she doesn’t need you. Make her need you, depend on you, unable to live without you, and naturally it will work out. Then, even if you don’t want her, she won’t be able to leave you…”
His gaze flashed as he suddenly looked up: “Your words make sense. Who are you…”
But there was no one there.
If not for the warmth still lingering on the stool beside him, he’d almost think he’d just been dreaming.
Pei Shu stood up, holding his head, looking toward Jing Hengbo’s inn.
Now, she didn’t need him.
He turned to look at distant Shangyuan City. The mighty fortress crouched waiting in the night.
The place she was going. She would need him there.
Black robes swept through the night wind.
He headed straight for Shangyuan City.