Outside the cart, the Yi Kingdom people were cooking, smoke and fragrant aromas curling through the night air.

Soon, Jing Hengbo received a bowl of steaming hot porridge containing various grains. The person delivering it told her this was “clear storage porridge”—it was the twenty-eighth day of the twelfth month in the Great Wilderness calendar.

The twenty-eighth of the twelfth month—she felt somewhat dazed.

In the Great Wilderness, this day also had a legend similar to her modern world. It told of a family that was originally wealthy with granaries full of grain, then became unproductive and lived off their savings until they were completely out of food on the twenty-eighth day of the twelfth month. The whole family wept and prepared to commit suicide, but then received guidance from an immortal. They cleaned out their granary, swept up a basket of grain to make porridge, and the next day had a turnaround. From then on they reformed and rebuilt their family fortune. Ever since, on this day each year, people would thoroughly clean their granaries, and even if they had new grain at home, they would eat the scattered stored grain from the bottom of the granary on this night.

In this story, the key was no longer that bowl of porridge, but the meaning of cleaning and waiting for hope—persist to the end, and there would be a turning point.

Jing Hengbo lifted the cart curtain. The cart didn’t pass through large market towns but stopped to lodge in the wilderness, though there were several small villages not far away. As evening approached, ox carts were still heading toward the villages—these were villagers returning from shopping in the city for New Year preparations. From a distance she could see the carts fully loaded with goods, children laughing as they came out to greet them beyond the village, carrying red lanterns that swayed red light in the dusk. Faint clear laughter could be heard, whips cracked, old oxen moved slowly, and children followed behind the carts, picking up dropped pieces of candy.

Only today did Jing Hengbo take a serious look at the Emerald tribe, famous for producing jade, but it looked no different from other tribes—just that all the mountains were particularly low. She thought of Ying Bai, who was from the Emerald tribe, reportedly a legitimate heir of a great Emerald tribe family, but had left the Emerald tribe when very young. He never mentioned his youth, so that later, people only knew his illustrious military achievements and romantic indulgences, forgetting even that he came from the Emerald tribe.

Jing Hengbo had always felt Ying Bai was a mysterious person. After all this time, almost no one understood him. Those wine jugs concealed his gaze, whether confused or clear—no one could see whether there were wine-like sorrows behind his eyes.

But Jing Hengbo believed that someone who indulged so deeply in wine must be someone with sorrows. Just buried too deep.

This wasn’t the time to study Ying Bai—she was destined to pass by the Emerald tribe.

Jing Hengbo held that large bowl of porridge and stared blankly for a while, then set the bowl down and asked for a small bowl, ladling the porridge into it.

Gong Yin would be conscious for a period each day, but spoke little and ate little. She would take advantage of his slight consciousness to quickly feed him something. He was very obedient and never refused, but after a few bites, he clearly couldn’t eat more. If she continued feeding, he would still eat, but she could see he was uncomfortable, so she didn’t force him.

She required the porridge to be thoroughly cooked, made with medicinal ingredients, the ginseng soup to be very concentrated with ginseng over a hundred years old, one cup daily to maintain his strength. These high dietary requirements made that group of people cry for their parents, saying they were running out of silver and begging to return to Yi Kingdom quickly. Jing Hengbo didn’t care about them—Her Majesty the Queen and His Excellency the State Preceptor eating a few bites of your ginseng was your good fortune; you’ll thank me later.

The cart was very dark. Outside, the Yi Kingdom people lit fires for warmth and celebration, four or five people sitting around the fire talking and laughing, each holding wine and porridge bowls. Whether from wine fumes or porridge warmth, their faces were all flushed red. Gradually they began playing face-changing games, competing who could change faces faster—one drink, one face. In the night it was dizzying to watch, like a group of demons.

The fire’s red light cast a pale red glow inside the cart. Jing Hengbo helped Gong Yin sit up, placed a pillow behind him, picked up the bowl, stirred the porridge with a spoon, and first picked out the larger grain pieces to prevent indigestion.

The porcelain spoon clinked crisply against the porcelain bowl, making the cart seem especially quiet by contrast, the laughter outside seeming very distant.

She vaguely heard laughter from outside: “After crossing Jade Plain, there’s Sky Crack Canyon and Yi Mountain Waterfall. Once through Yi Mountain, we’ll be home…”

She paid no attention, examining Gong Yin by lamplight. In the red light, Gong Yin seemed somewhat thinner, yet appeared more lustrous like jade bamboo, clear and elegant.

Jing Hengbo gazed at him, gently stroking his slightly thinned jaw.

“This illness of yours is quite convenient timing…” she murmured. “Do you know I was about to dump you, so you’re pulling this pitiful act?”

Gong Yin’s lowered eyelashes cast faint shadows beneath his eyes.

She brought the bowl closer, “Smell it—fragrant? It’s clear storage porridge. But you Great Wilderness people really can’t name things—’clear storage porridge’ sounds awful. Where I’m from, this is called Laba porridge, eaten on the eighth day of the twelfth month. But here, this is fixed food for the twenty-eighth day of the twelfth month… The twenty-eighth of the twelfth month, Gong Yin—New Year’s almost here.”

She leaned over to smell the porridge herself, actually taking the opportunity to smell him, catching the faint medicinal scent and ginseng fragrance on his lips. Looking at his beautifully contoured lips, she suddenly wanted to nibble them. Just as her mouth approached, she suddenly hummed and quickly withdrew.

“I won’t steal a kiss from you—that would obviously benefit you.” She looked dejected. “With your attitude, you should be abandoned by the roadside to die of old age without contact. Taking care of you is necessity—why should I give you advantages too?”

Though she said this, looking at his pale red lips, slender neck, and collar slightly open for convenient bathing, she couldn’t help wanting to pounce, wanting to explore his whole body, wanting to press and press again, wanting to hear a man’s nasal sounds and moans—wondering if they had particularly ecstatic flavors.

She felt herself lustfully obsessed beyond help—or did sick beautiful men arouse her desires more? She had to change topics herself: “Know what my wish is for the twenty-eighth of the twelfth month?”

Of course there was no answer, but that didn’t prevent her monologue: “I want us both to taste this porridge. Because no one understands the taste of waiting for hope after desperation better than us. Actually nothing is more terrifying than despair. I hope we never despair—keep moving forward, don’t turn back even when hitting walls. The turning point must be hiding behind some wall, within reach. Promise me, don’t pull back your hand.”

She brought the porridge bowl over, preparing to touch his lips so he could be considered to have eaten.

Her finger was suddenly drawn into warm, soft lips.

She startled—he was awake?

Her hand trembled, spilling a few drops of porridge on his chin. She hurriedly took the bowl away with her other hand and set it aside, reaching to wipe his chin, but his tongue tip licked, eating both the porridge and her finger.

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, feeling this guy was becoming more and more roguish—or was the inner rogue finally being exposed? At the same time she felt faintly pleased—tonight he seemed in good condition. Usually though half-conscious, he had no speech or movement.

“I just wiped your body without washing my hands,” she said seriously.

He paused. She thought her finger would be spat out, but the next moment her fingertip hurt—she’d been bitten.

Not hard, even with slight numbness that spread to her heart, making her whole body somewhat soft. She withdrew her finger, her face inexplicably reddening.

“Eat porridge, eat porridge. It’s rare you’re awake—taste this…” Before she could finish, he had already pushed away that bowl of porridge. The bowl rolled and fell, spilling everywhere, but no one paid attention anymore.

She had already fallen onto his chest.

…

Deep winter wind swirled between buildings, howling long and mournfully like crying.

Someone in the wind slowly removed their cloak, saying: “Gong Yin and Jing Hengbo have disappeared.”

Someone behind responded: “Everyone is searching. We also sent several teams to search separately—we’ll surely find them.”

The person removing the cloak said: “I’m not thinking about finding people. I’m just puzzled why Gong Yin and Jing Hengbo suddenly abandoned everyone, not even managing their armies, disappearing before everyone’s eyes?”

“Perhaps… just creating confusion?” the subordinate behind considered.

“I don’t think so,” that person draped the cloak over their elbow, shaking their head. “I observed carefully—Jing Hengbo’s and Gong Yin’s subordinates are genuinely anxious, not faking. Gong Yin leaving is one thing—he has reason to deliberately confuse his tracks. But Jing Hengbo leaving makes no sense—she shouldn’t abandon her great army at this time without telling anyone.”

“You mean…”

“Not telling anyone means not trusting everyone. So they simply disappeared without telling anyone. The question is, who are these two trying to hide from?”

The subordinate’s voice was somewhat nervous: “Could it be…”

“No.” He slowly folded the cloak, as if organizing his thoughts, then said after a while: “There’s probably no clear target yet, or they’re experienced people with instinctive retreat from danger.” He paused and sighed: “It’s also my fault—I was somewhat hasty, shouldn’t have placed those things in the great hall, arousing Jing Hengbo’s and Gong Yin’s vigilance.”

The subordinate behind remained silent, not daring to respond to such words.

“Also,” he sneered, “who would have thought Jing Hengbo was a madwoman? A clever madwoman.”

“Then…”

He thought for a moment, slowly saying: “Perhaps it’s time for the real me to appear. Good for diverting attention too.”

He handed the cloak to his subordinate, saying softly: “All suspicious groups that left Shen Tie recently and their approximate destinations—you’ve investigated them all?”

“Yes.” The subordinate presented paper scrolls.

He took the scrolls, looked them over, marked certain lines with his finger, then said: “I want to see for myself. Leave the matters here to you.”

“Yes.”

His steps were light, drifting out like a cloud, his figure in the sunset’s reflection like a phantom hanging on glazed eaves.

…

Inside the cart, a section of enchanting fragrance.

His breath was on her face, her face at his lips. His posture seeking her lips was slightly urgent, his palms stroking her shoulders and back repeatedly. She felt her whole body going soft and hot, about to melt into a pool of spring water. Around them drifted faint medicinal fragrance—somewhat astringent, somewhat refreshing, somewhat seductive—an indescribably peculiar scent that made her heart race wildly. If she hadn’t supervised the medicine brewing herself, she would have thought aphrodisiacs were mixed in. Or perhaps love itself created enchantment—all worldly phenomena here seemed filled with spring passion. His alternating hot and cold body temperature beneath her also made her heart alternately tighten and relax. She was pleased he was finally somewhat conscious, yet annoyed that once conscious he wanted to take advantage. She couldn’t help wanting to pinch him, pinching the soft flesh at his waist. Her fingers touched something smooth and resilient, inevitably recalling those days of bathing and changing his clothes—in darkness, the young man’s supple and beautifully lined body, smooth and bright skin that bounced at a touch, long legs and narrow waist in darkness, jade-like features… Those desires suppressed by worry suddenly exploded with a roar at this moment. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she suddenly smiled softly, her hand sliding inside his clothes.

His body tensed. She found the subtle changes throughout a man’s body at this moment very wonderful. She could even feel his heart skip a beat, then begin beating urgently, drumming against her heart like war drums.

The two were extremely close, his heartbeat also pounding on her heart. He suddenly began breathing lightly, also feeling the vigor and fullness of the young female body—youth, vitality, lively doves trembling and flying up in the heart. He wanted to lift his hand to catch them, pressing her deeper into his embrace.

But she was struggling slightly, her body sliding on him like a beautiful snake. Young skin and figure—just a touch was prairie fire. How could he withstand such teasing? He felt a hot line from his throat downward and downward, waiting to explode into skyful fireworks. Suddenly he dared not move.

She giggled and laughed, her fingers restlessly tugging at his chest. He smiled bitterly and low—at her boldness and mischief. His heart felt joy mixed with helplessness, and hidden small anticipation, hoping those soft smooth fingers could continue and continue… But she only patrolled his chest, touching while murmuring low: “This figure’s getting worse… shrinking…” Her finger slid to his collarbone, sighing: “Look at this obvious…” Touching his ribs, sighing: “The ribs are showing—need to feed you fatty meat daily…” Sliding to his waistline, sighing: “Narrower again… my palm can almost wrap around it. Ah ah ah, men with too-thin waists are ugly, okay…”

He suddenly also murmured something. She didn’t hear clearly, bringing her ear to his lips: “Huh?”

He breathed low: “Not everywhere has shrunk…”

Jing Hengbo almost spat in his face, grasping his face and feeling around randomly, saying solemnly: “Wrong, wrong. You definitely aren’t Gong Yin—you must just be wearing Gong Yin’s mask. Since I saw you in the fire, you haven’t spoken normally once. Speak—who are you!”

Like a fallen tiger bullied by cats, he helplessly let her knead his face round and flat, saying softly: “Or perhaps you’re not you either? Let me try too?”

Jing Hengbo stared at him for a long time, pushing him back: “Getting frisky the moment you have some energy—rebelling against me!” Her finger pressed against his throat angrily: “This is just unavoidable circumstances. Even dying roadside beggars must be saved. You think I really must follow you?” Gripping and gripping, she felt his skin was so smooth and nice to touch, habitually sliding inside his collar and continuing downward.

He smiled bitterly, thinking this one was truly a deadly little vixen—seeming to tease yet unintentional, seeming to refuse yet inviting, wanting to get close yet always pulling away, wanting to push away yet still teasing, moody and elusive, simply killing people.

Looking back, this seemed to be his own attitude toward her too. Speaking of it, this was also retribution. He had actually recovered some strength but had no intention of resisting. Her hand therefore slid downward smoothly. Just when it seemed about to touch certain vital parts with no sign of stopping, she suddenly said: “I remember we still have one important thing undone…”

He was both startled and pleased, momentarily somewhat hesitant. This important thing—he had refused her twice; should he really refuse her a third time? Heaven knew he exhausted all his rationality each time he refused… As he struggled with slight perspiration, she suddenly withdrew her hand, reaching to the side. When she brought it back, she held a warm towel, grinning: “I prepared this to wash your face after you finished the porridge. Perfect for wiping your body now—you haven’t been wiped today. So smelly, yet you dare get close to me?”

The air held medicinal fragrance mixed with his natural ice-snow light fragrance—calling it smelly was truly shameless. She laughed cunningly and smugly while his lips curved in helpless resignation, thinking: just wait until he recovered—how should he punish her?

But punishing her seemed just empty words for saving face. Now he was the one being punished. Previously when she helped him bathe, he was mostly unconscious and not very aware. Now with clear consciousness, he couldn’t help feeling embarrassed. When he tried to take the towel himself, she wouldn’t let him. Not letting him was fine, but she seemed intent on tormenting him, holding the cloth and wiping very slowly, sometimes even making circles…

He couldn’t help trying to grab her hand, but she nimbly dodged, her finger moving downward. He quickly pressed his belt, but she snorted through her nose and withdrew her hand, nose pointed skyward, saying proudly: “Thinking too much? Did I say full body?”

Gong Yin’s lips curved. He had ten thousand sharp retorts to counter her, but now completely didn’t want to argue with her. His mood was good, and he was reluctant to—she had also thinned, her hair disheveled, eyes sunken deep, red bloodshot covering large areas, even bluish eye bags appearing. Where was the former Jing Hengbo who loved beauty to extremes, always wanting to be devastatingly beautiful?

Now his body felt comfortable, yet his heart ached. These days though he seemed unconscious, he was actually in a turtle-breath state of breathing regulation and rest, his body slowly self-repairing. At this time he would definitely sweat much, but his body felt no sticky discomfort—he knew this was her contribution.

She was also someone of noble status. Before meeting him, though he didn’t know what life she lived, from her demeanor and appearance—well-fed and clothed, certainly never having served others.

These days had been hard on her.

But Jing Hengbo was also thinking that the Gong Yin from their first meeting, who said “don’t touch me with your dirty hands,” seemed to have changed too.

But the next moment she overturned her thought, because Gong Yin frowned at the porridge, asking: “Did those people outside cook this?”

Seeing his slightly disgusted expression, Jing Hengbo snorted: “Too late to be disgusted now. Not just this porridge—those soups and teas were all made by this group. Including the clothes you’re wearing—they personally bought them for you. Want to vomit it all up and strip naked now?”

“Speaking of clothes,” Gong Yin suddenly said, “I remember you once promised to make me clothes.”

His gaze brightened slightly in the darkness, making Jing Hengbo sweat with shame—she’d completely forgotten this.

“Clothes…” She threw away the towel, kicked away the basin, lay down shoulder-to-shoulder with him, drawing out her voice: “Mm… working on them…”

He glanced at her, too lazy to expose her lie. Previously always resentful, fighting for territory and waging war, afterward busy caring for him—when did she have time to make clothes? Probably completely forgotten.

Knowing the truth, he still loved hearing her lie with that drawn-out tone, soft trailing sounds, slightly nasal—an unconscious enchantment that made hearts seem to sway in dreams, every drop of blood bubbling with joy.

He couldn’t help saying more.

“Really? How far along?”

Jing Hengbo thought of underwear—a matter of minutes. Was it that complicated? She answered lazily: “When you’re completely honest with me, I’ll finish them for you.”

He was silent for a moment, gently stroking her hair—the gnawed-looking messy hair was prickly to both hand and heart. After a while he said lightly: “You only need to trust that I will never cause you harm through concealment.”

“Concealment itself is harm.” Her reaction was quick.

He didn’t answer, tugging her hair: “When will it grow back evenly?”

Changing the subject again. She angrily swatted his hand away: “Better if it never grows back evenly.”

He actually nodded approvingly: “Also good. Uglier is better.”

Jing Hengbo was determined to oppose him, sneering: “If you have the guts, scar my face. Then you’d really be at ease, wouldn’t need to neurotically dump me then follow me, chasing away all my suitors.”

No sound beside her. She thought he finally felt shame, turning to look at him, but saw him produce scissors from somewhere, waving them.

Jing Hengbo’s voice changed in shock: “What are you doing?”

…

On the countryside, lit fires could transmit light very far.

The Yi Kingdom people were approaching their homeland, safe all the way, in cheerful moods, playing and laughing around the fire, their voices carrying far into the night.

In the far distance, a figure lightly passed by.

His black cloak cast a huge shadow in the moonlight.

He walked while scanning all directions, his gaze seemingly searching.

He was looking for suspicious groups.

Gong Yin’s and Jing Hengbo’s mysterious disappearance had aroused his interest. He ordered people to investigate all suspicious groups leaving Shen Tie royal city recently, checking them one by one.

He had successively caught up with six groups, eliminating suspicion one by one. Today he caught up with this group.

This group was caught up with latest because they left the city latest, making them least suspicious.

Many people speculated that Gong Yin and Jing Hengbo’s disappearance might mean leaving the city. Since it was leaving the city, naturally they would leave immediately. No one thought those two were in poor condition and delayed in the city one night before leaving.

This was also the last suspicious group. If he couldn’t find them here, he planned to return—he couldn’t delay outside too long.

He quietly approached that group, hiding behind a nearby tree.

…

In another direction, over the wilderness, another person was floating.

His leisurely swaying sleeves and long hair fluttered in the wind, but his flight speed was extremely fast, like streaks of moonlight and sunset glow flashing across heaven and earth.

He seemed to be carrying a large bundle that kept struggling—apparently containing a person.

Far behind him was a large cluster of figures following his direction in relentless pursuit.

The one carrying things and running ahead occasionally looked back. If the pursuers were tired, he would stop and wait. If they ran faster, he would go faster.

The group behind seemed to be chasing him like a homeless dog, but actually they were the ones like dogs, being led to pant and chase across this Emerald tribe border plain.

They were also gradually heading toward the bonfire’s direction.

…

Inside the cart, Jing Hengbo stared wide-eyed at those gleaming scissors.

This guy wouldn’t really be so neurotically repressed that he’d actually disfigure her to eliminate “interference,” would he?

Gong Yin pressed her down, a faint smile at his lips: “As you wish—a little scarring. Then I’ll truly be at ease afterward.”

Jing Hengbo instantly drew her blade: “Little bastard playing for real?”

His gaze flowed like stars in the darkness. He lightly patted, numbing her shoulder point, then pushed her to turn her back.

Jing Hengbo shouted: “Hey hey what do you mean, hey hey so you’ve recovered some true power, if I’d known I wouldn’t have served you…”

Though shouting, she felt no fear in her heart, only faint joy—he could press her acupoints now, showing he was recovering.

No fear because she knew he wouldn’t harm her this way. No reason—she just knew.

Behind her, scissors snipped, hair was ruffled, fine hair fell on her neck, slightly tickling. Only then did she realize this guy was cutting her hair.

Probably really couldn’t stand her gnawed-looking messy hair and finally took action.

She wanted to laugh. Lord Gong had added another barber styling—increasingly versatile. Just didn’t know if those Di Ge ministers accustomed to seeing him seated high on the throne would drop their eyeballs seeing him like this.

Laughing and laughing, she couldn’t help restraining her smile.

She seemed to have seen all his various faces, but how much he had truly done for her, given up, endured, concealed—perhaps only he knew.

She was naturally someone who liked passion and boldness. In girlhood dreams, outlining her ideal other half, they were all that bold and wild type—she felt only such people suited her taste.

Yet in the end, she fell in love with the world’s most reserved man, not hesitating to plunge her flames into his still deep waters.

Worldly love truly left one speechless.

Behind her, Gong Yin seemed very serious, comparing with scissors here and there, a bit here, a bit there, as if wanting to cut out flowers.

She suddenly remembered someone and couldn’t help wanting to laugh again.

“Trying to cut it symmetrically? When did you get possessed by that guy?”

Both knew she meant Brocade Robes. Thinking of this oddball, even Gong Yin was slightly stunned, thinking of Brocade Robes going to investigate his family lineage—not knowing how that was going now.

Intuition told him Brocade Robes wouldn’t bungle it, might even be more suitable than going himself.

The only worry was that guy might create some aftermath.

“You have something on your mind?” she suddenly asked.

His gaze flashed, feeling she was becoming increasingly perceptive—even with her back turned, she could detect his subtle abnormalities.

When had carefree Jing Hengbo become so perceptive?

Because of reality and his pressure, probably.

His eyes held slight pity, his movements becoming gentler, saying lightly: “I’m worried when your hair will grow back evenly.”

“My short hair is quite handsome too.” She chuckled, thought for a moment and added: “That guy seems to have wigs. I’ll borrow one when I see him.”

Gong Yin’s gaze flashed again, but his hands didn’t stop: “No.”

“Why not?” Jing Hengbo asked, then knew this guy’s possessiveness was acting up again, snorting: “This won’t work, that won’t work. How about you shave off your hair to compensate me? Why should my hair be burned like gnawed mess while you don’t lose a single hair?” Saying this, she reached for his hair.

Gong Yin dodged, patting the scissors against her neck: “Don’t move! Want to get poked?”

Jing Hengbo hummed but dared not move randomly, feeling his fingers very light like spring breeze, touching her nape with tickling numbness, comfortable enough to make her sleepy. Having served him for days, she was also bone-tired and couldn’t help closing her eyes.

She faced away from Gong Yin, so didn’t see that afterward while cutting her hair, he tilted his head back and gathered all his own hair behind him.

Gong Yin heard her breathing heavily and made his movements even lighter like feathers. Her neck gradually drooped, revealing a section of snow-white beautiful nape. At the neck’s end through her collar gap, her back skin shone like beautiful jade. Where her black hair was burned, some soft down-like fine hair remained, softly brushing his nose tip, releasing women’s rich fragrance. His expression became even gentler.

Cut hair fell on a pre-laid towel. He somewhat regretfully gathered her much-shortened hair, fingertips gently combing through. She seemed to feel pleasure even in dreams, comfortably humming twice.

He put away the scissors, pulled his own hair to examine carefully. After a long while he exhaled deeply, as if celebrating something. Suddenly his fingertip drew out a silver-bright hair from the base. His scissors flashed, cutting it off. That section of silver hair fell among her black hair fragments, looking distinctly black and white.

He gazed silently for a long while, then reached out, taking one longest black hair and his own white hair, twisting them together, slowly tying a knot.

“Bind hair as husband and wife, love without doubt. Joy in this evening, tender harmony in good times.”

This lifetime might not wait for true hair-binding time, so in this moment, silently tying heart matters together.

Accompanying her to hear year’s end approaching, winter wind responding.

He quietly placed his finger on her shoulder, listening to her steady breathing, also feeling peaceful in heart.

Some things truly weren’t that important. Being with her, even one moment was good.