Chen Baoxiang was still grinning to herself when she returned to her guest room.

“Immortal, did you hear what he said before we left?” She cupped her face in her hands. “He told me to come back for meals tomorrow too.”

Four parts out of five, wasn’t that as good as a declaration of feelings?

Zhang Zhixu was in an uncommonly good mood and, for once, did not shatter her illusions. He simply looked around the room: “Go open the north-facing window.”

“It’s so cold — what’s the point of opening it?” Chen Baoxiang mumbled, but her hands were already obeying, pushing the window open and leaning over the sill to peer outside.

The physician’s courtyard was right next to the guest courtyard where Cheng Huaili was lodged. From the second-floor window, one could see the people coming and going in the guest courtyard, and every now and then catch a few shouts from the servants.

Zhang Zhixu was satisfied. He intended to listen here for any useful information.

Before he had caught anything useful, however, Chen Baoxiang cried out again: “This window is so close to Young Master Pei’s room — I can see the flowers and plants he tends in his courtyard.”

“Oh, he seems to have come out for a stroll — do you think he can see me?”

“He’s so beautiful — how is it that even stretching is beautiful when he does it?”

A vein throbbed at Zhang Zhixu’s temple. “Can’t you be quiet for a moment?”

“It’s almost dark — there’ll be plenty of quiet time,” she said, pouting. “While I can still see, shouldn’t I look a little more while I can?”

Zhang Zhixu forcibly turned her head toward Cheng Huaili’s courtyard.

Chen Baoxiang was deeply dissatisfied: “What’s there to see? General Cheng’s been saved anyway.”

The subject brought back an unpleasant memory: “That day on the main banquet stage, I watched an arrow fly straight at him — in the waist, in the leg — oh, blood was absolutely everywhere. I was terrified.”

Zhang Zhixu startled. “The chest?” he asked.

“The chest?” Chen Baoxiang thought for a moment. “Right — there was an arrow headed for his chest, but it seemed like he was wearing a heart-protection mirror or something of that sort. The arrow hit it and there was a sharp crack — sounded brittle, clean.”

So that’s what happened.

Zhang Zhixu leaned against the window frame and let out a quiet sigh.

“Who in the world would dare to assassinate him?” Chen Baoxiang rested her chin in her hand and mused aloud with innocent curiosity. “These powerful and influential people are so guarded and wary. If the attempt failed — how would you even begin to deal with the consequences?”

How would you deal with it.

Zhang Zhixu thought to himself — he had already severed every chain of evidence, ensuring that neither the assassins nor anyone else could trace anything back to the Zhang family. Since the first strike had failed, the only course was to recuperate and wait for the right moment to act again.

The sky had gone fully dark. Chen Baoxiang let out a yawn and latched the window, muttering: “This is supposed to be a wealthy household, and yet even the nights are this dark — can they not afford lamp oil?”

True enough. Even in his own home, the passages outside would have had lanterns lit even if the rooms were kept dark. But here at the Pei residence, despite having an injured person under the roof, every courtyard had gone pitch-black just past midnight.

Wait—

Something flickered through his mind. Zhang Zhixu’s brow began to furrow: “Find something to use as a weapon, quickly.”

“What?”

“That painting hanging on the wall — take the scroll rod down and use it as a club.”

Chen Baoxiang couldn’t understand the reason, but she listened to the Immortal. She did as told at once, gripped the scroll rod, and sat at the table to wait.

Outside, the night watchman struck three beats. The courtyard beyond lay perfectly still.

Just as she was on the verge of dozing off, Chen Baoxiang suddenly heard an unusual birdcall.

Then the outside erupted into noise — shouts of “catch the intruder,” the crash and clatter of things breaking, and a chain of lanterns blazing to life, their orange light bleeding through the paper of her window.

“Immortal,” she said, eyes wide. “Someone has broken into the Pei residence.”

Zhang Zhixu said nothing. He simply stood, positioned the scroll rod diagonally in front of him, then reached out and pushed the window open a crack.

In the next instant, a dark shape wrapped in the scent of blood swept through the gap — a short blade leveled sideways, aimed straight at her throat.

Chen Baoxiang was so frightened she moved to block with the scroll rod and was just opening her mouth to scream — when she heard the Immortal’s voice, calm and steady:

“Jiuquan.”

The intruder’s movements froze.

He continued: “Come in first. Close the window.”

An unfamiliar voice — yet the cadence was intimately recognizable.

Jiuquan closed the window, frowning as he studied her, his gaze razor-sharp, like a wolf in the wilderness—

Immortal.

Chen Baoxiang was on the verge of frightened tears: This is a desperate fugitive — there’s such a heavy air of killing about him. I’m scared—

If you want to live, you can’t afford to be scared.

He straightened her spine, clasped her hands behind her back, and met Jiuquan’s gaze with steady composure: “I am Chen Baoxiang. I was sent here by Fengqing to receive you.”

Fengqing — Zhang Zhixu’s childhood name.

He spoke with calm certainty and authority, making it impossible for anyone to doubt.

Chen Baoxiang, however — that hopeless creature — her legs had gone so weak she could barely stand. In the gap between his words, she buckled with a thud and dropped to her knees.

Jiuquan: ???

Zhang Zhixu: “……”

He gritted his teeth: You did that on purpose, didn’t you?

Chen Baoxiang was on the verge of tears: I’m genuinely frightened — there’s still blood dripping from his blade.

Zhang Zhixu glanced over at it, paused — and seized the moment, withdrawing his hands to cup them in a bow: “I have long heard Fengqing speak of Jiuquan’s heroism. Meeting you today, you truly live up to the name. That you were willing to throw yourself into this tiger’s den for his sake — you are my benefactor, Chen Baoxiang’s benefactor as well. Please accept my bow.”

And somehow, it came across as entirely natural.

“You.” Jiuquan was still guarded. “I have been at my master’s side for so long, and I have never seen you.”

“That is only natural.” He raised his head with composed ease. “Fengqing and I became acquainted in Jiangnan — the attendant at his side then was not you, but a servant with a very dark complexion. Fengqing did speak of you to me, though — he said it was because he found you beside the ninth spring on Chaoshan that he gave you the name Jiuquan.”

The master had gone to Jiangnan the year before last. At the time he had been gravely ill, and the one who accompanied him was the shadow guard Ningsu — who indeed had a dark complexion.

As for the name Jiuquan — apart from the master himself and him, no one in the Zhang household knew its origin.

Jiuquan put away his short blade — but remained suspicious: “I came here on my own initiative. My master knew nothing of it. How could he have arranged for you to receive me in advance?”

“It wasn’t specifically to receive you.” Zhang Zhixu rose and smoothed his knee. “Fengqing said that if the attempt at the Roasted Tail Banquet failed, I would need to come close to Cheng Huaili and listen for information. Cheng Huaili is extraordinarily cautious — to act rashly without first understanding the full situation, wouldn’t that just mean—”

He raised his eyes to meet Jiuquan’s, with an expression of faint disappointment: “Ending up like you?”

It was true the master had told him not to act rashly if the first attempt failed.

Jiuquan felt a sting of embarrassment.

But still—

“My master is gravely wounded and has not regained consciousness, yet word has come from here that Cheng Huaili is recovering.” Jiuquan’s voice was thick with fury. “He must die!”

“I understand.” Zhang Zhixu sighed. “But you’ve walked into a trap. He cannot be killed now.”

“I……”

“Enough.” Zhang Zhixu glanced outside. “They’ll be searching in this direction soon.”

It was a trap laid in advance. Cheng Huaili had not only ordered every gate and door sealed, he had also dispatched men to search room by room and window by window outward from his courtyard.

Under these circumstances — how to get out alive?

Chen Baoxiang was just settling in with great enthusiasm to watch things unfold, when she heard her own voice say, cold and indifferent:

“Go to the neighboring courtyard, take the Pei family’s second young master hostage, and use him to get out.”