Mu Dai slept a long, deep sleep.

There were no dreams, just a stone-like heaviness. The moment she closed her eyes, it was as if she had died, and when she opened them, it was like the most bewildered rebirth.

For a moment, she remembered nothing, only that something was weighing on her heart, making it difficult to breathe.

What was it?

She turned her head. This was her room, with its antique-styled headboard, bat-patterned auspicious designs, and in the corner, a cheerful monkey riding a proud little horse.

“Instant promotion upon arrival.” (The idiom “ma shang feng hou” – becoming a marquis immediately)

She remembered now. Everything came back to her.

She sprang up, hurriedly putting on her clothes. Someone pushed open the door—it was Huo Zihong, who had heard the noise.

“How long have I slept?”

“Two days.”

“Where’s Little Knife Luo?”

As she spoke, she had already rushed to the bathroom, turning on the faucet with a splash and filling a cup.

“Still in the hospital. Don’t worry, people have been taking turns watching over him every day.”

She brushed her teeth quickly, foam flying onto the mirror, then washed her face with cold water. The icy stream trickled down her collar, all the way to the depths of her heart.

“I want to see Little Knife Luo.”

Without wiping the water droplets from her face, she ran downstairs. Cao Yanhua was crouching in the courtyard, feeding small grains to Cao Jiefang. Seeing her coming down, he quickly stood up: “Hey, Little Master, there’s something—”

Mu Dai didn’t even look at him, passing by like a gust of wind.

Cao Yanhua stood there dumbfounded, the millet still clutched in his palm. Cao Jiefang kept stretching his neck upward, hopping on the spot, as if demanding food.

Yi Wansan had also come out, leaning against the doorframe with a roasted corn in his hand. He took a few bites, then casually broke off a few kernels to toss to Cao Jiefang.

He said to Cao Yanhua, “Don’t tell her now. How could she possibly listen at a time like this?”

“But the deadly clue…”

“This isn’t the right time either. She just woke up.”

True enough. Cao Yanhua fell silent, then, after a while, looked up at Yi Wansan again: “Brother Sansan, why is this deadly clue so… bizarre?”

Yi Wansan frowned but didn’t speak.

That day, amidst all the commotion, he, Cao Yanhua, and Shen Gun had found a moment to take the sixth deadly clue and place it in that secretly kept fish tank.

The three of them opened the cabinet door, pushed aside the panel, and entered that sealed, cramped little space where even standing felt confined. Shen Gun was delighted, beaming as he said, “I just love places that are strangely hidden like this.”

The sixth deadly clue, along with the plastic bag of cold river water, was poured into the fish tank.

The sixth one gradually unfolded in the water, with the blood-colored phoenix and simurgh stretching out again. This time, the phoenix head, the male phoenix head, and the simurgh head were all finally visible.

But on the sixth deadly clue, no text appeared.

Not only that, but the text from the other five deadly clues also slowly… disappeared right before their eyes.

Six blank, wordless bamboo slips floated in the water, gradually gathering together like an ordinary scroll of bamboo slips.

Cao Yanhua stammered: “W-what’s going on?”

Yi Wansan was also a bit bewildered. He swallowed and said, “Never mind that. Let’s watch the Water Vision first.”

Shen Gun had previously heard them talk about their water vision experiences and felt as if he had been there himself, vividly impressed and envious to the point of itching with curiosity. He asked, “Do you think I’ll be able to see it?”

Seeing that the two didn’t object, he cautiously extended a finger along the tank wall, slowly touching the water surface.

To be honest, his fingertip probably wasn’t even fully wet when the entire fish tank suddenly boiled over. The deadly clues violently shook, and the phoenix and simurgh heads suddenly turned toward Shen Gun, revealing angry expressions.

Shen Gun hurriedly withdrew his hand in fright.

It seemed outsiders couldn’t do it. Those who weren’t part of their Phoenix small squad simply didn’t have this ability.

Cao Yanhua felt a small surge of pride and said to Yi Wansan: “Brother Sansan, let’s do it.”

Just like last time, the sun and moon suddenly rotated, and the wind and clouds transformed. When they came to their senses, the surrounding environment was extremely bizarre.

Perhaps because Luo Ren, Mu Dai, and Yan Hongsha were absent, this 360-degree puzzle of heaven and earth was extremely fragmented. The human figures were blurry, and the sounds were cluttered.

They vaguely sensed they were in a bustling market. Someone was beating a brass gong, seemingly shouting that passersby shouldn’t miss this opportunity—those with money should show support with money, those without could show support with their presence.

The crowd in the market thronged over, people of all ages and genders. From their attire—long gowns, mandarin jackets, half-shaved heads with long queues—like the scene they had seen last time, the era should be the mid to late Qing dynasty.

This must be a street performance. Although they couldn’t see, from those hazy images, Yi Wansan could still make out performers wielding large sabers, climbing barefoot on knife ladders, and breaking rocks on their chests.

Then suddenly, the entire audience erupted in cheers.

Based on experience, if this wasn’t the first performance, the audience’s reaction indicated that the headline act was about to appear.

What could it be? Yi Wansan stood on tiptoe, stretching his neck to see.

Through the gaps in the surging crowd, he saw that the performer had brought out a dog.

After that, he couldn’t see anything else, only hearing thunderous applause like ocean waves, each wave higher than the last.

Mu Dai hurried. The hospital elevator was too slow, and she had no patience, so she took the stairs. In the stairwell, she was the only one, her footsteps echoing as she climbed.

She ran toward the intensive care unit at the end of the corridor.

Several people stood at the entrance: Qingmu, Uncle Zheng, and Pin Ting.

She didn’t want to exchange pleasantries or greet any of them, but as she approached, Uncle Zheng suddenly came over and somewhat hesitantly blocked her, saying, “Mu Dai.”

She had to stop.

“That day here, in the confusion, Pin Ting was too impulsive. After we went back, I scolded her.” He turned to Pin Ting, “Pin Ting, come and apologize to Mu Dai…”

Mu Dai said, “It’s a small matter, not important.”

She walked around Uncle Zheng without looking at Pin Ting and pushed open the door to the ward. It wasn’t visiting hours yet, so she couldn’t go into the inner room. She walked to the observation window, pressed her forehead against the glass, and looked at Luo Ren sleeping peacefully on the bed. Her heart, which had been churning since she woke up, finally began to calm down.

Little Knife Luo was sleeping so soundly.

She recalled many, many things—when they first met, when they went to Small Commerce River, when they gathered at Five Pearl Village. Being capable meant taking on more work; he always shouldered many responsibilities, arranging this and that. At night, his most frequent words were: “You sleep first, I’ll keep watch.”

He had taken care of them so much, and now it was his turn to be cared for.

Little Knife Luo, rest if you’re tired, but remember, you must wake up.

She breathed on the glass and used her finger to write words, things she wanted to tell him. One character overlapped another until, in the end, even she couldn’t make out what she had written.

Qingmu walked over and stood beside her.

He said, “We owe thanks to Mr. Zheng and his friends for their help.”

Mr. Zheng? Mu Dai was puzzled for a moment before realizing that Qingmu was referring to Senior Brother Zheng Mingshan.

She found it amusing. In all this time, she had never heard anyone call Senior Brother “Mr. Zheng.” Senior Brother had always maintained such a relaxed, casual image that others would always call out to him informally: “Old Zheng, hey Old Zheng.”

“Following the trail, they found where the Leopard is currently staying. Those who could be caught were caught. As for the others, reportedly some are in other places and are now being pursued… They also found Tasha.”

Oh, Tasha. She remembered now, Luo Ren’s little daughter.

“The others are easier to deal with, but Tasha is more complicated. She’s still a child, and she’s a foreigner. Relevant agencies are trying to contact her relatives in Australia, hoping to send her home.”

“That’s good.”

“But she’s lived with the Leopard for so long, and no one dares to rashly return her to a normal living environment. These past few days, they’ve conducted personality and psychological tests on her, with very poor results.”

Mu Dai listened quietly.

“Especially the hate-filled brainwashing that the Leopard performed on her, directed against Luo. I’ve consulted experts, and this type is very difficult to cure. The brain is the most complex physiological organ in humans. Even if she appears normal on the surface, there’s no guarantee she won’t be like a time bomb, exploding at some point in the future.”

His words had an implication. Mu Dai turned to look at him: “So?”

“Before returning to Japan, I will first go to Australia and place Tasha in a sanatorium—until the threat she poses is removed, I want to ensure she is monitored and restricted.”

This was understandable. Mu Dai nodded, thought for a moment, and said, “Before Tasha is sent away, let me see her once. I still need to confirm some things.”

She looked back toward the observation window.

But Qingmu hadn’t left; he maintained the same posture, still staring at her.

Mu Dai noticed this, was puzzled, and turned her head again.

“I heard about what happened in the factory, and also found Zuo Zhu’s tools at the Leopard’s hideout. You were also brainwashed; your situation is more serious than Tasha’s.”

“So?”

“How can I be sure you’re safe? How do I know you aren’t an even greater threat to Luo?”

Mu Dai smiled, shrugging indifferently: “If you have the ability, send me to a sanatorium too.”

“You won’t explain?”

“I don’t owe anyone an explanation.”

She stopped looking at Qingmu, gently breathed on the glass, and carefully wrote two characters.

Peace and safety.

Qingmu remained silent.

These past two days, he had witnessed Zheng Mingshan’s connections and circles. Here, Zheng Mingshan had far more influence than he did. This Mr. Zheng would never allow him to do anything harmful to Mu Dai.

If Luo regained consciousness, he wouldn’t allow it either. Luo had even taken a bullet for her.

Footsteps sounded from behind. Zheng Mingshan had returned.

He seemed to have something to discuss with Mu Dai. Qingmu, being sensible, gave him a Japanese-style half-bow and then turned to leave.

Zheng Mingshan also stood in front of the observation window.

Mu Dai said, “Senior Brother.”

She had already seen him in the reflection of the glass.

Zheng Mingshan said, “The Leopard has been taken by Interpol—to be precise, carried away.”

“Is he dead?”

“According to their assessment, he no longer possesses the ability to act and poses no threat to others or society.”

After saying this, he smiled and handed her a small switch-like object.

Mu Dai took it, not understanding.

“Found at the scene, taken from the Leopard by Fat Cao. My friend and I examined it; it should be a micro-detonator for a bomb, typically used on a person. Since it belonged to the Leopard, I guess it was meant either for you or for Luo Ren.”

Mu Dai raised her eyebrows slightly, somewhat surprised.

“Luo Ren underwent a body scan at the hospital. There’s nothing in him.”

So… it was in her body? Mu Dai instinctively felt her body.

“The components and wires have been removed, leaving just the empty shell as a memento for you. As for the bomb itself, eating, drinking, excretion—the five grains cycle through—it’ll resolve itself.”

Mu Dai giggled, but as she laughed, her vision suddenly blurred.

“Senior Brother, does our Little Knife Luo still have hope of waking up?”

She paused for a second or two, calming the overwhelming emotion that suddenly surged in her chest, and looked directly into Zheng Mingshan’s eyes.

“Senior Brother, I don’t want comforting words. Tell me the truth. I can bear it.”

Zheng Mingshan made an affirmative sound, pulled out a flattened cigarette pack from his back pocket, seemingly wanting to smoke, then suddenly remembered this was an intensive care unit and stuffed the cigarette pack back.

“The truth? You can bear it?”

Mu Dai turned to look at him, nodding firmly: “I can.”

Zheng Mingshan looked at her.

Before, when Plum Blossom Ninth Lady spoke of this little junior sister, there was always a smile of indulgence on her face, saying, “This little girl, Mu Dai…”

Now, he dared not call her a little girl anymore. She stood before him, tempered by countless trials, which had worn away the superficial childishness, naive ideas, and immaturity, gradually revealing her strength of character.

Like Plum Blossom Ninth Lady, she too was as hard as bone.

Zheng Mingshan said, “Then I’ll tell you the truth. Honestly, when I saw Luo Ren, given the amount of blood he’d lost and the severity of his injuries, based on my experience, he should have been beyond saving—he should have died already.”

Mu Dai’s teeth firmly pressed against her lips.

Zheng Mingshan shrugged, his bent index finger tapping the observation window: “But look, he’s still lying there just fine. You ask if Luo Ren still has hope, but from that moment on, heaven has already given you hope. It’s just that this hope is like a young creature—we don’t know if it will die prematurely or if it can be raised to maturity.”

Finally, he reached out and placed his hand on Mu Dai’s shoulder.

“Do your best, accept fate. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. In this world, so many people lose loved ones, far more than you can imagine. You are neither the most unfortunate nor will you be the most fortunate. If Luo Ren returns, live your life together well. If he doesn’t return… live your life well on your own.”

Having said this, he turned and left without looking back at her. He wasn’t good at handling such situations, nor was he skilled at comforting people.

He didn’t want Luo Ren to die either, but what could be done? The world is so vast, and individuals are so insignificant. Every day, people are born, and every day, some don’t see the next day’s sun. Why should you be the lucky one? Why shouldn’t you be unfortunate?

Heaven has no plan or design for people; when to enter, when to exit—it’s all a chaotic, disorderly script.

He walked to the end of the corridor before stopping, lit a cigarette, took a puff, and slowly exhaled the smoke.

At this moment, it would be nice to have a little alcohol, some pig’s head meat, or some peanuts.

Footsteps sounded from behind. It was Qingmu.

Zheng Mingshan let out a sigh: “I won’t say goodbye to my little junior sister. Tell her that I have to go back to handle our master’s funeral arrangements. Tell her not to rush back; take care of Luo Ren first. The living… are always more important than those who are already gone.”