Mu Fusang’s intent in fiercely embracing Ziqing was a final, desperate gambit — to give Jiao Cha his opening.

From the very start, Jiao Cha had wanted Mu Fusang to pin Han Ziqing down. Now, with the opportunity right in front of him, how could he possibly let it slip by? However brief the window, he was determined to seize it.

“Ahh…” Jiao Cha let out a great cry — and then? And then, nothing. Nothing happened at all.

“Heh heh, go ahead and kill her, you fool. Dare to scheme against my little Qingqing, and you’re tired of living!”

In the underbrush, Baili Weisheng cackled with delight, thoroughly pleased with himself — but he hadn’t made a move at all. He’d stayed perfectly still, hidden in the bushes the whole time, waiting for his moment.

And on the other side, Xuanyuan Lige, brows knit tight the entire time, stern-faced as a little old man, broke into an uncharacteristic, delighted smile of his own. This woman — outwardly so serious, so sparing with words, even dour at times — and yet in the span of a single day, she’d first set fires, then made fools of everyone around her. Was there anything this woman wasn’t capable of?

He hadn’t intervened either, remaining hidden off to the side the whole time, watching over her. But what exactly had happened to Jiao Cha?

After that mighty, thunderous cry, shouldn’t something equally dramatic have followed?

Every scale across his body stood ramrod straight, like an army of valiant warriors — they should have all gone flying at once, should have all buried themselves deep into Han Ziqing’s body, leaving her riddled with countless wounds, torn to pieces, doomed to a gruesome death.

And yet, why were they all still standing there now, every single scale still upright, but utterly silent and still?

Jiao Cha’s face flushed deep red, straining with all his might yet unable to summon any strength at all, feeling an unbearable itch crawling beneath every single scale on his body, making him want to claw at himself desperately.

How could this be happening?

There was only one possible explanation — he too had been poisoned! With that surge of exertion, his blood vessels had dilated, his blood pumping faster, and the poison had spread instantly throughout his entire body.

“Han Ziqing!” Jiao Cha roared furiously, his dark face flushing crimson, his eyes bloodshot, looking every bit like a demon, as though he wanted nothing more than to tear her apart with his teeth.

“Han Ziqing, you vile—! I’ll kill—”

But before he could even finish his sentence, he found himself unable to resist clawing frantically at his own body, his large frame twitching and jerking about in a manner far more entertaining than any trained monkey’s performance.

But the funniest part wasn’t even the scratching itself — it was that every time he clawed at himself, a whole cluster of scales would come loose, peeling away like shedding skin or falling hair, and the sight terrified him so badly that his flushed, dark face instantly drained white. He didn’t know whether to keep scratching or stop!

Baili Weisheng had already dissolved into helpless laughter, one hand clutching his stomach, the other clamped over his mouth, rolling around in the underbrush, while Xuanyuan Lige, try as he might to hold it back, couldn’t suppress his amusement either, pressing his fist to his lips to stifle a cough that still couldn’t hide his bright, handsome smile.

As for Ziqing, her own expression remained utterly indifferent throughout it all. One hand braced against Mu Fusang’s arm to keep him at a distance, the other still gripping his throat, slick with blood. Jun Beiyue had his own particular fastidiousness about cleanliness — but truthfully, hers ran even deeper.

It wasn’t a matter of gender at all — it was simply that anyone she disliked, even standing a little too close, made the very air around her feel unbearable.

“You…” Mu Fusang looked utterly stunned, never expecting Han Ziqing had kept this particular trick in reserve for Jiao Cha too. A metallic, bloody scent kept welling up in his throat, leaving him unable to even speak.

Ziqing had no patience for empty talk, especially not in the middle of a fight. Her gaze turned sharp and cold, and she suddenly tightened her grip — but just then, a thin, slender green vine suddenly shot out from Mu Fusang’s own throat, instantly wrapping itself around Ziqing’s arm!

Ziqing was startled, still meaning to tighten her grip further, but that green vine only cinched tighter the harder she pressed. Compared to the earlier thorny vines, this green tendril looked frail and delicate, yet its binding strength was so fierce it left even Ziqing’s grip faltering.

Mu Fusang’s eyes lowered, a cold smile curving at his lips — not a smile of despair, but one of calm, quiet resignation.

Ziqing’s heart lurched, and she immediately released her grip. This man meant to take her down with him!

The moment Ziqing let go, Mu Fusang dropped back to the ground at once, turning to flee. Seeing this, Jiao Cha, still scratching frantically at himself, took off running as well.

Ziqing landed back on the ground, watching them go with an expressionless face. She didn’t give chase — and after just a moment, she coughed up a mouthful of fresh blood, sinking to one knee.

In truth, she’d been enduring far more than she’d let on the whole time!

Mu Fusang’s black-and-white vines truly were formidable.

Baili Weisheng shot upright at once, his face suddenly deadly serious, and in nearly the same instant Xuanyuan Lige had already taken a step forward.

But just then, a tremendous “BOOM” rang out, and a figure came hurtling violently through the air, crashing down hard onto the ground.

It was none other than Mu Fusang, who had just fled moments ago — the instant he hit the ground, a mouthful of fresh blood burst from his lips, even worse off than Ziqing herself.

Ziqing knelt on one knee, one hand braced against the ground, staring at the figure that had just crashed down before her, still not quite grasping what was happening.

Then, another “BOOM” rang out, and a second figure came crashing down as well, landing right in front of her, scales scattered across the ground — Jiao Cha, likewise coughing up blood, clinging to nothing more than a single thread of breath.

How could this be happening?

Who had done this?

Ziqing was just about to rise to her feet when a familiar presence suddenly enveloped her from behind, and in the next instant she found herself gently pulled into a warm embrace — so tender, so warm, so achingly familiar, carrying that faint, distinctive scent of dragon’s-breath incense that was uniquely his, those powerful, steady arms, the safest embrace in the world. It was him. Jun Beiyue.

Hadn’t they said it would take three full days and nights just to fall from that cliff to the bottom? How was he already here?

Ziqing moved to speak, but Jun Beiyue only held her tighter still, burying his face in the crook of her shoulder. After a long, long moment, his voice came low and hoarse. “Han Ziqing… if I hadn’t found you, this prince would have gone mad…”

He wasn’t a fool. He’d seen through countless lure-the-tiger-from-the-mountain schemes before, and used just as many himself. But not being able to see her — that alone was enough to send him into a panic. And seeing her blood — that was enough to drive him utterly mad.

Worry had clouded his judgment. Faced with that bottomless abyss, he’d plunged down as though he no longer cared whether he lived or died, driven half out of his mind to find her.

After all, there were countless people in this world, out in the open, who coveted her poison-immune body — and hidden in the shadows, there were even more who wanted her life outright.

Only now did Ziqing truly grasp the gravity of it all. She’d thought that so long as he was safe, everything would be fine; so long as he made it back, everything would be fine; so long as she came down to the ravine’s edge and waited for him, everything would be fine.

Held tight in his arms, looking at the two half-dead villains lying before her, an indescribable warmth slowly washed through Ziqing’s heart, a faint dimple appearing as she smiled, soft and sweet.

Xuanyuan Lige’s smile froze at his lips, and without a sound, he turned and walked away, while Baili Weisheng stood watching silently off to the side, his expression unreadable…

Ziqing smiled, a smile both innocently sweet and shyly tender, yet laced with a hint of playful cunning. Feeling the urgency radiating from the man behind her, she said softly, almost bashfully, “What you look like when you go mad… it must be terrifying, isn’t it?”

The moment she said this, Jun Beiyue abruptly turned her around, and a punishing kiss crashed down like a sudden storm, silencing every word of protest at once — deep, fierce, and utterly consuming.

Xuanyuan Lige had already walked far off, while Baili Weisheng remained, watching from a distance, still watching…