After talking for a while, Ling’ai suddenly realized they were still holding each other in an embrace. Feeling a little awkward, she gently loosened her arms and stepped back to put some distance between them.

The warmth that had been in his arms vanished the moment she pulled away, and Zheng Yun felt a pang of loss — though he did not press her. Instead, he glanced at the sky and said, “Tonight we’ll have to make do with spending the night up on the mountain. Once daylight comes tomorrow and the fog lifts, we’ll be able to find the path down.”

“How did you know I was in the Misty Valley?” Ling’ai asked, genuinely curious.

“I spotted the red cloth strips you left along the mountain path. I followed them one by one, and where the strips disappeared was the entrance to the Misty Valley — so I figured there was at least an eight or nine in ten chance you had wandered in by mistake.”

Zheng Yun watched her press her red lips together with that look of dawning understanding on her face, and he couldn’t help giving the top of her head a light tap. “At least you had the sense to leave markers. Not entirely hopeless.”

Ling’ai gave him a mild reproachful glance. “I do have that much common sense.”

“You had no idea what conditions were like up on this mountain, and yet you dared to venture deep into the wilderness. That takes a certain boldness.”

“Dr. Sun and Xiao Xing both warned me not to go into the mountains. The fault was mine — I was careless and got greedy.”

Zheng Yun didn’t have the heart to scold her, especially since she had come up the mountain to gather medicinal herbs entirely for the sake of the villagers.

Early spring was the busiest time of year for the fruit farmers. Whether the peach trees would flourish and yield a good harvest depended entirely on the work done in this single month.

She had known everyone was too busy to go up and gather herbs themselves, so she had volunteered to do it in their place.

He thought back to the time she had climbed the mountain to pick red berries for him to steep in wine — the way she had stood at his door, cradling a basket, her clothes streaked with mud. His heart had been moved and shaken all at once.

It was probably from that moment on that he had begun to take notice of this young woman. And later, she had taken up residence in his heart entirely, never to be dislodged.

“I remember there’s a cave over that way,” Zheng Yun said. “The mountain wind picks up at night — we need to find somewhere sheltered.”

He took a couple of steps forward, then turned halfway and extended his hand toward her.

Ling’ai stared at him blankly, then looked at his slender, outstretched palm, momentarily unsure how to react.

“The path is rough. If I hold onto you, you won’t fall — and the last thing we need is for you to get hurt up here on the mountain.”

Ling’ai thought it over and decided this was no time to be finicky about it. She placed her hand in his palm, and he closed his fingers around it at once.

The warmth from his hand spread all the way through her, reaching the very tip of her heart, and her whole body felt settled and at ease.

Zheng Yun led Ling’ai to the cave he remembered. It wasn’t large — villagers from Taohua Village who lost their way in the Misty Valley often took shelter here.

Inside, there were the remnants of an old fire pit and a makeshift resting place bedded with dry straw.

“When I was little, my second brother and I came up here to catch wild pheasants and got ourselves lost in the Misty Valley. We ended up spending the night in this very cave. We were small back then, hadn’t brought anything to make a fire, so we just huddled there in the cold and hunger for the whole night. But the thing I was most afraid of wasn’t wild animals — it was going home and getting a beating. Disappearing suddenly like that because we’d been fooling around — the adults would have been frantic with worry, searching everywhere for us.”

“And what happened? Did you end up getting beaten?”

“The two of us crept home trembling, fully expecting a good thrashing — and it turned out our parents hadn’t even noticed we’d been gone all night. They’d been up on the mountain tending the peach trees, and when they got home and didn’t see us, they assumed we were playing in the village. By evening they were too exhausted and just went to sleep.”

Ling’ai couldn’t help laughing. “Who would have thought the two of you were trapped up on the mountain? But I suppose it worked out — you were spared the beating.”

“Around here, families have many children and the adults are always busy. This sort of thing is perfectly ordinary. In some households, a child could go missing for a whole day and night without anyone going to look — and then the next day they’d come wandering back, perfectly fine.”

Zheng Yun brushed the dust off a flat stone by the cave entrance. “Sit and wait for me. I’ll go find some firewood.”

“Let me come with you.”

“It’s dark and the path is treacherous. You sit here and wait — don’t move.”

But Ling’ai was insistent and followed him anyway.

Zheng Yun said with a resigned air, “Are you afraid that wolf might come back?”

Ling’ai nodded vigorously. Just thinking about that vicious wolf made her break out in a cold sweat even now.

Zheng Yun took her hand. “Then stay close and watch your step.”

Dry wood was easy to come by in the mountain forest. Zheng Yun gathered some fallen branches, and Ling’ai went to help. The two of them each carried an armful of dry branches back to the cave entrance.

When the fire was lit, the cave was instantly warm and bright. The dancing flames cast a red glow across both their faces.

“If I hadn’t come to find you, were you planning to just slip away without a word?” Zheng Yun prodded the fire with a stick and looked at her across the flames.

Ling’ai sat with her head bowed, holding a small twig, mimicking his gesture, poking at the fire in a listless, distracted sort of way.

“I didn’t want to drag you down. You deserve a better life.” Her voice was very soft, and there wasn’t much conviction in it.

“What kind of life do you think would be better for me?”

Ling’ai could hear a trace of suppressed emotion in his tone. She said, “Zheng Yun, you’re now the Director of the Military Police Bureau, and you have the Marshal’s trust and favor. Your future is boundless. You shouldn’t tie yourself to a divorced woman — and not just any divorced woman, but one whose former husband was a failed man who murdered his own father and brothers.”

“I know very well why you married him.”

“But others don’t.”

“The person who wants to be with you is me, not others. What others say, how others see it — I don’t care.”

“But I care.” Ling’ai said with a flash of feeling. “I care about how people talk about you, how they look at you. I care about your reputation and your honor. If it’s because of me that you have to bear all of that, I would feel wretched and guilty.”

“Ling’ai, it seems you still don’t understand.” Zheng Yun’s gaze was bathed in firelight. “I can give up the Director’s position at the Military Police Bureau. I can leave Shun Cheng. But I cannot be without you.”

Ling’ai stared at him, struck speechless.

“Between you and all of this so-called ‘future’ — I will always choose you.” Zheng Yun looked at her, his gaze deep and unwavering. “I have lost you once before. I know what that felt like — like my heart and guts were being torn out. So I will not lose you a second time. This time, no matter what, I will not let go. If you try to flee to the ends of the earth, I will chase you to the ends of the earth. If you try to hide at the corners of the sea, I will seek you out at the corners of the sea. Ling’ai — you know what I do for a living. You will not be able to run from me.”

Ling’ai sat there in a daze, completely unaware of when he had moved closer to her.

He crouched down in front of her, both hands resting on her shoulders, forcing her to meet his eyes.

“I know you’re doing this for my sake. But you should also understand what I actually need. I don’t need you to run away for my sake. What I need is for you to stand strong and face all of this with me — for my sake. As for the criticism, we’ll ignore it. As for family opposition, we’ll work to win them over. Ling’ai — if you run, you won’t be doing me a kindness. You’ll be pushing me back into an abyss from which there is no return. Your good intentions will only backfire on you.”

“I…”

“So — do you know you were wrong?”

“Zheng Yun!” Ling’ai looked up at him with a beautiful, reproachful glare. “I was only…”

“Still going to say it was for my sake?”

“I…” Ling’ai hadn’t expected Zheng Yun, who was normally so sparing with words, to say things that left her with absolutely no comeback. She finally understood how the criminals he interrogated must feel — utterly unable to defend themselves.

Zheng Yun saw her opening and closing her mouth, wanting to speak but not knowing what to say, and a soft laugh escaped him.

He lowered his head, and his lips brushed lightly against hers. She tried to pull back, but his hands held firm on her shoulders.

Before him, her resistance was no more than a kitten scratching at air — utterly negligible.

“Zheng…”

The words she wanted to say were all sealed away. This kiss was nothing like the delicate, fleeting touches he had given her before — it was forceful and urgent, as though he were pouring into it all the emotions that had built up over a long, long time.

Ling’ai found herself struggling to keep up, as though swept up by a wave and lifted high into the air.

She had no choice but to press her hands against his chest, then clutch tightly at his lapels, just to keep herself from falling backward.

Moonlight flowed like water, casting a cool, clear brightness over the mountain. Yet the passion he gave her was fiercer than even the fire beside them, burning through every last defense she had built around her heart, until she was utterly and completely lost.

A branch in the fire let out a sharp crack. The flame flickered several times — and at the same moment, Ling’ai’s stomach gave a deeply uncooperative gurgle.

Zheng Yun released her and looked at her with an amused expression.

“What are you laughing at?” Ling’ai said, her face flushed. “Have you never seen anyone hungry before?”

She glared at him, her red lips softly glistening, her slightly pouting expression all the more endearing for it.

Zheng Yun reined in the restlessness in his chest and tapped her cheek lightly. “Wait here. I’ll go find something to eat.”

“It’s so dark out there — where will you find food?”

“Worried about me?”

Ling’ai said helplessly, “Going without food for one night is hardly going to kill anyone. I can manage.”

“With me here, I won’t let you go hungry.” He stood and pointed to the fire in front of them. “There’s fire here — wild animals won’t dare come near. And I won’t go far. I’ll be back quickly.”

“Then be careful.”

Ling’ai watched Zheng Yun leave, then turned back to stare at the fire in a daze.

Thinking about the intimate moments they had just shared, she couldn’t help pressing her hands to her burning face and rubbing at it. She wasn’t sure if it was the lingering heat from before or the warmth of the fire — but she felt as though her face was about to melt.

In this moment, she wasn’t sure whether what she was doing was right or wrong. She had made up her mind, and yet a few words from him had been enough to shake her resolve entirely.

Perhaps he was right. She had always told herself she was acting in his best interest — but she had never once asked him whether this was what he actually wanted.

If she stayed, if she chose to remain by his side, would she have the courage to face all that criticism and reproach alongside him?