Xiao Yingtao looked at Shan Yidao, her eyes reddening. “Yidao, we have been through hardship together, life and death side by side. I refuse to believe you feel nothing for us at all.”

“Tell them who has been giving you orders from behind the scenes. Jiu’er said she can keep you alive — and she always keeps her word.”

Though Feng Jiu’er was young — even younger than the rest of them — she held a place in everyone’s heart as someone who meant exactly what she said.

She had promised to spare Shan Yidao’s life, and she would. So long as Shan Yidao revealed the name of his master, there was still a chance for his life to take a different turn.

“Yidao…”

“Do I even have a choice left?” Shan Yidao stood surrounded on all sides. Having just received one strike from the Seventh Princess, it was perfectly clear to him that there was no way he was leaving tonight.

He suddenly released all the protective energy wrapped around his body. Bathed in the cold, pale glow of the moon, he broke into a loud, ringing laugh. “Xiao Yingtao, I’ve deceived all of you for so long — do you truly still believe I have any real feeling for you?”

Ha. This foolish little girl — she had managed to earn her place in the Imperial Academy. How was it she could still be this naive?

With that kind of naivety, how did she expect to survive in the Imperial Academy, where dragons and serpents all dwell together?

“Yidao, I know you do. You just had no choice in the matter!”

Xiao Yingtao moved to approach him, only to be pulled back by Xing Zizou.

Xiao Yingtao was too innocent. Perhaps Shan Yidao did feel some measure of attachment to them — but a traitor was still a traitor, and not someone to be trusted.

“Zizou, why are you stopping me? I only want to go speak with him for a moment!”

Xiao Yingtao struggled, but to her surprise, she could not break free at all.

Looking at Shan Yidao now, her heart ached with an unbearable pain — because in his eyes, she could see no light whatsoever. Shan Yidao had completely given up on himself.

“Yidao…”

But Shan Yidao’s gaze had already shifted away from Xiao Yingtao. He stared at Feng Jiu’er with quiet, unwavering intensity.

Jiu’er merely looked back at him coldly in return, thin lips pressed firmly together, saying nothing.

“Jiu’er, please talk to him!” Xiao Yingtao’s eyes brimmed with a glistening sheen of tears. She bit her lip, her voice faintly hoarse. “He had no choice. He definitely didn’t do this on purpose.”

“If he could have chosen freely, he never would have betrayed everyone. He’s just like the rest of us — all he ever wanted was to live a simple life.”

“Jiu’er, please talk him out of it. Please. He’ll listen to you!”

No one quite understood why Xiao Yingtao was crying with such heartbreak. Perhaps in the time they had all spent together, she had truly come to think of every one of them as family.

The little girl’s muffled, growing sobs sent a pang of sorrow through every member of Dragon Fourth Army, Fourth Squad.

Yet Shan Yidao’s situation was ultimately a choice only Shan Yidao himself could make. No one else could make it for him, no matter how much they wanted to.

The slender figure on the tree floated lightly down. Zhan Luori’s bearing was like that of a dragon in motion; her gaze was cold as ice. “Apprehend him.”

She had no particular attachment to Shan Yidao. As a princess of a nation, when faced with someone who had betrayed the state, she could not afford to let personal sentiment get in the way.

That single command — “apprehend him” — transformed the already rigid atmosphere into something bone-chillingly cold.

Shan Yidao’s large hand clenched tight. Faced with Huo Yan and Mu Mu closing in on him, he retreated half a step.

His gaze cut through the crowd and came to rest, at last, on Feng Jiu’er.

“My feelings for you were real. But I always knew — I had no right to come anywhere near you.”

“Jiu’er, I’m sorry.”

In an instant, he gathered his inner power in his palm. Before Mu Mu could sense something was wrong and step in, that palm came crashing down upon his own skull.

“Yidao!” Xiao Yingtao screamed. She tore free of Xing Zizou’s hold and ran forward.

Mu Mu reached Shan Yidao first. As he fell, Mu Mu caught him and lowered him to sit on the ground.

Feng Jiu’er rushed over. She stared at Shan Yidao lying on the ground, blood streaming from all seven orifices. Her face remained expressionless — yet her own palm was bleeding, her fingernails having bitten deep into her flesh.

She had promised to spare his life. And yet, in the end, he had thrown away his own chance at living.

Perhaps he’d never truly had a choice. The tangled web of obligations binding him — who could ever make sense of it all?

The light in Shan Yidao’s eyes was fading, dimming until there was no trace of it left. He could only look at Feng Jiu’er, his lips trembling continuously — as though he wanted to speak, but could not produce a single word.

“Jiu’er, it looks like he has something to say to you.” Mu Mu glanced up at her.

Jiu’er crouched down. The reason she had refused to speak this whole time was because she knew — the moment she opened her mouth, her emotions would come flooding out like a broken dam.

She could not go soft. She could not break down. And above all, she could not abandon her principles.

She took Shan Yidao’s limp hand and held it tight — but still, she did not speak.

Perhaps Shan Yidao understood. Her silence was not coldness. It was that she, like him, had no choice in the matter either.

“If it were possible… I would never have hurt you.” The moment Shan Yidao opened his mouth, fresh blood spilled continuously from the corner of his lips.

Those dull, lightless eyes grew grey as ash, growing quieter and quieter until there was nothing left.

Feng Jiu’er gave a small nod and said nothing.

Xiao Yingtao stood to the side, already weeping until she could barely breathe. “Yidao…”

Yet in Shan Yidao’s eyes, Feng Jiu’er was the only one that existed. “You really are… so extraordinary. I never imagined… you’d be this beautiful. You really… you truly are so beautiful…”

Still Jiu’er said nothing, only watching him with a cool gaze.

The sight of it made even Xiao Yingtao’s heart ache with bitterness. Why couldn’t she say even a few kind words to him? Yidao was already nearly gone.

Shan Yidao coughed twice — nothing but blood.

But he paid it no mind. He gripped Feng Jiu’er’s hand with all the strength he had left, until that strength was entirely spent, until even his voice could barely escape his throat.

He gave Jiu’er’s hand a faint, gentle tug. Feng Jiu’er immediately bent her head close. With the last breath left in him, Shan Yidao said something softly into her ear — and then his hand went slack, and his large palm slipped free from hers.

A leaf, drifting down in silence, settled upon his face just as it became hollow and withered. Everything, in the end, returned to dust.

“Yidao!”

Xiao Yingtao’s sobs grew so violent she could no longer catch her breath. The surge of grief overwhelmed her, and with a soft gasp she crumpled — her body going limp as she fell.

“Xiao Yingtao!” Xing Zizou caught her, only to find her eyes shut fast. She had lost consciousness.

Shan Yidao was dead — choosing death over revealing the name of whoever was behind him.

What he had whispered in Feng Jiu’er’s ear in those final moments remained a secret known only to her. Feng Jiu’er’s expression had not shifted even a fraction, so no one could guess at what she had heard.

That Shan Yidao had been so careful — pouring every last breath into those few final words to her — meant that whatever he had said, it had to be of great importance.

But since Jiu’er said nothing, no one would press her. Yet the question lingered in every heart: what on earth had Shan Yidao whispered to her before he died?