A travel permit was required to leave the city, but when Hua Zhi held hers out, the guard did not take it. He simply waved a hand and let her party through. The eldest daughter of the Hua family — who in Yinshan Pass did not recognize her by now?

Hua Zhi offered her thanks, and the moment she was through the city gate she swung up onto her horse, flicked the reins, and rode into the wind and snow to begin the journey home.

Yet even with her heart urgently pulling her back, the weather made swift progress impossible.

It was brutally cold. A cold that blanketed everything, overwhelming and all-encompassing.

Gu Yanxi suddenly moved. He crouched low over his horse’s back and, to the startled looks of the others, leapt onto the horse behind Hua Zhi, bringing the horse under control before it could be spooked. “Lift your feet out of the stirrups.”

Hua Zhi immediately understood what he intended to do. Without a moment’s hesitation she did as he said, and in the next instant found herself swept through the air and onto the back of Linying.

The thick, pure black cloak enveloped her completely. In an instant she was surrounded by a familiar scent, and the warmth radiating from behind her drew her in. Hua Zhi gave up all resistance and let herself lean back against him.

Her hands had gone so stiff she could no longer grip the reins properly, and her legs could barely hold the horse. Even if Master Lu had not done this, she would not have lasted much longer before she was forced to ask for his help.

The corner of Gu Yanxi’s mouth curved into a slight arc. Through the layers of Hua Zhi’s padded coat and outer cloak, he gently drew her close, and said near her ear: “Pull the cloak shut at the opening — don’t let the wind in.”

Hua Zhi did so, leaving only her face exposed to the outside.

“Hiya!”

The wind and snow struck them head-on. It was still cold — but her hands and feet were slowly beginning to warm. The human body maintained a constant temperature of thirty-seven degrees; even if two people stripped bare and held each other close, they still would not become thirty-eight degrees. Yet when cold, a single embrace was enough to warm two people through.

Through the boundless wind and snow, Hua Zhi’s thoughts drifted without anchor.

She had not been without her suspicions about Master Lu’s true identity. This journey out had only further confirmed her guesses, yet she found she could not hold it against him. Aside from never having stated it in words, he had made no real attempt to conceal himself in front of her. Whether it was his familiarity with Yinshan Pass, his nightly absences, or even the cloak he was wearing now — she recognized it as purple sable fur, something that could not be bought even with money. Those who truly possessed such things did not sell them.

And yet Master Lu had come back wearing this cloak the very day after she had forcibly purchased the previous one from him. She could not deceive herself into believing an ordinary person could manage that.

Then there was his bearing. She was not blind — how could she fail to see that Master Lu was not someone accustomed to living below others? He was likely someone standing just beneath one, and well above many.

But none of this had anything to do with her. She had no desire to dig to the bottom of it.

Let them continue as they were, each aware but saying nothing. When they eventually reached the parting of their paths, one of them would go left and the other right, and after that, they would have nothing to do with one another.

Meanwhile, on the other side, Hua Pingyang had used the excuse of the elderly gentleman’s cough to invite Shao Yao into the residence.

Shao Yao was guileless but not foolish. She had been the one managing the elderly gentleman’s health all along, and knew the state of his body better than anyone. There was simply no possibility he had relapsed so severely in such a short span of time.

But since she had been called, she went. After all, Huahua was her friend, and these people were Huahua’s family who she cared about.

Hua Yizheng was waiting in the study.

The Hua family lived by the principle of passing down learning through generations. Even exiled to a remote place at the frontier, they had managed to furnish a study and obtained books by whatever means were available — some had simply been transcribed from memory by family members, which they treated as calligraphy practice.

Waiting alongside Hua Yizheng was Hua Pingyu. The others had all gone to their work.

Hua Pingyang brought Shao Yao inside and stationed himself at the doorway. The door was left wide open.

Hua Yizheng’s expression was solemn. He spoke slowly, as though weighing every word with care. “I have taken the liberty of asking you here, Doctor, because I wished to inquire about my granddaughter’s health.”

Shao Yao’s heart lurched. How could they know? Huahua would never have said anything. She herself had never said anything…

Yanxi-gege?

Hua Pingyang’s words confirmed her suspicion. “Master Lu mentioned a few things to me, which is why we asked the Doctor to come — we would like to understand the situation more fully.”

Shao Yao said nothing. The gauze veil over her face concealed her expression.

Hua Yizheng had read people all his life, and had seen through Shao Yao from the very first meeting. He had no intention of playing any tricks with her, and let out a long sigh, his tone becoming even more sincere.

“Even separated from her by a thousand li, even unable to do anything for her, even having to keep our concern locked away inside ourselves — we still need to know what she has done, what she has given. These things are ours to remember. If in the future any unworthy descendant of the Hua family treats her badly, when I break his legs I will be able to tell him exactly what hardships Zhi’er endured for this family.”

Shao Yao dug her right hand’s fingers into the back of her left hand. What she actually wanted to do was put them in her mouth and bite them.

Hua Pingyu rose from his seat and bowed deeply toward Shao Yao, a long, solemn bow. “Please, Doctor, tell us.”

Shao Yao scrambled back as far as she could get. “I can’t say — Huahua told me specifically not to talk carelessly with any of you before she left.”

Those words were as good as telling them that Zhi’er had been concealing far more than they knew. Over these past few days she had told them only good things; even the few not-so-good things she had let slip were light and inconsequential. It was not that they could not see through it — they had simply not had the heart to press further.

They had only wanted to give in to everything this young woman asked of them — this young woman whose eyes were full of exhaustion, yet whose face still carried a faint smile to set their hearts at ease.

“But we already know she was injured, and that her injury is how you and she came to know one another.” Hua Pingyang guided her along unhurriedly. “You need only tell us how she sustained the injury, how serious it was, and how her recovery is progressing. That would not count as breaking your promise.”

Shao Yao understood what Hua Pingyang was trying to do, yet she did genuinely want to speak. Huahua had done so much, worked so hard — of course people ought to know. The female members of the family could not be told for fear of alarming them, but these were all men. Surely they could handle hearing it.

“Then after you know, you must pretend you don’t.”

“Naturally. Anything Zhi’er does not wish us to know — we will act as though we never heard it.”

The floodgates opened. Shao Yao described that night in careful detail. She had not witnessed it herself, but she had tracked down several people who had recounted it to her thoroughly; she could imagine what the scene must have looked like in all its brutal chaos.

She stood and patted various places on her own body. “Huahua was injured here, and here, and here. She protected herself well — nothing vital was struck. But she lost a great deal of blood. She was afraid the family would find out, so she stayed at the estate for a month before going home. Even now, she has not fully recovered.”

Seeing that all three of their expressions had grown very dark, she hastened to add: “Please don’t worry — there will be no lasting complications. I used the finest medicinal ingredients to compound her medicine. But blood loss is different from injuries to flesh and muscle; it must be nourished slowly and patiently back. I will make sure to bring her constitution back to full health.”

As Hua Zhi’s father, Hua Pingyu bowed to Shao Yao once more on behalf of all three men in the study. “Thank you.”

“There is no need. Huahua is my friend. She has been very good to me, and I will be very good to her. Between her and me, there is no need for thanks.”

Hua Yizheng kept his eyes closed throughout. No one knew what was passing through his mind. But Hua Pingyang, with his keen eyes, noticed that his father — this man who had not once creased his brow even on the road to exile — had hands that were trembling now.