Half a double-hour later.

Under the frantic fumbling of Pei the Quack Doctor who “had never eaten pork but had seen pigs run,” combined with the Pei family’s most supreme medicine and pills, everyone’s bleeding had stopped and wounds were haphazardly bandaged.

Only Yan Sanhe’s wrist still trembled. Li Buyan was massaging it for her.

Young Master Pei squatted beside them, watching with eager eyes, feeling so regretful.

“If I’d known it would be like this, I’d have pestered my father to teach me medicine no matter what. Sanhe, don’t worry—at most another half hour and your hand won’t shake anymore.”

Yan Sanhe seemed unconcerned. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“What do you mean fine?”

The trembling is in your body, but the pain is in my heart!

Young Master Pei’s eyes brimmed with such tender concern it nearly overflowed.

“You’re just too careless with yourself. Why write so fast? They could each hold on for another hour or two. They won’t die.”

Everyone thought, “…” What should we do? We really want to beat him to death!

Yan Sanhe thought, “…” This person’s having another episode!

Xie Zhifei touched his aching nose and coughed. “Yan Sanhe, what should we do next?”

Yan Sanhe kept a straight face, saying nothing.

Seeing his good brother get the cold shoulder, Young Master Pei quickly played peacemaker. “His attitude was poor just now, but his heart was good. You’re the bigger person—don’t stoop to his level.”

“I’m not holding it against him.”

What was concern and what was losing one’s temper—she could still distinguish between them.

Yan Sanhe turned around, her gaze looking gently and softly at Xie Zhifei. “I’m thinking about what to do next.”

He’d been hit hard by that punch—half his face had swollen up, the area around his nose completely bruised.

The two sword wounds on his back had bled considerably.

In such a state himself, yet he still had the nerve to shout at her. How foolish!

Xie Zhifei looked into Yan Sanhe’s dark eyes, not knowing what to say. His gaze fell to the side, and he guiltily looked away.

Yan Sanhe froze. The warmth in her eyes instantly turned cold.

Seeing Miss Yan frozen in a daze and saying nothing, Huangqi thought she was worried, and also began worrying. “The second trial was already this difficult. I’m afraid the third trial will be even harder.”

Zhu Qing agreed. “It definitely won’t be easy.”

Li Buyan frowned. “I think we should rest in place for a night, then climb the mountain. Otherwise our stamina won’t hold up.”

Young Master Pei sighed heavily. “Only now do I understand why people take fifteen days to go there and back.”

“There is no third trial.”

Yan Sanhe withdrew her gaze, saying flatly, “In half an hour, Tang Jianxi should come to see us.”

Xie Zhifei thought, “…” Hm?

Zhu Qing thought, “…” Did I mishear?

Huangqi thought, “…” Miss Yan, this habit of talking big—you need to change it!

Young Master Pei thought, “…” Talking big? I like that too!

Li Buyan’s eyes rolled, and she blurted out, “Sanhe, did you write in slender gold script?”

Yan Sanhe replied, “I wrote in Jingchen’s handwriting.”

Once these words were spoken, everyone fell silent for a moment.

Jingchen was Tang Jianxi’s junior martial sister. Tang Jianxi didn’t know Jingchen had already died. Seeing such handwriting, he would surely be greatly shocked.

But…

How could she write in Jingchen’s hand?

No one knew that Xie Zhifei’s silence came from laughing wildly inside.

What handwriting couldn’t this girl imitate?

When they were young, she could imitate his terrible handwriting so perfectly that even Father’s sharp eyes couldn’t detect it.

Using this skill, this girl manipulated him every few days, making him work like an ox or horse for her.

“Third Master.”

Yan Sanhe suddenly called out. “The mouth should be used for proper matters, not for humming and hawing or showing gratuitous attentiveness.”

Li Buyan thought, “?”

Zhu Qing thought, “?”

Huangqi thought, “??”

Young Master Pei thought, “??”

Xie Zhifei, hearing these words, felt a mixture of emotions—sour, sweet, bitter, spicy, all present.

Eyes that like someone can’t be hidden. Just now when she looked over, there had been tender concern in her eyes.

In the past, his soul would have flown away with joy.

But now, he couldn’t bear the weight of that gaze. He could only look away.

Clearly, half an hour ago, he’d shouted at her for hiding and enduring her pain.

Clearly, a month ago, he’d been hinting at her constantly, showing her attentions, wishing he could run to the Quiet Reflection Residence seventeen or eighteen times a day.

Xie Zhifei sighed softly in his heart, though his face smiled carelessly. “Who told me to have honey on my lips? I just like showing attentions to pretty girls.”

Right—whoever takes it seriously loses!

Yan Sanhe’s expression remained perfectly natural as she turned her face away, saying nothing more.

The atmosphere that just moments ago had been one of six people working together with united hearts suddenly turned cold as a tomb.

Huangqi touched his forehead. “…” Why did the atmosphere change?

Zhu Qing sighed inwardly. “…” It’s all to help Young Master Pei succeed!

Young Master Pei thought, “…” My brother or the woman of my heart—which should I help?

Li Buyan thought, “…” Ptui! Xie Zhifei, you flirting-and-fleeing scumbag!

Suddenly, sounds came from nearby.

The six people looked toward the sound, only to see the Gray-Robed Man had returned.

Behind him followed a middle-aged man. By the looks of it… this was Master Tang whose ancestral coffin boards couldn’t be held down even after Young Master Pei cursed him.

“He’s here!”

Yan Sanhe’s expression grew stern, her voice suddenly dropping. “Shortly, none of you speak.”

Young Master Pei asked, “Why?”

Yan Sanhe’s words came out one by one. “Because this spirit medium is going to seek justice for you all.”

…

Tang Jianxi had originally walked quickly, but as he drew near, he slowed his pace.

Of the six people before him, his first glance fell on Yan Sanhe.

“Master, that young lady is sixteen or seventeen, quite pretty looking, with a rather cold temperament and not much to say.”

This was Xue Zhao’s description.

A very apt description, except it missed one thing: this young lady’s gaze was three degrees colder than her temperament.

Tang Jianxi walked before Yan Sanhe. “What is your name?”

“Surname Yan, given name Sanhe.”

While introducing herself, Yan Sanhe also examined this Tang the Recluse before her eyes.

Over fifty years old, with a kind and benevolent face, build neither fat nor thin, temperament quite distinctive.

How to describe this distinctiveness?

Not as aloof as Yan Xing, not as refined as Xie Daozhi, not as unattainable as Wu Shunian, nor as shrewd as Ji Lingchuan.

Yan Sanhe searched her mind thoroughly but couldn’t find a descriptive word.

“Miss Yan, just now that handwriting—was it your writing?”

“Correct.”

“Whose hand are you imitating?”

“An old acquaintance of yours.”

This answer earned silent praise from everyone as “brilliant.”

Tang Jianxi’s expression changed. “What is your relationship with her?”

Yan Sanhe lifted her chin. “Guess?”

“Miss Yan.”

Tang Jianxi’s voice instantly hardened. “Please tell me truthfully.”

Yan Sanhe’s lips curved. “Shouldn’t Old Master Tang first ask why we’ve come seeking you?”

“Why?”

“There’s a matter.”

“What matter?”

“Right now I no longer wish to say. Old Master Tang, until we meet again.”

“Wait!”

Tang Jianxi’s voice turned sharp. “Is this a place you can come and go as you please?”