Before the two of them could leave the temple, they ran straight into Yao Susu’s maidservant.

The maid, who had apparently gone off somewhere to idle away the time, still holding Snowball in her arms, took one look at Yun Xi and Luo Shu and immediately guessed that Yao Susu’s secret rendezvous with Pei Lan had been discovered. Flustered, she stammered, “Miss Luo, Miss Yun, my mistress, she—she…”

But neither Yun Xi nor Luo Shu had any interest in engaging with her, and they simply walked past her, heading out of the temple.

By the time they returned to the pharmacy, it had grown rather late. Though still somewhat concerned, Yun Xi couldn’t afford to delay her shift any longer. She poured a cup of warm water and set it beside Luo Shu, then turned to Fang Fulan. “Sister.”

Fang Fulan glanced at Luo Shu and nodded knowingly. “I understand. Go on and attend to your duty—don’t worry.”

Before leaving the pharmacy, Yun Xi glanced back once more to see Luo Shu sitting silently, one hand gripping the edge of the table tightly, still utterly pale.

Yun Xi’s concern, of course, wasn’t really about how upset Luo Shu might be—though she couldn’t quite articulate what exactly it was that troubled her.

Was it Luo Shu herself? Or the true culprit hiding behind all this? Or perhaps some inexplicable unease rising from deep within her own heart?

She called Zhao Wu over and instructed him, “Sister rarely gets the chance to go out—please watch over her carefully.”

Zhao Wu’s martial skills, inherited in part from Yun Luo, were genuinely formidable.

He nodded. “Don’t worry, Miss. I’ll be sure to protect the young mistress.”

The sky had grown darker by the time Yun Xi arrived at South Vermillion Street, just as the imperial procession was setting out.

In an instant, a thousand lanterns lit up across Jinling, their brilliance nearly outshining the vivid evening glow at the horizon.

Bamboo viewing platforms of varying heights had been erected along both sides of the main street; the tallest, comparable to a tower, was called the Vermillion Bird Terrace, reserved exclusively for His Majesty’s rest.

Unlike the Flower Festival or the Lantern Festival, the Autumn Festival’s lanterns weren’t merely decorative—this was a day for praying for a bountiful harvest, and once the imperial procession passed, dance troupes would crowd into the streets to perform the harvest dance as prayers for prosperity.

Each dancer held a handful of millet husks, and at the dance’s climax, they would scatter the husks into the air like a shower of gold—anyone touched by this “millet rain” was said to have their wishes granted in the coming year.

Seated atop the Vermillion Bird Terrace, Emperor Zhaoyuan watched the joyful crowds below, their faces beaming with smiles, and felt his own spirits lighten. He said to the imperial relatives accompanying him, “Enough now. You’ve all worked hard organizing this month’s festival preparations. Since today is a celebration, you needn’t stay by my side any longer. Go enjoy the streets yourselves, see if you can catch some of the millet rain. Just be sure to bring your guards.”

At this, Prince Ling and Prince Yun were the first to set an example, thanking the Emperor before departing with their respective guards.

Cheng Chang, preoccupied with thoughts of the scarred attendant, didn’t linger either. He descended from the Vermillion Bird Terrace and called Sun Haiping over. “Have you spotted Constable Yun?”

“Yes, yes, I have,” Sun Haiping said. “She’s right along this street.”

With that, he hurried ahead to clear a path for Cheng Chang, leading him to a nearby crossroads.

Cheng Chang surveyed the location—a good spot, situated at a busy intersection where he could see anyone approaching from any direction, though it was rather crowded.

The dance troupe performing the harvest prayer was about to arrive, and the crowd instinctively parted to either side, clearing a wide path for the dancers.

Being tall, Cheng Chang scanned the crowd and finally spotted Yun Xi.

She stood at the very front of the cleared path. The people around her were either filled with anticipation or excitement, all caught up in the festive atmosphere—except for her, lips pressed tight, expression guarded, as though afraid that even a moment’s inattention might cause her to miss the scarred attendant’s approach.

Cheng Chang paused for a moment, then began pushing through the crowd toward her.

Sun Haiping and Zhang Dahu, seeing this, quickly moved to clear a path for him.

Drawing close, Cheng Chang called out, “Constable Yun.”

Startled, Yun Xi turned around to find Cheng Chang standing just a few steps away.

Perhaps because he was accompanying the imperial procession, he wasn’t dressed in his usual plain blue robes—instead, he wore a deep purple ceremonial robe embroidered with auspicious cloud patterns in gold and silver thread, the cuffs turned back to reveal a pale blue-green lining, a dark crimson silk sash hanging from his jade-adorned waist belt, his dark hair gathered into a topknot secured with an agate hairpin that matched the tones of his sash.

Such richly embroidered finery, had it been worn by the young lord of old, would surely have appeared gaudy and ostentatious. Yet worn by Cheng Chang now, far from appearing showy, it lent him an air of refined, understated distinction instead.

It was as though something in his very bearing could transform even the most vivid splendor into something as subtle and elegant as pale sunlight through morning mist—striking, refined, utterly impossible to look away from.

Yun Xi stared for a long moment before finally asking, “Why has the Third Young Master come here?”

Wasn’t he supposed to be accompanying the imperial procession?

Cheng Chang was just about to explain when a wave of cheers erupted from the crowd, accompanied by the beating of drums—the dance troupe had come around the crossroads and was heading their way.

The crowd surged forward at once, people pushing toward the center of the street, all hoping to be blessed by the millet rain when the drumming reached its climax.

Yun Xi, already somewhat distracted, failed to notice in time and was pushed back several steps by the crowd, swept directly into the midst of the dance troupe.

The dancers moved in a frenzied, ecstatic rhythm, and a wooden sickle one of them wielded swung dangerously close to Yun Xi’s back. Cheng Chang called out, “Careful!”

He stepped forward quickly, gripping her wrist and pulling her back, then spun around, switching places with her to shield her from the incoming wooden sickle himself.

Before he could steady himself, the crowd surged again, pushing him forward off balance.

Yun Xi, already standing extremely close to him, had no chance to avoid it as he stumbled toward her, and found herself pulled directly into his embrace.

A cool, crisp scent enveloped her instantly, carrying a faint chill like frost and snow, sinking straight into her chest and wrapping around her entirely.

Yun Xi felt as though every drop of blood in her body had frozen still. She dared not exhale, dared not inhale, her very heartbeat seeming to stop altogether.

After a long moment, she lifted her head hesitantly, her gaze meeting Cheng Chang’s as he looked down at her.

He asked softly, “Are you hurt?”

His lashes were long, his eyes deep and slightly lowered now, catching faint glimmers like starlight over water—distant and cool, yet somehow searing.

The drumming stopped, and amid a deafening wave of cheers, the millet rain poured down from above, catching the scattered lantern light as it fell around Cheng Chang.

Yun Xi felt her nearly vanished heartbeat surge suddenly back to life—not gently, not calmly, but with a force that rivaled the drumming itself, deafening in its intensity.

Flustered, she lowered her eyes, breaking away from his gaze.

In truth, it had all happened within the span of a few breaths—from the moment she was pushed toward the street, to Cheng Chang pulling her back and shielding her, to this moment of him looking down at her.

Cheng Chang had thought nothing of it at first—simply the crowd being too dense, a natural instinct to protect the woman beside him. It was only when he noticed how utterly rigid Yun Xi had become that he realized something was amiss.

She was, after all, a woman of this era. However open-minded Great Sui’s customs might be, such casual contact still wasn’t quite proper.

Fortunately, the crowd had thinned somewhat as the dancers moved on. Cheng Chang released the hand steadying Yun Xi’s shoulder, stepped back, and said quietly, “My apologies.”

After a long pause, Yun Xi finally managed, “It’s—it’s fine.”

Cheng Chang picked up where he’d left off. “His Majesty was in good spirits and permitted the imperial relatives to walk through Vermillion Bird Street. I thought you might be waiting here for the scarred man, so I came to find you.”

He glanced around and said, “No need to keep waiting here. Let’s go over to that bamboo platform.”

The bamboo platform stood quite tall, offering an unobstructed view of the surrounding area from above—but ordinarily, no one besides imperial relatives was permitted to climb it, given its proximity to Emperor Zhaoyuan’s own Vermillion Bird Terrace.

Yun Xi glanced at the platform, then lowered her gaze and nodded. “All right.”

She still didn’t dare look directly at him.

Cheng Chang, assuming Yun Xi was simply startled by what had just happened, said nothing further and turned to lead the way, deliberately keeping some distance between them. Yet whenever the crowd pressed toward them, he would extend a hand behind him to hold them back and shield her.

Watching Cheng Chang’s hand held protectively in front of her, Yun Xi slowly lifted her gaze to study his back—elegant and refined as fine jade and orchid.

She thought, how could a person be this good?

So good, and yet, regrettably, so far out of reach.

Her wrist where he’d gripped it, her shoulder where he’d steadied her, still burned faintly, as though carrying a small flame within. She couldn’t help rubbing at them absently.

They soon reached the base of the bamboo platform. The guards stationed on either side, seeing Cheng Chang, bowed at once. “Third Young Master.”

Cheng Chang gave a small acknowledgment and was about to climb the platform when he suddenly heard a cat’s meow.

The sound came from some distance away, yet it was strikingly familiar.

Cheng Chang paused, then instinctively turned toward the direction of the sound, scanning the street.

He’d only taken a few steps when a flash of pure white darted out from a shop on the west side, racing straight toward him.

It was Snowball.

With the street still crowded with people, Cheng Chang, worried the cat might be trampled, hurried over and scooped her up. “What are you doing here?”

Snowball, apparently having wandered around for some time, looked somewhat dirty. She meowed twice, looking utterly pitiful, and pressed herself against Cheng Chang’s chest.

Cheng Chang laughed despite himself and asked, “Where’s your mistress?”

At that moment, Yun Xi caught up as well, and upon seeing Snowball, paused, glancing around before murmuring in confusion, “Where’s Yao Susu?”

Yun Xi knew about Pei Lan and Yao Susu’s secret meeting at the temple earlier, but surely it hadn’t lasted until now?

Ever since the Imperial Noble Consort had gifted Snowball to Yao Susu, she’d kept the cat close by at all times, entrusting her at most to her personal maid—the cat was rarely, if ever, left unattended.

Yun Xi felt a vague sense of unease, though she couldn’t quite pinpoint its source.

After some thought, she said to Cheng Chang, “Yao Susu is deeply attached to this cat—she wouldn’t normally be separated from it. With the streets in such chaos earlier, I’m worried something might have happened to her. Could the Third Young Master have someone look for her?”

Cheng Chang had thought of this too, but having come today specifically to meet with the scarred man, his own attendants had other urgent matters to attend to. He instructed Sun Haiping to fetch the guards stationed at the base of the platform.

These guards, all serving under the Privy Council’s capital bureau, came at Cheng Chang’s summons and reported, “We were ordered to guard this platform and cannot leave our posts without authorization. Please wait, Third Young Master—we’ve already sent word to our commander about the situation. He should arrive shortly.”

Cheng Chang nodded and, rather than climbing the platform, waited alongside Yun Xi by the roadside, holding Snowball.

The festival clamor continued unabated, the crowd’s excitement building wave after wave.

Before long, another dance troupe came processing down the street, and those who hadn’t yet been touched by the millet rain surged forward once more, eager for another chance.

Yun Xi and Cheng Chang, watching from a distance, seemed to recall what had happened earlier and neither moved from their spot.

They hadn’t waited long before the sound of a horse’s whinny rang out, and several mounted soldiers came riding toward them—leading them was, unexpectedly, Cheng Ye.

Thinking about it, it made sense—the young heir did serve as commander at the Privy Council’s capital bureau, so his arrival wasn’t surprising at all.

Cheng Ye was momentarily taken aback to see Yun Xi and Cheng Chang together.

When his subordinate had come to report earlier, they’d only mentioned that “the Third Young Master has urgent business requiring assistance,” without mentioning Yun Xi’s presence.

Why would the young lady of the Marquis’s household, a constable of the Capital Prefecture Office, be here alongside the Third Young Master of Prince Cong’s household?

Cheng Ye dismounted, nodded briefly to Yun Xi without further comment, then bowed to Cheng Chang. “May I ask what urgent matter requires my assistance, Third Young Master?”