Fan Changyu did not sleep peacefully. In the middle of the night, the fever came again.

She was trapped in a murky nightmare — before her stretched a boundless field of white snow, great flurries falling thick and fast.

Wearing only thin clothes, she ran barefoot across the snow. Her feet were nearly frozen numb, yet she dared not stop.

At first, Fan Changyu did not know what she was chasing, until she saw a couple walking hand in hand in the distance across the snowy plain, only then did she understand why she was in such desperate haste.

It was Father and Mother!

She ran harder, a sour ache swelling in her chest, her eyes instantly hot with tears. “Father! Mother!”

Those two figures ahead were not walking quickly, yet no matter how she ran, she could not catch up. Anxious to the brink of tears, she nearly sobbed aloud.

The woman in the snow finally turned around. Her face bore the same gentle expression as in Fan Changyu’s memories, and she said softly, “Changyu, be good, go back.”

Fan Changyu did not know why she was so overcome with grief. Tears streamed down as her heart cramped painfully. In confusion, she asked, “Where are you going?”

The woman gave no answer — she merely turned away again, and together with the man, continued walking forward.

Fan Changyu stood frozen in place, as though she had forgotten something. Pain filled her chest until she could barely breathe; even her nose and mouth felt suffocated, like she was drowning.

When Xie Zheng brought a basin of warm water to reduce her fever, he found her deep in that nightmare. Her whole body was trembling and convulsing, sweat pouring from her as if water had been wrung out of her. Her damp hair clung to her cheeks and collar, her once-pale face now flushed with an abnormal red from the high fever. She was murmuring incoherently, and tears had slowly soaked the corners of her eyes.

“Nightmare?”

It was the first time Xie Zheng had ever seen her in such a pitiful, fragile state. His chest felt stuffed with damp cotton — softened, yet stiflingly tight. He reached out and nudged her. 

“Wake up.”

But Fan Changyu was too deep in the nightmare; she showed not the slightest sign of waking.

When he saw her struggling unconsciously and nearly pressing on her injured left arm, he had no choice but to use one hand to block it, pressing her shoulder to stop her from thrashing. His voice turned cold as he called to the guard outside the room: “Fetch the doctor!”

In the daytime, after the doctor had finished examining her, Xie Zheng had thought her condition was stable and had sent the physician back — after all, there were no spare rooms in the old woman’s house for him to stay the night.

He never expected Fan Changyu to suddenly convulse in the middle of the night.

What nightmare was she having?

Unconsciously, Xie Zheng frowned. Seeing that her lips were clenched so tightly they’d begun to bleed, he raised his hand to pry open her jaw — but before he could, she bit down on his knuckle.

He gave a slight tug, but Fan Changyu’s teeth only clenched harder. In an instant, her bite broke the skin, leaving a ring of bloody teeth marks.

Xie Zheng merely frowned faintly, and simply let her continue biting his finger.

The trembling of the body in his arms, the frail back curled into itself — it all stirred memories long buried. He had never once comforted anyone in his life, yet after a moment’s hesitation, he softened his tone and murmured, “It’s only a nightmare. Nothing to be afraid of.”

In his own childhood, the sight of that woman’s skirt swaying beneath the beam had been a nightmare he could never escape. Each time he awoke shaking, it was either to endless darkness, alone — or under bright lamplight, where Wei Yan stood at his bedside, looking down at him coldly, as one would at a dead dog.

Wei Xuan, on the other hand, would gather the young sons of the Wei clan and mock him together, mimicking his fits and convulsions from nightmares, laughing and jeering for amusement.

After that, he was never afraid of nightmares again.

Crawling and killing his way through mountains of corpses and seas of blood, the blade in his hand had been drenched in more blood than all the vengeful spirits of his dreams combined.

At this moment, Fan Changyu’s trembling figure seemed to overlap with the memory of that younger self.

Xie Zheng’s gaze darkened. While waiting for the doctor to arrive, he let Fan Changyu continue biting his finger, half-embracing her as he awkwardly patted her back again and again.

The words he repeated most were, “Don’t be afraid.”

Don’t be afraid, all nightmares eventually end.

By the time the guard dragged the doctor out of bed, threw him onto a horse, and galloped back in haste, Fan Changyu had already quieted down. Exhausted, she had fallen into a deep sleep once more.

Xie Zheng sat on a wooden chair in the room, his posture casual. His left index finger was wrapped in a row of teeth marks, the flesh and blood torn and blurred. His eyes were unfocused, half-lowered beneath the messy fringe that shadowed them, lost in thoughts unknown.

When the trembling doctor was hauled through the door, Xie Zheng lifted his gaze slightly, indifferent yet carrying an unmistakable pressure. “She was trapped in a nightmare,” he said.

Dragged out of bed in the middle of the night, the doctor was nearly sleepwalking. And it turned out—she had merely had a nightmare!

A surge of indignation rose in his chest, but he didn’t dare let it show. The moment that man’s eyes swept toward him, a chill broke out down his back. He could only resign himself to trembling obedience and moved to take the woman’s pulse.

The moment he placed his fingers on her wrist, the doctor was surprised — the woman who had been so weak that afternoon now had a much steadier pulse.

He stole a glance at the handsome yet shadowed man beside him but dared not voice that the patient’s condition was clearly improving. After some hesitation, he prescribed a soothing decoction and said, “Madam must have been frightened. Once she drinks this calming medicine, she should rest more peacefully.”

The guard looked toward Xie Zheng. Seeing him nod, he led the doctor to the kitchen to prepare the medicine.

When the decoction was ready, Xie Zheng, as before, pried open Fan Changyu’s jaw and fed her spoonful by spoonful.

Only then did the faint pain from the two rows of bloody bite marks on his left index finger begin to spread.

After finishing, he glanced at the wound but said nothing.

The guard, however, handed him a jar of medicinal salve. “My Lord, please apply some on your hand.”

Xie Zheng didn’t regard such a small injury at all. “It’s nothing.”

As the guard carried the bowl away, he stole another glance at the sleeping Fan Changyu and felt a storm surge in his chest.

This woman was indeed beautiful — though not quite breathtaking — yet somehow she had captured the Marquis’s attention to such an extent.

But recalling the moment when she had lifted a grown man with one arm and thrown him clear across the room, the guard shuddered again.

That kind of strength… perhaps not much different from their lord’s.

· ─ ·✶· ─ · 

After drinking the calming medicine, Fan Changyu indeed slept soundly for the rest of the night, her fever gone.

Xie Zheng rested lightly beside the bed for two hours.

When dawn began to break, there came a soft knock at the door.

He glanced toward the bed — seeing Fan Changyu sleeping deeply — then picked up the cloak draped over the low stool and slipped out quietly without making a sound.

Outside, the guard on duty saw him emerge and immediately lowered his voice.

“My Lord, we’ve located Sui Yuanqing. He truly is hiding in Qingfeng Stronghold! When the stronghold was destroyed, he took part of his men and escaped through a back trail in the mountains. Our people have now driven them up to Yansong Mountain.”

Xie Zheng’s eyes were filled with cold light. “Guard every mountain pass leading down. Release the hounds. Let’s see how long he can hide.”

The guard’s face could not conceal his excitement. He clasped his fists. “At once, My Lord!”

A gust of frigid wind swept by. Xie Zheng looked down at a withered leaf at his feet, rimed with frost and snow, and said suddenly, “The wind today blows from the southwest.”

The guard did not yet understand his meaning when Xie Zheng continued, “Light thick smoke at the upwind side. And take the body of that bandit chief along, flog it.”

The guard was startled for a moment, then his expression lit up even more. “Yes, My Lord!”

To flog the corpse of Qingfeng Stronghold’s leader at the foot of Yansong Mountain, the remaining bandits hiding on the mountain would surely be scared witless.

Once the thick smoke suffocated them half to death, the hounds could be released into the forest to chase them down. With soldiers waiting at every descent path, those mountain rats would be like turtles trapped in a jar.

· ─ ·✶· ─ · 

It was another day of heavy snow. The peaks of Yansong Mountain were shrouded in thick smoke; piles of burning pine branches sent black clouds rolling deep into the woods. Hounds darted through the forest, their barking echoing endlessly, like wolves chasing prey.

The bandits hiding in the mountains were driven into chaos, scattering in panic. Anyone who appeared on a mountain path was instantly surrounded by the troops lying in ambush.

Yet when the smoke cleared and the soldiers counted the captives, there was no sign of Sui Yuanqing — nor of the female bandit from Qingfeng Stronghold.

The young officer leading the troops pressed a blade to a captured bandit’s neck and barked, “Where are Qin Yuan and the woman surnamed Yan?”

The bandit begged for mercy. “I-I don’t know! Once the smoke started, we all couldn’t stand it, and with the dogs chasing us, everyone scattered through the woods!”

Seeing there was nothing more to gain, the young officer sent men deeper into the mountains to search. They returned only with two soldiers who had been found dead — throats slit, armor stripped.

The officer cursed harshly. “Damn it! They’ve escaped! After them, down the mountain!”

· ─ ·✶· ─ · 

At the foot of the mountain, water flowed gently beneath a thin crust of ice. Two figures dressed as soldiers had galloped dozens of li down the official road before finally pulling their reins and stopping. They tumbled from their horses, stumbling to the riverbank. Without caring about the snow, they dropped to their knees and drank greedily from the icy current.

One of them knelt by the riverbank, and suddenly began to sob.

The voice was high and sharp, clearly a woman.

The man beside her, having drunk a few gulps of water, simply lay back on the snow, panting. He offered no words of comfort. After catching his breath, he unfastened the armor from his body, threw it into the river, and rose to stride toward his horse.

The weeping woman froze, startled, then rushed after him, choking on her tears. “Brother Qin, where are you going?”

The two were none other than Sui Yuanqing and Yan Shisan-niang, who had slain two soldiers and stolen their uniforms to escape from Yansong Mountain.

Sui Yuanqing was just about to mount his horse when someone clung tightly to his arm.

He lowered his eyes to look at the tear-streaked woman before him. She was tall for a woman, her features unremarkable, her cheeks tinted with the ruddy hue of one long weathered by mountain wind and sun. In the Prince of Changxin’s household, she would at most pass for a coarse-serving maid.

He had thought he fancied this kind of wild, untamed woman skilled in martial arts — but now, it seemed, perhaps not.

The only one who made his heart itch — was that woman.

He had a pair of alluring, peach-blossom eyes, and when he smiled, they brimmed with charm.

Now, as the corner of his lips lifted, he slowly pried off Yan Shisan-niang’s hand clinging to his arm. “The world is vast, I have my own place to go. Let’s part ways here.”

The curve of his lips was cold and heartless, yet still beautiful.

Yan Shisan-niang froze. When she came to her senses, she clutched him again, her nails digging so hard through the cloth they nearly broke his skin. She cried out almost hysterically, “What do you mean? You’re leaving me behind?”

Sui Yuanqing raised his brows slightly, as if finding her question foolish, and laughed with a roguish sneer. “Why not?”

The woman’s nails were too sharp, and the pain in his arm made him frown. Losing patience, he yanked her hands off and swung himself onto the horse.

Yan Shisan-niang shouted angrily, “Qin Yuan, you heartless man! My elder brother drew off the soldiers to help us escape, can you face him after this?”

Sui Yuanqing gave a short, scornful laugh. “Escaping from the government’s hands, isn’t it all by one’s own skill? Or did you think the ones who died on Yansong Mountain just didn’t try hard enough?”

Yan Shisan-niang broke into sobs. “Have you forgotten that I saved you by the river? How can you treat me like this—”

Sui Yuanqing suddenly smiled again, leaning down from horseback until his gaze met hers. “You saved me, and didn’t I bring you out of Yansong Mountain? Why can’t I treat you like this?”

With that, he straightened up, snapped the reins, and rode off.

Yan Shisan-niang broke down, shrieking behind him, “Qin Yuan, may you die a wretched death!”

Sui Yuanqing paid no heed to her wailing curses. After riding a distance, he reached into his robe and drew out a painting he had later found while searching the Fan household.

The painting showed a family of three — a man of extraordinary handsomeness, a woman whose gentle smile brimmed with youthful vitality, and a little girl who resembled her mother, her eyes full of mischief.

The wound in his shoulder, where Fan Changyu had stabbed him, still throbbed, yet Sui Yuanqing suddenly felt a strange lightness of mood.

From the moment he had seen that painting, he had guessed that the masked man who had wounded him was none other than Xie Zheng.

As for the woman in the painting — what was she to him?

Could she be the woman Xie Zheng kept hidden outside?

And that child in the painting — their daughter?

Sui Yuanqing’s gaze roamed the picture again and again. The woman in it looked so young, barely more than a girl herself. If she had a daughter that age, she would have to be at least in her twenties.

But then he remembered his own elder brother’s favored concubine, who had borne him a son and yet still looked no older than a maiden — and so, slowly, he began to believe it.

No wonder that day the woman had guarded that dry well in the backyard with such desperate resolve. Surely Xie Zheng had been forced to leave Qingping County because of the war, and knowing she couldn’t escape with a child, she must have hidden the little one in the well.

At the thought that this woman had borne Xie Zheng a daughter, Sui Yuanqing’s expression darkened. He tucked the painting back into his breast, spurred his horse, and continued forward.

No matter what — with this painting, his trip to Qingping County had not been in vain.

At the very least, he had discovered the Marquis of Wu’an’s weakness.