The skirt, soaked through with water, grew heavy; as she fled, it was either caught on branches or tripped her own feet.

Lizhu furiously lifted her hem, rolled up her wide sleeves, and swung her arms, running for her life.

Chang Jun fired three arrows behind them in succession, then turned his head—only to realize he had almost been left behind by Lizhu. He quickly picked up his pace to catch up.

“Princess, didn’t you say we were heading deeper into the forest? Why—”

“To fool them!”

The howling wind poured into her chest and lungs; Lizhu was nearly spent, forcing the words out one by one.

“Run along the riverbank! Find Lu Yu!”

Now, Lu Yu was their only hope.

If Lu Yu and his men had perished last night, then there was nothing more to be said. Lizhu’s escape would be meaningless.

But if Lu Yu was still alive, then her struggle wasn’t in vain. Since Fang Jian and his men could chase them this far, there was no reason Lu Yu’s group couldn’t find their way here too.

As for what was said earlier about some great bandit—

“Ah—!”

While running, Lizhu tripped and fell. Before Chang Jun could reach out to help, she scrambled up on her own and kept running.

“Don’t mind me! Don’t stop!”

In truth, not only Fang Jian’s men feared encountering bandits—Lizhu herself was terrified to death.

Those were people who lived by licking blood off their blades!

They robbed and killed without scruple, took lives for money, feared nothing under heaven. To meet them was like meeting wild beasts untouched by civilization, how could anyone possibly survive?

Faster!

Why were these useless legs already giving out so soon!

“Over here!”

“Stop!”

“Where’s the archer, release!”

The hiss of arrows tore through the air. Chang Jun’s eyes sharpened; he drew his sword, turned around, and struck down the cold arrow aimed straight at Lizhu’s chest.

Fang Jian shouted, “Fire again! I don’t believe he’s got three heads and six arms to block them all!”

The sound of arrows behind them grew even denser.

Lizhu’s teeth chattered; she didn’t dare look back. Her eyes darted everywhere, but she still saw no trace of Lu Yu. Her trembling pupils gradually filled with despair.

A muffled groan came from behind.

“Chang Jun!”

Struck by an arrow, Chang Jun endured the searing pain, broke off the arrow shaft, and shouted to Lizhu:

“Go! Chang Jun can still hold them off for a while, any longer and—”

The young eunuch’s long sword slipped from his hand and fell to the ground. Lizhu hurriedly picked it up, but the footsteps behind her grew even faster, closing in by the second.

Lizhu raised the sword with trembling hands.

“You really made us easy to chase all the way.”

Lizhu: “Don’t come—”

The long sword was swung without pattern. Fang Jian raised a hand to signal the others not to move, then strolled over toward Lizhu.

At this moment the girl was, to put it mildly, utterly disheveled.

Her robes, soaked through, were covered with reed fluff and torn ragged from being snagged while fleeing; her cloudlike hair was messy, and even her snow-white cheeks were smudged with mud.

Yet even so, that timid, delicate face was like a pearl fallen into a marsh—its brilliance could not be hidden.

Fang Jian’s eyes were as snake-like as ever, piercing.

“With the current situation, you, a delicate young lady, what use is this sword? You should be begging me for mercy.”

Lizhu, on the verge of tears: “…Beg for mercy, and you’ll let me live?”

“Of course not.”

Fang Jian seemed to be laughing at her naivety.

“Begging will only let you die a little more quickly. Princess of golden branches and jade leaves, you probably don’t even know what an unpleasant death feels like. Shall I slowly tell you…”

No one expected this refined princess who didn’t even know how to hold a sword to suddenly thrust a blade.

Fang Jian, three steps away, was utterly unprepared; the sole of his foot was instantly pierced through.

Under the intense pain, Fang Jian’s whole body froze and could not move, yet she pulled the sword out, taking the blade with her body, and slashed horizontally forward.

Fang Jian felt a sudden, fierce pain in his abdomen; looking down, his face changed drastically—

This stroke had actually opened his torso and split his belly!

“You can use a sword!?”

Supported by his subordinates, Fang Jian trembled in pain, bile churning, eyes bloodshot.

Chang Jun, injured on the ground, watched her back and also felt unfamiliar: “Princess, how did you—”

The princess only knew how to hold a bamboo brush; when did she learn to use a sword? Who taught her?

Lizhu changed from her earlier timid demeanor; blood surged, anger flushed her face as she shouted: “I can kill people too!”

She raised the sword to stab again, but this time the opponents were prepared and no longer underestimated her. One man lifted his foot and kicked her wrist; Lizhu cried out in pain and someone reached to seize the sword.

Although Lizhu could use a sword, she had never been in real combat, and her strength was far less than these warriors.

During the struggle, a sharp pain ripped through Lizhu’s thigh and her body suddenly swayed.

Seizing the chance, the masked men surged forward, pressing Lizhu’s arms and at the same time capturing the fallen Chang Jun.

Fang Jian was almost dead from the pain, raging like an enraged beast: “…Bitch! Pretending to play the act and making me careless, kill the one on the ground first! Grind him into meat paste! Pin her down, let her watch with her own eyes!”

Her thigh split open, flesh torn, blood flowing everywhere, yet Lizhu paid it no mind and lunged violently toward Chang Jun.

Shhh—!

Accompanied by the sound of an arrow.

The death she expected did not come.

Instead, Lizhu only felt a basin of hot liquid pour over her body.

Opening her eyes, she found herself staring into a face that had died with eyes still open—her pupils contracted sharply.

Someone had ambushed them!

“Who’s there!?”

All the masked men drew their swords in unison, scanning the surroundings. But before they could locate the enemy, three of them had already fallen to the ground!

Lizhu kicked aside the corpse before her, its skull pierced clean through by an arrow.

“It must be Lu Yu!”

Ignoring the blood soaking her body, she threw her arms around the barely-breathing Chang Jun, slapping his face repeatedly as tears of joy spilled down her cheeks.

“Lu Yu came to save us!”

She knew it!

Heaven never completely shuts the door on the living!

“Master Fang, the arrows came from the north—”

Another man was struck by an arrow and fell.

Clutching his abdomen, Fang Jian was horrified.

It couldn’t be Lu Yu’s group.

Last night, he had dispatched an entire squad of death warriors to entangle Lu Yu—they couldn’t have arrived this quickly.

Run! Saving his own life was what mattered most. If he died, all the gold and power promised by the Empress would be meaningless—

Just as the thought crossed his mind, a shout came from within the forest: “Pull!”

The red leaves carpeting the ground suddenly burst upward; Fang Jian’s feet lifted from the earth, and in the next instant a massive net—long buried beneath the soil—snared him completely!

Lizhu’s expression changed at once.

Something was wrong.

Chang Jun sensed it too. Struggling upright, he shielded Lizhu with his body, his voice weak:

“If it truly were Lord Lu… they wouldn’t have had time to set traps across such a vast maple grove.”

If not Lu Yu, then who could it be?

Lizhu’s mind leapt to the most dreadful answer.

After Fang Jian was captured, more lassos suddenly shot out, expertly hooking the panicked masked men.

Their throats tightened—before they could even resist, they were yanked violently into the depths of the forest.

Everything happened swiftly and in perfect order.

From all directions within the crimson-leaf forest came bursts of laughter and chatter, but not a single figure could be seen.

“With tricks like these, you dare come play before my Hongye Stronghold?”

“Our Third Chief’s arms are as strong as an ox’s—shot a dozen arrows in a row, not one off the mark!”

Behind the mountain slopes, the morning sun spilled over, driving away the forest’s darkness and illuminating the countless shadows crouched among the maples.

Ten… twenty… fifty—no, at least a hundred men!

Lizhu’s mind went blank with a deafening buzz.

They had really run into bandits!

Footsteps trampled over the red leaves—disorderly and closing in on them.

With her mind blank, Lizhu instinctively backed away.

“Brother Qiu, look! You said just now these two were both young ladies, but the one fainted on the ground—why does he look like a boy to me?”

“This boy’s skin is smooth and tender, not even a trace of beard. Why does he look so much like a girl?”

“Strange. Could it be a girl dressed as a boy?”

“What girl? There’s clearly an Adam’s apple on his neck. See for yourself, yes or no?”

“I bet it’s a boy! Who’s betting it’s a girl? Heh, all right then, I’ll go check—”

“Filthy bastards! How dare you fool around before the Mountain Lord! Do you have no sense of propriety!”

A woman in red, carrying a bow, kicked that man hard on the rear.

Her voice was loud and clear, her figure tall and commanding. With that kick, the rough men glaring at the captives quickly made way for her.

Besides her, two other men seemed to be leading the group.

One wore a gray robe of coarse cloth, his face refined and gentle—he looked like a scholar.

The other, however, wore a bronze mask shaped like an enraged ape that covered the upper half of his face, leaving only a sharp jawline and thin lips exposed.

Lizhu’s heart gave a sudden, inexplicable tremor.

How strange.

Why did it feel… somehow familiar?

The woman in red walked over to Fang Jian, who was hanging from a tree, lifted her chin to look him over, and clicked her tongue. Turning to the masked youth, she said:

“Ah, his guts are already spilling out, Mountain Lord. This one’s beyond saving.”

After speaking, her gaze swept distantly toward Lizhu.

“That was quite a clean cut.”

The scholar in gray spoke: “Enough chatter. Mountain Lord, matters here are settled. What shall we do with those two over there? Should I send someone to check the area first?”

The man in the center fixed his gaze on Lizhu’s face.

She couldn’t help but shiver.

His attire was utterly incongruous.

A luxurious peacock-blue robe, elegant at first glance, yet worn half open.

The long sleeves hung loose, casually tucked at his lean waist; beneath it, a fitted dark combat outfit clung to his body, the bracers strapped tight for swift swordplay. No excess, no hindrance.

Below, a leather belt hung with metal rings, from which dangled a weighty short sword and dagger.

With every step he took came a dull metallic sound, and from him surged a chilling, murderous air that seemed to suffocate all around him.

Perhaps his oppressive presence was simply too strong—

Lizhu suddenly felt her head spinning, her heartbeat racing, cold sweat soaking her back. A piercing ring filled her ears; she could scarcely hear the voices around her.

Lizhu forced herself to stay conscious.

No—she must not faint.

She absolutely could not let herself faint from fear!

Think of the bright side—at least, for now, they shared a common enemy.

And besides, they had captured Fang Jian’s men yet hadn’t laid a hand on her or Chang Jun. That meant these bandits didn’t seem to be indiscriminate killers, did they?

Perhaps… she could even bargain with them?

The man with ink-black hair, sharp as if cut by a blade, came to a stop before her.

Now that he was close, Lizhu noticed his hair was very short—the ends barely brushed his collarbones, one lock braided thin and bound with a ring of red gold that gleamed coldly as he moved.

His hair was so short—how did he bind it, how did he wear a crown on ordinary days?

Hair and skin were gifts from one’s parents, had no one in his kin ever stopped him?

No, that was wrong—would a bandit, fallen to the outlaw’s path, even have kin to stop him?

One question after another surfaced in Lizhu’s mind.

Absurd, perilous, incomprehensible.

This man—his bearing, his very presence—was something beyond anything she had encountered in either of her lives.

While Lizhu studied him, he too looked down at her in silence.

From head to toe, his gaze traveled slowly, unhurriedly—once up, once down.

He did nothing. He said nothing.

Yet that gaze carried a tangible weight, like an unseen touch tracing her skin inch by inch, from flesh to bone, as though licking her clean to the marrow.

How terrifying.

Lizhu swallowed involuntarily.

The back of her neck grew cold; an inexplicable sense of being hunted crept over her.

Unable to withstand such pressure, Lizhu forced a small, hesitant smile—a smile meant to appease.

She said, “Th-thank you, brave sir, for lending a hand…”

The “brave sir” did not reply.

When she smiled, two faint dimples appeared at her cheeks—gentle, harmless, soft… the very same face that, moments ago, had decisively gutted that fool open.

The next instant, he raised a hand—and loosened his belt.

Lizhu’s smile froze on her lips.