What visiting.

Where is there such a thing as being bound at the wrists and taken to a bandits’ lair as guests.

The stone path was narrow and damp. Before and behind Shang Rong were vicious men carrying blades. The lush grass leaves at the roadside brushed past the hem of her skirt, swaying gently. Seeing the soft sword at the youth’s waist taken away, her heart grew increasingly uneasy. She pressed close to his side and lowered her voice, saying, “Zhezhu, we’re going to their stronghold so rashly—what if we can’t get out?”

To avoid the inspections on the official road, the two of them had taken this mountain path. Who would have known they would run straight into these bandits who murdered and plundered. Zhezhu might be able to deal with this dozen or so men, but if they went to their lair, who knew how many dangers awaited within.

“Aren’t you not afraid of death?”

The youth lowered his lashes, who knew what he was thinking.

“If I die, it doesn’t really matter,” Shang Rong’s brows were gloomy, her voice very soft, “but you, in the end, mustn’t die together with me.”

Hearing this, Zhezhu lifted his eyes. Scattered light filtered through the dense canopy of trees, and his gaze fell upon the mask on her face, slightly loosened from this stretch of mountain road.

“Don’t try anything clever! Move!”

A rough voice behind them brimmed with impatience. The hilt of a blade was about to strike heavily against Shang Rong’s back, but the youth reacted extremely quickly—his hands stretched out and firmly seized it.

“You brat…”

The bearded brute froze for a moment. Looking at the pair of limpid, clear eyes before him, just as he was about to grow angry, he heard the youth say, “She’s just a little frightened. That’s only human nature.”

“Enough! Hurry up!”

The scar-faced man in front turned back and shouted impatiently.

Shang Rong also noticed that several parts of the mask on her face had already come loose. She covered her cheek, but saw the youth beside her suddenly step up one stair and crouch down in front of her.

Just like that snowy night when she fled.

“Third Boss, look at this brat!” the bearded man hurriedly pointed at him and shouted.

Zhezhu raised his head to meet the unfriendly gaze of the scar-faced man ahead. “Didn’t you say to hurry? She’s badly frightened and walks slowly.”

After speaking, he turned his head to look at Shang Rong. “Get on.”

The mountain wind rustled, making one’s eyes sting. Shang Rong lay against the youth’s back, hearing the sound of his breathing. Whatever the bandits ahead and behind were talking about, she didn’t listen.

Whether tears or sweat, both would weaken the mask’s adhesion. That was why he wanted to carry her. But this stretch of mountain road she had already walked was enough to make her mask peel away little by little. Her hands were bound, now looped around the youth’s neck. Under so many watching eyes, even the slightest movement would draw countless gazes, so she could only lower her head, using the hood of her cloak to conceal herself somewhat.

“Forget it.”

Zhezhu seemed to have sensed something. He slightly turned his face; crystalline beads of sweat clung at his temples. “If it can’t be hidden, then don’t hide it.”

A trace of inexplicable meaning was added to his tone.

Shang Rong said nothing. She only looked at the youth’s handsome face, pale with a flush of red from this stretch of mountain road. Suddenly, she lifted her hand and used her sleeve to wipe away the fine beads of sweat at his temple.

For a moment, their eyes met.

Shang Rong froze, then quickly lowered her head, letting the hood cover half her face. She obediently lay on his shoulder and no longer moved.

The bandits’ stronghold was built against a cliff deep in the mountains. It wasn’t large, yet because of that it seemed crowded with people. When Shang Rong and Zhezhu were brought through the gate, many pairs of eyes were openly sizing them up.

“Why did you bring back two live ones?”

Inside the hall, a burly man with a face full of flesh was gnawing on an entire roasted chicken. There was also a conspicuous mole on his nose.

“When we were robbing people, this pair just happened to run into us. We were going to kill them, but this brat said his family could pay thirty thousand taels to ransom his life,” the scar-faced man hurried forward to pour wine for the stronghold chief, lowering his voice further. “Big Brother, I saw the jade belt with a gold hook at his waist—he’s a rich one. All the way back to the stronghold, this brat carried that little girl on his back. The two of them are probably some young master and young miss from a wealthy family, learning from others to elope.”

“Elope?”

The stronghold chief lifted his heavy eyelids. First he looked at the black-clothed youth’s uncovered face, then glanced at the girl beside him. He only saw her hood covering most of her, revealing half of a sallow side profile and messy, disorderly brows. He let out a “tsk,” somewhat unconvinced.

“Brat, can your family really pay thirty thousand taels to ransom the lives of you two?”

The stronghold chief drained the bowl of wine before him. As he spoke, the scar-faced man beside him picked up the wine jar to refill it for him—but in that instant, the jar slipped from his hands and smashed to the ground with a crack.

The Second Boss, who had been quietly wiping his curved blade to the side, was startled. He looked up at the scar-faced man. “Old Third, can’t even hold a wine jar steady anymore?”

The scar-faced man’s expression was a little strange. He shook his hand. “No, Big Brother, Second Brother, I don’t know why, but my hand hurts terribly.”

It had already been pricking a little on the road. He hadn’t paid much attention then, but now it burned more and more fiercely.

“Thirty thousand taels, no,” suddenly, a clear, cold voice sounded, “but there is one antidote.”

In that instant, every gaze in the hall converged upon the black-clothed youth. They saw him easily break free from the rope binding his wrists, then turn to untie the girl beside him.

The sounds of blades being drawn rose one after another. Both the stronghold chief and the Second Boss stood up, staring at him with killing intent.

“I hate it most when others touch my sword,” Zhezhu’s expression was indifferent as he slowly lifted his eyes to the scar-faced man, now sweating from pain. “So the hilt is always poisoned.”

At these words, the muscles in the scar-faced man’s cheeks twitched slightly. Meeting the youth’s cold gaze, a trace of panic rose in his heart, but he still feigned composure. “You brat, stop lying! All these years I’ve never heard of anyone not poisoning the blade but choosing to poison the hilt instead!”

Zhezhu’s eyes curved slightly. “What’s the point of poison on the blade? I only fear losing my sword, not failing to kill.”

His words were calm, tinged with a little pride, a little disdain.

“Those who are poisoned will first feel a faint stabbing pain. Gradually, it will grow more and more painful. Then the flesh will begin to rot,” as he spoke, he led Shang Rong a few steps forward, ignoring how the others raised their blades closer to them. He pressed her shoulders down and seated her at the long table. “In the end, a living person will become a lump of rotting flesh.”

“Don’t move!” The scar-faced man was completely panicked now. Whether it was from hearing the youth’s words or because the symptoms of the poison had grown more obvious, his hands felt as though they were being burned by raging fire. He hurriedly stopped his subordinates, then asked the youth, “What do you want?”

“Since we are guests, there should be good wine and fine dishes.”

Zhezhu rested his chin on his hand and glanced at him.

The scar-faced man froze for a moment, then hurriedly called out, “Quick! Prepare wine and dishes!”

“Wait.”

The stronghold chief raised his hand. His face had grown much gloomier, his eyes half-narrowed. “This young master treats my third brother like this, and still expects me to serve him good wine and fine dishes?”

Hearing this, Zhezhu merely lifted a brow, looked at the scar-faced man, and sighed regretfully. “It seems your elder brother doesn’t want to save your life.”

The scar-faced man abruptly looked toward the stronghold chief, his brows tightly furrowed. “Big Brother…”

“But it doesn’t matter,” Zhezhu cut off the rest of what he had yet to say. “If the stronghold chief doesn’t care about your third brother’s life, he should at least care about his own, right?”

The stronghold chief’s expression stiffened. Following the youth’s gaze, he looked down at the bowl of wine in his hand.

This bowl… had been handed to him by the scar-faced man.

At this moment, the Second Boss also reacted. He immediately could no longer sit still, lifting his blade and moving farther away from the scar-faced man.

More than a dozen steaming dishes were laid out. The entire hall was eerily silent. Shang Rong sat as if on pins and needles, but the youth beside her remained perfectly at ease. He scooped a small bowl of rice for her and placed the chopsticks into her hand.

“I think the stronghold chief certainly wouldn’t poison the food. Otherwise, if everyone dies together, that wouldn’t be very fun.” Zhezhu lifted his eyes and looked at the stronghold chief sitting across from him.

“What the young master says… is correct.”

The stronghold chief almost forced the words out through clenched teeth.

Almost as soon as Shang Rong moved, the mask on her face loosened a little more. She was unsure whether she should remove it when the youth’s pale, slender fingers deftly peeled away that thin layer. Her hood slipped back, revealing her true face. For a moment, every bandit’s gaze in the hall fell upon her face.

“I’ve heard this poison can even rot a person’s eyeballs.”

The youth’s voice, carrying a faint cold smile, reached everyone’s ears.

For a moment, no one dared look any longer. Their eyes lowered, noses watching their hearts.

“Eat.”

Zhezhu placed a piece of braised pork into the small bowl in front of Shang Rong. She stared at the piece of meat, then lifted her head to look at him. She could not understand why, under gazes filled with killing intent all around them, he could still be so casual and unrestrained.

But after thinking for a moment, she picked up her chopsticks as he did.

As long as she didn’t look up at those people’s faces, she could still finish this meal.

The youth himself barely took a few bites, yet with great interest he poured a bowl of wine and took a couple of sips. Meanwhile, the scar-faced man was already unable to endure the pain any longer. “Young master, when exactly will you grant me the antidote?”

“There is only one antidote,”

Zhezhu’s gaze moved back and forth between the scar-faced man and the stronghold chief, “but there are two people who have been poisoned.”

The stronghold chief and the scar-faced man looked at each other. The atmosphere in the hall had already grown subtly strange. The Second Boss frowned, growing increasingly suspicious. Turning his head, he saw his men approaching with the youth’s soft sword wrapped in coarse cloth. He snatched it over and said, “Big Brother, Third Brother, don’t be deceived by this brat! There must be more than one antidote! If you don’t believe it, test it on this little girl!”

As he spoke, he quickly reached toward Shang Rong.

Who would have known the youth moved like a phantom, even faster than he was. Before his fingers could touch even a corner of Shang Rong’s sleeve, the soft sword in his hand had already been drawn away by the youth. The sharp, slender blade sliced through the coarse cloth and also cut open his palm—blood immediately poured out in streams.

Shang Rong was seized by the wrist by Zhezhu and hurriedly pulled to her feet, retreating. He suddenly released her. The sound of clashing blades reached her ears. She looked up, just in time to see his sword pierce through the Second Boss’s throat.

“Second Brother!” The sight made the stronghold chief’s pupils contract. He grabbed the blade from the table, about to act, yet the youth’s blood-stained sword tip, slender as a bamboo leaf, shimmered faintly as it pointed at him.

“If you hesitate any longer, there won’t be a chance.”

From the diexie belt at his waist, Zhezhu pinched out a jade-green pill. Blood stained his fair, refined face, his eyes curved slightly in a smile. “Are you going to avenge him, or do you want this?”