“I only know you.”

When Zhezhu suddenly heard her say this, he stared for a moment at the tip of her nose, reddened by the cold wind. The rising haze of alcohol perhaps made his mind less than clear. He lifted an arm to shield his eyes and let out an extremely soft laugh, yet said nothing.

Shang Rong had never seen someone like Zhezhu.

In the distance, the bandits’ den leaning against the mountain wall had been burned beyond recognition, melted snow trickling in thin streams. Yet he lay beneath a tree, resting on the snow as a pillow, and seemed perfectly at ease.

But Shang Rong meant to break that ease. She shook his arm. “Zhezhu, get up. You can’t sleep here.”

Zhezhu was pulled up by her and forced to sit. Snow clung to his shoulders and hair in glittering crystals. He lifted his thin eyelids and looked at her for a moment, then bent to pick up the soft sword from the snow and wound it around his waist.

Supporting him, Shang Rong helped him descend the mountain along the winding path they had taken earlier. By the time they returned to the original mountain road, Zhezhu was mostly sober. The wind rustled through the grasses and trees in his ears—suddenly, he stopped.

Shang Rong raised her head along with his line of sight. It was the very place where they had encountered the mountain bandits that morning. Now a crowd had gathered—hundreds of people in a dark mass, completely blocking the road ahead.

The bodies that had earlier been thrown off the cliff by the bandits were now laid out one by one along the roadside. Among them were even some dressed in the robes of government constables. The leading constable was speaking with someone beside him when, quite suddenly, he noticed the pair of youths not far away.

Shang Rong was no longer wearing her mask, and at the sight of the officials, unease rose in her heart. She hesitated and stepped back, but Zhezhu’s face showed no expression. He merely met the constable’s gaze for an instant, then turned back and tugged her hood lower, covering most of her face.

“Go.”

One curt word from him.

Seeing that he had already stepped forward, Shang Rong could only follow behind him.

“Where do you two come from?”

The constable rested one hand on the hilt of the blade at his waist. When they approached, he stepped forward to question them.

“Huaitong.”

Zhezhu said.

Huaitong also belonged to Jiangling and lay in the same direction as Nanzhou—so it made sense.

“Why not take the official road and instead walk this remote mountain path? Do you know that bandit trouble has been frequent here these past two years?” As the constable spoke, he turned and pointed to the several bodies by the roadside. “Look—these were all capable fighters from an escort agency, yet they all perished here.”

“We only heard that this mountain path is somewhat closer to Dongyuan County.” Zhezhu glanced at the dozen or so corpses, their faces shattered beyond recognition, and showed concern. “She has contracted a serious and urgent illness. This trip, we are going to Dongyuan County to seek that famed old physician.”

A serious and urgent illness?

Hearing this, the constable’s gaze fell on the girl. She looked timid and frail, wrapped in two cloaks, her hood pulled tightly down. Only her bloodless lips and pale chin were visible.

He knew as well that there truly was a renowned physician in Dongyuan County, and every year many people from various places went there seeking treatment.

The constable was just about to ask more when the girl suddenly began coughing incessantly. Frail as a willow in the wind, she seemed barely able to stand, gripping the arm of the black-clad youth.

“You walked all the way here like this?” The constable still sensed something amiss.

“We originally hired a carriage, but midway we thought to save some money for her treatment, so we switched to a horse.” Zhezhu lowered his eyes and sighed. “Who would have thought that today, while watering the horse by the stream, the reins slipped from our hands and it ran off.”

“Ran off?”

At this, the constable raised his thick black brows. It was not uncommon for traders to rush to sell horses before properly training them—such matters were nothing unusual to him.

This youth’s words left no gaps; there seemed to be nothing wrong.

The constable was pondering what else to ask when a subordinate called out to him from behind. As he turned his head, Zhezhu felt his sleeve tugged lightly by the person behind him.

He turned his face to look at her, just in time to see her raise her head and give him a look—then suddenly cough violently again. Her frail body swayed, and with her eyes closing, she collapsed toward him.

Zhezhu’s lashes trembled slightly. He instinctively caught her by the waist. At that moment, the constable heard the commotion and turned back again. Seeing the girl already unconscious in his arms, he hurriedly called to his subordinate, “Quick! Bring my horse!”

A horse was quickly led over. The constable looked at the black-clad youth. “I see this young lady’s illness cannot be delayed any longer. Dongyuan County is not far from here. Ride my horse and hurry there! Once you reach Dongyuan County, just lead my horse to the county office and return it.”

“Many thanks, sir.”

Zhezhu helped Shang Rong onto the horse and nodded to the constable.

The dense crowd parted to make way, and everyone watched as the young pair rode off in a cloud of dust, growing more and more distant in the damp, cold mist.

“Sir, why give them your own horse?” A constable standing beside the middle-aged officer could not help but say, “That’s a fine steed Prefect Qi gifted you. What if that boy doesn’t return it?”

“A fine steed is a fine steed not only because it runs fast, but because it knows the way,” the constable called for the bodies to be loaded onto carts first, then continued to the man beside him. “In these desolate mountains, with bandit troubles for the past two years, few dare to travel this road. You see how young that young master and young lady are—perhaps they’re merely fearless calves unafraid of tigers, but that young master carries a soft sword at his waist, likely someone trained in martial arts. We should be cautious, and see whether they truly go to Dongyuan County.”

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Wind and snow rushed head-on, the pounding of hooves sounding again and again. The cold mist obscured much of the view behind them, and at some point, not a single human sound could be heard on the mountain road.

“You do know how to adapt to circumstances.”

The boy’s voice remained clear even in the wind.

“But he still seemed suspicious.” Shang Rong tilted her head up. The fluffy rabbit-fur trim of her hood blocked part of her view, and she could only faintly see the youth’s pale jaw.

“So what of it?”

Zhezhu did not seem to care. Lowering his gaze, he caught sight of an inconspicuous coarse cloth pouch beneath the saddle. Brown powder was quietly scattering bit by bit onto the snow below. “We’ll just return the horse to him early.”

Two days later, Shang Rong and Zhezhu arrived in Rongzhou.

Beyond Rongzhou lay Shuqing, but it was already late, so they stayed at an inn within Rongzhou City.

Pitch-dark night settled over everything. Outside the eaves, lanterns swayed in the wind. The thick window gauze faintly reflected the flickering of lamplight. Shang Rong lay on the bed, clutching the quilt, turning over and over.

Before long, she sat up.

With only a screen between them, everything on the other side appeared indistinct in the dim light. She was wondering whether he had fallen asleep when she suddenly heard him speak, “What are you doing?”

“I can’t sleep,” Shang Rong looked toward the screen. “I might as well get up and copy the Daoist scriptures.”

She had not forgotten that she had promised to transcribe Taiqing Collection and Qingni Shu for him from memory.

The boy did not respond for a while. Shang Rong draped an outer robe over herself and rose, wanting to light a lamp but not knowing what ordinary items people in the marketplace used for lighting.

A sound came from behind the screen. As she turned, she saw the boy walking around it.

“The inn won’t have brush, ink, or raw xuan paper.”

He used a fire striker to light the candle on the table. The warm glow illuminated his face clearly, his eyelashes casting shifting shadows beneath his eyelids.

Hearing this, Shang Rong looked up at him. Their eyes met, and for a moment, neither spoke.

Zhezhu could not be bothered to touch the cold tea on the table. Suddenly, he said, “How about going out for a late-night snack?”

“No.”

Shang Rong shook her head without the slightest hesitation.

“Why not?” He flicked his robe hem and sat down at the table, resting his chin on one hand as he lifted his eyes to look at her. “Aren’t you unable to sleep because you’re hungry?”

Shang Rong’s delicately shaped brows knit slightly, embarrassment showing on her face. She met his gaze for a moment, then turned her face aside and said softly, “Even so, I don’t want to go.”

Everything about this inn was good except the food did not suit her taste. At dinner, she had only taken a few bites before giving up.

“Rongzhou cuisine is spicy. Since you’ve eaten vegetarian since childhood, of course you’re not used to it.”

The boy toyed with an empty porcelain cup, the clear clinking sound ringing out. “But this place isn’t without cooks from elsewhere.”

Yet Shang Rong remained unmoved. She lowered her head and said dully, “Zhezhu, you go by yourself.”

Her clear and delicate brows remained downcast, like a lifeless little snail that only wanted to hide inside its shell and not move at all.

She did not like this unfamiliar place, nor could she muster even the slightest interest in the bustling night.

“Do you know whether the government office is near or far from here?”

The boy’s voice was faint.

Shang Rong lifted her head at once, meeting the boy’s half-smiling eyes.

When night fell in Rongzhou City, it was the perfect time for late-night snacks. But as it was winter, few customers were at the street stalls; most gathered inside restaurants that could shelter them from the wind and snow.

The long street lay quiet. Only a very few people, unafraid of the biting wind, huddled beneath oilcloth canopies around braziers for their late-night meals.

Shang Rong bit fiercely into a piece of white-cut chicken, sulking, not saying a single word. The boy, however, stared at the warmed wine simmering over the brazier.

He reached toward the wine pot on the stove, but suddenly his wrist was seized.

Lanterns of many colors wove together into strange shifting shadows. The boy’s eyes, clear as if touched by dew, looked toward her. Shang Rong shook her head at him.

“You can’t.”

Zhezhu stared at her for a moment, then let out a very soft scoff, freed his hand from hers, and took the wine pot to pour himself a full cup.

“You clearly can’t drink, so why do you always try?”

Shang Rong was afraid he would get drunk and collapse here.

“There are no man-eating demons in the night, so why won’t you come out?”

His expression remained indifferent as he took a light sip of hot wine.

Shang Rong said nothing more. She lowered her head and bit fiercely into a piece of roast duck. From not far behind them came the occasional laughter and chatter of other diners. Sparse snowflakes drifted into the canopy, melting in the heat rising from the brazier.

Crimson coals warmed the wine; cold dishes and hot dishes were accompanied by a bowl of soup—that was late-night fare. Holding the bowl, Shang Rong was momentarily dazed. On such a snowy night, she quietly lifted her head and gazed at the snow drifting chaotically beneath the lantern light.

She had never had a moment like this before.

On the way back to the inn, Shang Rong carried a lantern and walked beside the boy. The wine from the stall had not been strong; he had only taken two sips and showed no sign of drunkenness. His steps were still light, the cold wind stirring his robes. His calves, wrapped in black boots, were firm and long.

As they entered a deep, narrow alley, his pace suddenly slowed.

“What is it?”

Shang Rong looked up at him, but before she could react, he suddenly turned, reached out, and wrapped an arm around her waist. The lantern slipped from her hand, falling to the ground and catching fire. One of his hands pressed against the back of her head, forcing her forehead against his chest.

From his robes came a cold fragrance like bamboo leaves mixed with snow. His breath carried a trace of crisp wine. Shang Rong’s back stiffened, her eyelashes trembling uncontrollably.

“Sir, following us—what do you want?”

She heard Zhezhu’s voice, a faint cold smile hidden within it.

Lowering her gaze, she saw that his long, distinct fingers had already gripped the hilt of the silver snake sword at his waist, its blade gleaming coldly.

“Please rest assured, young master, I mean no harm.”

Faint moonlight revealed the man’s burly figure and rough face. “I only wish to make a deal with you.”