Shang Rong finally understood that the “playing” in Zhezhu’s words did not merely refer to playing for amusement or sightseeing.

So long as it suited his fancy, saving people was play, killing people was play, breaking into a prison was also play.

The slender blade of grass snapped into two still rested in her palm. Shang Rong wrapped the two cloaks around herself more tightly; the fur trim of the hood brushed lightly against her cheek in the wind, a little ticklish.

The roasted beef had cooled quite a bit. She took a bite, then turned her face to look at the empty space beside her. The young man who had originally been sitting there had tossed her an entire bottle of sugar pills, then swept off with the wind, vanishing into the pitch-black night.

Most of the lanterns in the marketplace had already been extinguished. On the high rooftop, Shang Rong rested her chin against the bundle in her arms, like a cat hiding in the night, curling up its body.

At the same time, in the dim, indistinct narrow alley opposite the prison of Rongzhou City, a young man wearing a bamboo hat and coarse linen clothes leaned against a brick wall, casually sizing up the tightly shut prison gates.

“Young master, please rest assured, I will not let your help go unrewarded. If this matter succeeds, I will present fifty jin.” The rough-faced man hid within the heavy shadows, his voice somewhat hoarse from being deliberately lowered.

“Fifty jin?”

The young man lifted his head. Beneath the bamboo hat, that fair face became clearly visible.

“Is the young master dissatisfied?”

The man examined the youth before him, his tone gaining a few more shades of meaning. “Actually, the price can still be negotiated, but the premise is that you can successfully rescue the person.”

A strand of black hair swayed faintly against the young man’s cheek. His brows and eyes were proud and cold. Hearing this, he merely curled his lips. “Enough.”

He had no patience to say more. Bending down, he picked up the basket filled with wine and dishes, and with light, unhurried steps walked out of the pitch-dark long alley into a stretch of orange-yellow lamplight.

The guards at the prison gate were stamping their feet from the cold. One of them had just turned around while rubbing his hands when he saw someone approaching.

When the person drew near, they stepped forward to block him. The leading guard asked sternly, “What are you here for?”

Fine snowflakes drifted through the lamplight, each one distinct. The young man lowered the hand that had brushed past his cheek. His originally fair complexion had become much duller. In the dim light, the shadow of the bamboo hat half concealed his face. “I am the younger brother of Zhang Yong, the death-row prisoner to be executed at noon tomorrow. I have come to see him one last time.”

The young guard took the slip of paper he handed over and examined it. It indeed bore the vermilion seal of the yamen. He then looked up and sized up this timid-speaking youth again.

As if only just reacting, the youth hurriedly fumbled a money pouch from his robes and handed it over. “Please make it convenient.”

The guard weighed the pouch in his hand, then called back in satisfaction, “Open the gate!”

The heavy doors slowly opened. Inside, rows upon rows of lamplight dotted the interior. That glow shone beneath the brim of the bamboo hat, illuminating the young man’s cold, dark eyes.

A jail warden strode forward carelessly, yawning as he led him inside. “Doesn’t Zhang Yong have a wife? Why is it you who came?”

“She remarried.”

The young man spoke indifferently.

The deeper they went, the stronger the damp, fetid smell of the prison became. Hearing this, the jail warden suddenly turned his head to glance at the youth covering his nose and mouth with his hand, then shook his head and continued forward. “Already remarrying before the man’s even dead. Truly, morals are declining.”

“I heard that tomorrow, there is another person to be executed together with my brother?” the young man mentioned, as if casually.

“Yes, a fake Daoist,” the jail warden said, hands clasped behind his back as he walked. “Your brother killed one person, but that one killed three.”

“He’s locked up next to your brother. This morning he tried to commit suicide once. Fortunately it was discovered in time. The magistrate had someone force a bowl of medicine down his throat. He’ll probably sleep until tomorrow, when he’s taken to the execution ground to be beheaded.”

“Is that so?”

The young man’s tone was calm and without ripple.

“Zhang Yong, your younger brother has come to see you off!”

The jail warden suddenly stopped in front of a cell and shouted inside.

The man curled up on the pile of straw inside jerked at the sound. He hurriedly turned around. In the orange-yellow lamplight, he looked past the jail warden, peering behind him, then frowned in confusion. “Who is he?”

The jail warden’s expression stiffened, and he immediately turned his head.

With a sharp clang, the dim lamplight on the wall reflected the thin blade, shimmering with rippling glints. In but an instant, a cold touch pressed against his neck. His face filled with terror as he looked toward the smooth-lined jaw of the youth beneath the bamboo hat.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Shang Rong did not know how long she had been waiting on the rooftop. She plucked apart the blade of grass she had been playing with bit by bit, sometimes looking at the moon, sometimes counting the stars.

She did not dare fall asleep for even a moment, but the long street below was cold and empty. She had no idea when the young man would return as promised. Unease lingered in her heart, and she could not help but form some bad guesses.

Suddenly, the sound of chaotic footsteps came, along with distant shouts.

In an instant, Shang Rong’s drowsy eyes flew wide open. Her gaze passed beyond the eaves, and she saw, in the lamplight, a pitch-black figure. He seemed to be carrying someone on his back, running toward this direction.

Seeing two guards closing in behind him, Shang Rong grew anxious. Without thinking, she lifted several roof tiles and stood up at once, throwing them down with all her strength.

Her aim was excellent. The tiles struck the two men squarely on their heads.

The tiles shattered on the ground. The young man lifted his head and glanced at her on the roof’s edge, then his figure quickly vanished into the dense black night.

He… disappeared?

Holding a tile, Shang Rong stood helplessly on the eaves. Below, the two men clutching their heads had already noticed her on the rooftop, and a group of guards carrying lanterns was drawing near.

Suddenly, a hand wrapped around her waist from behind. She jumped in fright, but when she turned back, she saw beneath the flowing moonlight that the young man’s forehead was covered in sweat, his eyes bright and clear.

She was still stunned when he pulled her into his arms and leapt down from behind.

The thick scent of blood on him had already overwhelmed his original fragrance of snow and bamboo leaves. Even his breathing was sharp and cold. Shang Rong’s feet touched the ground. She looked up and saw two horses tied under the stable across from them. The person he had been carrying had already been thrown onto one of the horses.

Zhezhu helped Shang Rong onto a horse, then stepped onto the stirrup to mount the one carrying the unconscious man. But when he turned his head, he saw the girl anxiously clutching the horse’s neck, her body stiff, her eyes fixed on him.

Without a word, he wrapped the reins of the horse bearing the man once around his wrist, then walked over and, with practiced ease, swung up onto the horse behind her. “The reins.”

Shang Rong handed them to him. Turning back, she once again noticed the unevenly smeared color on the young man’s face.

She froze for a moment. For some reason, it felt somewhat familiar. “Your face…”

“Yours. The sandalwood-colored box.”

As Zhezhu spoke, he pressed his legs slightly. One horse galloped forward, pulling along the other that carried the man. The wind grew more biting, but because Shang Rong’s face was covered by the mask, it did not feel cold against her skin.

“But… that’s cosmetic powder.”

She murmured softly.

The most dreadful sandalwood shade—the one he had casually bought for her, which she had never used even once.

Zhezhu responded carelessly. In the sound of the wind, his voice was so close to her:

“When we reach Shuqing, I’ll buy you a few more boxes.”

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Inside the Prefectural Residence.

The man who had met Zhezhu earlier in the alley opposite Rongzhou City’s prison now stood respectfully inside the study, quietly watching Prefect Qi Yusong behind the desk practicing calligraphy by lamplight.

“My lord.”

A shadow appeared outside the door.

Qi Yusong did not lift his head. Instead, the man waiting nearby pushed the door open and stepped out to ask the newcomer, “Well?”

The newcomer was drenched in sweat, panting as he reported, “Steward Zhao, it’s done.”

Hearing this, Qi Yusong inside the room paused the tip of his brush. He slightly lifted his eyelids, and a smile appeared on his somewhat lined face.

Just as Steward Zhao entered, he asked, “The city gates have all been taken care of, yes?”

“Reporting to my lord, they will certainly be able to leave the city tonight,” Steward Zhao lowered his head, then continued, “This servant has already made an agreement with that boy—outside the city, at the Mountain God Temple on Ten-Li Slope, we will exchange money for the person.”

“Mm.”

Qi Yusong nodded with satisfaction. “If not for the Sun family having the Jinyuan Circuit Transport Commissioner as their great backing, why would I need to resort to such a measure.”

“This matter cannot be handled by our own people. It just so happened that He Yisheng encountered a ruthless character. That boy’s arrival is quite timely.” The He Yisheng Qi Yusong mentioned was the constable ordered that day to go to Xingyun Mountain to exterminate the bandits.

That day, He Yisheng had deliberately lent a horse to that suspicious pair of youths in order to track their movements. Who would have thought that his horse ran back on its own in less than half an hour.

When he led his men up Xingyun Mountain, he saw that the bandit stronghold had already burned into ruins. Inside were many charred bones. He Yisheng had been a constable for many years and also knew some coroner’s skills. He determined that the bandits had fought one another, and on some of the bones he found extremely fine, deeply cut marks.

He Yisheng had not forgotten the soft sword wrapped around the belt at the young man’s waist. Thus, after returning to Rongzhou City, he reported the matter to Qi Yusong.

And now, Qi Yusong just happened to need someone like that to make use of.

The candlelight flickered upon the desk. Steward Zhao bent forward and cupped his hands, speaking in a low voice:

“Rest assured, my lord. Our men have already laid a net of heaven and earth inside the Mountain God Temple. No matter how skilled that boy’s martial arts are, he will surely die silently tonight.”

“There is also a young lady by his side?” Qi Yusong recalled.

“Yes.”

Qi Yusong clasped his hands behind his back and pondered for a moment.

“Since that young lady is with him… then, there is no helping it.”