Three people and two horses leaving the city actually encountered no obstruction at all. In the cold night, Shang Rong cast a hurried glance and saw the gate guards standing one by one, dozing. As the sound of hooves passed through the city gate, they turned a deaf ear, not even lifting their eyelids.

That Daoist, Mengshi, had been jolted on horseback for a long time without any sign of waking. The biting wind and snow were mostly blocked by the youth. Shang Rong, held in his arms, was drifting drowsily toward sleep when at some unknown moment he suddenly yanked the reins, and the horse at once raised its neck and neighed long and loud.

Immediately after, the boy’s icy fingers lightly poked her earlobe. Shang Rong sobered in an instant. When she turned her head back in confusion, the youth had already swung down from the horse.

This was a dark green-black forest. Wherever the moonlight touched, branches and shadows lay crisscrossed everywhere.

“Zhezhu, there’s a bonfire over there.”

Shang Rong instantly grew wary. In such a silent mountain forest, why would there be a pile of firewood burning so fiercely?

Zhezhu tied the reins of the two horses to a tree. Hearing her, he took a moment to lift his head and glance over, responded faintly with a sound, said nothing more, and only extended a hand toward her.

His hands were spread open, speckled with traces of blood between his fingers. Under the soft moonlight, Shang Rong looked at him from horseback, then stretched out her arms toward him.

He held her slender waist, and she instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck. The youth’s breath was so close, yet she felt a little afraid to breathe.

After lifting her down and setting her on the ground, he released her, turned back to the other horse, and with one forceful motion—the man on its back fell heavily into the snow.

Yet even so, the man showed no reaction whatsoever.

Shang Rong watched as Zhezhu took a bundle of hemp rope from beneath the saddle and tied the man to a large tree. Then he lightly brushed his cheek, and the sandalwood-colored cosmetic powder and blood smeared together on the back of his pale hand. As though displeased, he faintly frowned and walked to the small stream below.

Even though that mysterious man had already seen his face, before entering prison he had still played a few small tricks.

No matter what, the fewer people who clearly saw his appearance, the better.

Shang Rong jogged to his side from behind, glanced back uneasily at the burning bonfire, then looked at him again. “Why are you tying him up here?”

Zhezhu scooped water to wash the color from his face. The sound of dripping water pattered softly, ripples glimmering along the stream. He turned his face back—perhaps because the mountain water was too cold, a faint flush showed through his pale complexion, and his thick eyelashes were beaded with crystalline droplets.

“I still have one more thing to do.” He said.

Only upon hearing his voice did Shang Rong barely come back to herself. She didn’t know why, but she hurriedly turned her eyes aside to avoid his gaze. When he stood up, she followed him back to the bonfire.

“Wait here for me.”

“If he wakes and dares do anything against you,” Zhezhu took a short dagger from his robe and handed it to her. Then he glanced at the man—hair disheveled, face filthy—and said unhurriedly, “stab him into a sieve.”

The dagger pressed against the back of Shang Rong’s hand, cold as ice. She looked up at him.

The youth’s temples were damp. Looking down at her, he said, “Don’t dare?”

Shang Rong pressed her lips together, took the dagger, and said nothing.

“This bonfire…” She still minded that it was clearly made by someone who had gathered dry wood to light it, with more withered branches piled nearby.

“Don’t worry.”

Zhezhu gave no further explanation. He turned his face slightly, firelight flickering in his dark eyes. “It’s very safe here.”

Sparks crackled and burst from the burning bonfire. The cold night wind stirred Shang Rong’s skirt. She stood where she was, watching as the youth’s ink-dark robes gradually blended into the night.

Yet in the darkness—suddenly—something was tossed toward her. She instinctively reached out to catch it. Firelight and moonlight revealed in her palm a small, exquisite jade gourd, from which hung golden bead tassels.

“If you’re afraid, you might as well take a sip or two.”

In the vast cold mist, the youth’s voice was as fresh as though touched by rain.

Fine snow fell onto her fingers. Shang Rong lowered her eyes to look at the small jade gourd. At this moment, the mountain forest had grown quiet, leaving only the urgent, clamorous sound of the wind.

She turned her head and saw the man tied to the tree, head lowered, still unconscious. After all, she was not alone here.

She sat down on a stone beside the bonfire, but when she lowered her head to look, the stone was smooth and somewhat damp, not like something that had originally been here.

She immediately turned her head to look toward the stream below.

This stone seemed more like something someone had deliberately carried here from the streamside.

Shang Rong silently scanned her surroundings, her fingers gripping the dagger tightening more and more.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Shilipo, Mountain God Temple.

“Sir, that boy… he wouldn’t not come, would he?”

Inside the crude temple lit by only a single lonely lamp, a constable dressed in ordinary clothing lowered his voice and spoke.

“He robbed the man—if he doesn’t come here, where else would he go?” Chief Constable He Yisheng kept one hand pressed on the saber at his waist. “According to Prefect Zhizhou’s instructions, only by killing that boy tonight and delivering his corpse before the Jinyuan Circuit Transport Commissioner can this matter be considered settled.”

“However, since he had the ability to wipe out more than a hundred bandits on Xingyun Mountain, we must be even more careful tonight.” He Yisheng’s brows knitted together. For some reason, unease lingered faintly in his heart.

“Rest assured, sir. No matter what, we have so many men. Besides, mechanisms have already been set inside this temple. As long as he steps across this threshold, he won’t think of leaving alive.”

The constable spoke with firm conviction.

Wind and snow battered the door. The poorly fastened wooden door creaked endlessly. He Yisheng’s expression instantly grew alert. He raised his head and signaled those before and behind him to keep silent, his hand slowly gripping the hilt of his blade.

Through the thin door panel, everyone heard a muffled thud of something heavy hitting the ground. Immediately after came the strained breathing of a youth: “Someone… come.”

It actually sounded somewhat weak.

The people inside the door exchanged glances. He Yisheng’s face grew even more grave.

Outside the door came the clear sound of a blade lightly scraping against something metallic. The youth coughed incessantly, almost gritting his teeth as he said, “If you don’t come out to save me… I’ll kill him.”

A constable by the window, seeing He Yisheng’s signal, immediately nodded. He poked a finger through a small hole in the window paper and peered outside.

He saw that the black-clothed youth had collapsed in the snow. The lamplight under the eaves illuminated his pale face. His blood-stained hand gripped a soft sword, the blade pressed tightly against the neck of another man lying on the ground, hair disheveled and covering his face, seemingly unconscious.

The constable immediately turned back and nodded toward He Yisheng.

“Sir…” the man beside He Yisheng called softly.

After a moment of thought, He Yisheng raised his head and said to him, “Open the door and go out. Remember—bring Mengshi inside first.”

“Yes.”

The man responded, then beckoned two others and headed with them toward the main door.

The rotten wooden door slowly opened. The dim yellow light inside poured outward through the widening crack. The constable led the men across the threshold and saw, below the stone steps, the black-clothed youth lying on his back in the snow, motionless—like a corpse.

White snow stained with blood, shocking to behold.

The constable hesitated for a moment, then stepped down with the two behind him. Their footsteps were heavy on the packed snow, but the youth lying on the ground had his eyes closed, showing not the slightest reaction.

The constable kept his eyes fixed tightly on him. He gestured to the two beside him, signaling them to hurry and lift the man in the dusty gray Daoist robe from the ground.

However—the man with disheveled hair covering his face suddenly opened his eyes. A short dagger flashed in his hand, and in an instant, he slit both their throats.

The constable was just about to turn his head when the youth lying in the snow curled his fingers, gripping the soft sword beneath the snow. A flash of cold light flickered—without even opening his eyes, he precisely pierced the constable’s waist and abdomen.

Drops of blood ran down the thin blade onto the youth’s hand. He opened his eyes, expressionless, staring at the terror frozen completely on the man’s face.

“Sir! It’s a trap!”

Those inside saw the scene, and someone hurriedly turned to look at He Yisheng.

But before they could act, the surrounding windows were violently kicked open from outside by several dark figures. Immediately after, many lit torches were thrown into the room.

The flames, upon meeting the tattered curtains and wooden pillars, spread at once. The people lying in wait inside panicked. Those whose bodies caught fire, in their terror, rushed out the windows one after another without a second thought.

The hidden mechanisms and crossbow traps arranged inside were completely destroyed by this blaze. He Yisheng led his men and kicked open the main door, rushing out—only for his steps to halt abruptly on the stone stairs.

He saw that in the vast white snowfield before him, more than a dozen unfamiliar figures had appeared at some unknown time. Each of them was masked apart from the man dressed in Daoist robes posing as a Daoist, and the black-clothed youth beside him.

The lantern swayed unsteadily. The light reflected in the youth’s eyes was cold. From the slender blade of his faintly trembling sword, drops of blood fell soundlessly one by one.

“Kill.”

The youth’s gaze swept across He Yisheng’s face, his voice seeming wrapped in frost.

The blazing flames bared their fangs and claws. The clash of blades rang out one after another.

He Yisheng struggled to block the youth’s sword with his own, but in the end he lacked the strength. After barely a few exchanges, he staggered backward. He lifted his head in panic. The youth’s soft sword brushed along his blade—the flexible sword body flickered, dazzling his eyes with its gleam and the thin edge pierced through his throat.

He Yisheng’s eyes widened, slowly losing focus.

Nearly a hundred men lying in ambush here were easily dealt with by these dozen masked youths. Only then did the fire behind them begin to fully swallow the old temple.

“Seventeenth Protector.”

Jiang Ying, dressed in Daoist robes and holding a sword, saw the black-clothed youth turn and quickly followed after him.

“As usual, keep your distance from me.”

The youth wiped the blood from his sword against the snow several times.

“…Yes.”

Jiang Ying responded, wanting to ask something but not daring to.

Especially when it concerned Princess Mingyue.

Even if there had been eighty of this rabble, for the Seventeenth Protector to kill them would not have been difficult. According to his temperament, he never needed them to intervene in matters beyond their assigned tasks.

Whether they came or not was merely a difference of time.

But today, the Seventeenth Protector had not only ordered him to lead men out of the city in advance, but had also lit a bonfire in that forest, and even left people there to stand guard.

“You are leaving already?”

Ever since seeing Zhezhu that night at the Octagonal Tower in Rongzhou City, Jiang Ying no longer dared mention Princess Mingyue.

Zhezhu brushed the blood on his cheek with the pad of his finger, cast him a cold glance, then stepped lightly into the spreading cold mist.