The lights in the residence of the Prefect of Rongzhou burned through the entire night.

Prefect Qi Yusong had slept only lightly for an hour before rising. After calling someone in to ask, he learned that He Yisheng and the others had still not returned. A cold sweat broke out over his body, and his mind was filled with unease.

Making do with the cold tea on the desk, he tilted his head back and drank it down. Qi Yusong paced back and forth in the study until the sky faintly paled. Only then did Steward Zhao, who had been ordered to go to the Mountain God Temple at Shilipo to investigate, hurry back to the residence.

“Sir! Something’s happened!”

Steward Zhao rushed in, panting. His coarse face was covered in sweat, and his legs gave way beneath him as he fell straight to the ground.

“Where is He Yisheng?”

Qi Yusong turned around sharply, but saw no one outside the door.

“Sir…”

Steward Zhao’s lips trembled. Still prostrate on the ground, he did not rise. “He Yisheng and the more than eighty men he took with him… all of them have been killed!”

“What?”

The muscles in Qi Yusong’s cheeks twitched.

“When this servant arrived, there wasn’t a single survivor.” Steward Zhao had not personally seen the fire that burned down the bandits’ stronghold on Xingyun Mountain, but today he had seen the fire at the Mountain God Temple. He could not help recalling that black-clothed youth, and only now did he feel a deep chill of fear.

“Madam.”

A servant’s voice suddenly called from outside. Qi Yusong lifted his eyes and saw the apricot-colored skirt brushing the threshold, a pair of embroidered shoes stepping inside.

Qi Yusong had not returned to his chambers all night. Seeing his wife’s pale complexion, he asked, “Madam, are you feeling unwell somewhere?”

Unexpectedly, she glanced at him once, then dropped to her knees with a thud. “This concubine has something to report to Master.”

“What are you doing? Get up at once.”

Qi Yusong’s thoughts were already in turmoil. Seeing his usually domineering wife now like a sick old tiger with its teeth pulled and claws removed felt even more strange. He hurriedly bent down to help her up, but she slapped his hand away.

“This matter cannot truly be blamed on me—if anyone is to blame, it is you, Master!” Madam Qi’s eyes reddened instantly. “If you hadn’t made enemies outside, the birthday gift for the Duke of Wei’s wife would not have been lost…”

Qi Yusong’s expression changed. “My aunt’s birthday gift was lost?”

“Yesterday, while you were not in the residence, that person forced me to swallow something, saying it was poison, and demanded that I hand over the birthday gift.” Madam Qi rarely saw Qi Yusong with such a gloomy expression; she was somewhat frightened now and answered timidly. Tears fell from her eyes, yet she forgot to wipe them with her handkerchief. “Master, he said if I dared to speak of it, my intestines would rot through and my belly would split—I would die a horrible death…”

Qi Yusong’s fingers clenched and then loosened. He closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath. “Then why do you dare to speak now?”

Tears streamed down Madam Qi’s face. “You did not return to the room all night. I was so frightened that I didn’t dare sleep either. Before dawn, a flower vendor passed something through the back gate to a servant woman—a bottle of medicine—saying someone told him to deliver it to me.”

“When I opened it, it was exactly the same as the poison I took yesterday,” Madam Qi said, so angry she nearly wrung her handkerchief to pieces. “So I ordered someone to summon a physician to examine it, and only then did I learn it was no antidote to any poison at all—it was plainly just sugar pills that street children eat!”

“Madam!”

Qi Yusong felt his brow throb. His chest was filled with anger, but he restrained himself from letting it burst out. “What poison is sweet? You really are…”

“Have you eaten poison before, Master? How do you know there isn’t sweet poison?” Madam Qi cried in retort.

“You…” Qi Yusong pressed his temples. His entire spine felt cold. “Madam, the person who threatened you—was he a youth about sixteen or seventeen?”

Madam Qi wiped the tear-stained traces from her face with her crumpled handkerchief. “I don’t know whether he was young or not. He wore a veiled hat covering his face. I couldn’t see anything clearly.”

After hearing this, Qi Yusong braced one hand against the desk and remained silent for a long time. In the end, he called a maid from outside to help the sobbing Madam Qi back to her quarters.

“Sir, it seems that boy knows your identity…” After a moment of silence in the study, Steward Zhao finally found his voice.

“He did this for no other reason than to tell me exactly that.”

Qi Yusong pressed a hand to his forehead, his handsome face etched with deep fatigue. “Who would have thought that though he is so young, he possesses such schemes and ability… to make me capsize in a gutter.”

He had thought his calculations flawless, yet in the end the unexpected variable had been that mysterious youth.

The birthday gift prepared for the Duke of Wei’s wife had cost him an enormous sum of money. It was far more than the mere fifty gold Steward Zhao had promised that youth. Now, the fifty gold remained but the birthday gift was gone.

“No wonder he kept delaying and insisted on acting only last night.” Only now did Qi Yusong finally realize what kind of baleful force he had provoked. “The dream stone was useless to him. When he agreed to this matter, he must already have guessed that I intended to take his life.”

Truly one who repaid every grievance without fail.

“But, sir, what is to be done about the birthday gift? You have been demoted from Yujing to Rongzhou for over a year now. If this happens… when will you ever be able to return to Yujing?”

Steward Zhao’s face was grave.

“She is, after all, my aunt,” Qi Yusong sat down in the grand armchair behind the desk, leaning back weakly against it. Strands of daylight filtered through the window lattice and fell across his face. He sighed slowly. “While there is still time, prepare another one.”

Only, he could no longer produce enough silver to make something of that caliber again.

Steward Zhao first responded softly in acknowledgment, then asked cautiously, “And the dream stone…”

“The person must be found, but no noise must be made of it,” Qi Yusong straightened as he spoke, his expression stern and cold as he stared at Steward Zhao. “That youth now, after all, holds leverage over me.”

He still had to think of a way to deal with this. Otherwise, if word leaked to the Transport Commissioner of Jinyuan, not only would he offend the Sun family because of it—he would likely invite many more troubles as well.

As for the dream stone, no matter what, he had to retrieve it.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The winter dawn had only just brightened, tinged with a heavy duck-egg blue hue. The sound of hoofbeats rang along the mountain path. Shang Rong, groggy and dazed, curled in someone’s arms and slowly opened her eyes.

The wind was damp and cold. The distant verdant mountains were dotted with clusters of white. She stared blankly for a moment, then lifted her head.

The hood slipped down slightly, and the pale line of the youth’s jaw came into view.

Zhezhu lowered his head, not expecting her eyelashes to brush lightly against his jaw. It tickled a little. He seemed to pause, then simply lifted his head and stopped looking at her, saying only, “I told you to drink to steady your nerves, not to finish it.”

His voice was as cold as wind and snow. A trace of embarrassment surfaced on Shang Rong’s face. She lowered her head and said, “Your gourd was very small. It was gone after just two sips.”

In truth, she had taken two large gulps.

She did not know where he had bought that flower brew. It was lightly sweet with a floral fragrance. It did not burn the throat when swallowed—rather, it was smooth and pleasant—but unexpectedly, its aftereffect was strong. It was only her second time touching alcohol, so she inevitably became drunk.

Shang Rong did not hear the youth speak again—only an indistinct, meaningful snort of laughter. Immediately, she remembered what had happened on Xingyun Mountain.

He was someone who would get drunk after just two small sips of wine.

Shang Rong hurried to raise her head, but he suddenly pulled the hood down firmly over her head.

With her vision half-obscured, she could not see his expression clearly, so she said, “Zhezhu, in the future, whatever wine you want to drink, I’ll buy it for you.”

“In the future?”

Zhezhu raised a brow, lowering his gaze to stare at the snow-white rabbit-fur trim of her hood.

In the long morning light, even the sound of the wind was clear. Shang Rong hummed in acknowledgment, stretching out her hand and gesturing to him. “At the very least, we still have a future as thick as two volumes of books.”

As thick as two volumes of books.

Such strange words fell into Zhezhu’s ears, and he suddenly laughed softly. “If that’s so, it will take you quite a long time to finish memorizing things for me, won’t it?”

Shang Rong thought for a moment and answered ambiguously, “In any case, it will take some time.”

She had thoughts of her own that she could not speak of, and she did not wish for him to see through them.

In the brief moment of distraction, she suddenly heard a faint, pleasant tinkling behind her. It lasted only an instant—then the youth’s pale, slender fingers held the object out before her eyes.

Shang Rong looked and saw a glittering golden Immortal Tower Jade Maiden hairpin. The Immortal Tower carved in red gold was exquisitely detailed; within it, a white jade maiden peering out from a lattice window was lifelike. Pearls were carved into the shape of drifting clouds supporting the tower below, and from beneath hung fine red-gold tassels and gem beads that chimed together with a crisp sound, like clustered raindrops tapping against a railing.

Shang Rong lifted her head and saw the youth’s clear and refined brows and eyes within the cold mist. Snow grains clung to his long eyelashes. “Want it? For you to play with?”

Shang Rong had been born into the imperial family, entered the palace at the age of one, and had seen thousands of rare curiosities and countless treasures before her. How could she not know the value of the Immortal Tower Jade Maiden now held in Zhezhu’s hand?

And yet, it was still nothing more than a lifeless object meant for seeking immortals and questioning the mysteries.

“I don’t want it.”

Shang Rong’s brows knit slightly. “Such an old-fashioned style. I don’t like it.”

“I thought so too.”

Zhezhu responded carelessly. A strand of hair brushed lightly across his pale cheek. His expression did not change much—only a faint bluish shadow of weariness lay beneath his eyelids. He seemed a little too tired to speak, yet still said briefly, “Then we’ll melt it down and buy wine.”

As he spoke, he casually tossed the hairpin into the miscellaneous pouch hanging beside the saddle.

But then he suddenly shoved the reins into her hands.

Shang Rong did not understand why. She lifted her head and saw the youth just finishing a yawn. He lowered his head and met her gaze. She could see a faint flush at the corners of his eyes, and his eyes, as they looked at her, seemed tinged with a damp mist.

She pressed her lips together and said nothing, gripping the reins uneasily. Yet the mountain path was utterly quiet—no passing carts or travelers—and the horse moved slowly.

Perhaps the steady sound of hoofbeats lulled one toward sleep. She heard the clear wind among the mountains, and also heard the youth’s breathing so close at hand gradually become more even.

Suddenly, her shoulder grew heavy.

Shang Rong’s back stiffened. Slowly, she turned her face and saw the youth’s jaw resting against her shoulder.

His eyelashes were thick and long. Beneath the bluish-gray light of the sky, his pale face appeared even more distant and cold; only the small mole at the inner curve of his eye was vivid.

A gust of wind lifted a strand of her light hair, brushing gently across his brows and eyes. Shang Rong raised her hand. The wind slipped through her fingers as she caught the strand and drew it back.

Turning her face forward again, she gazed into the cold mist, where the green of the mountains spread faintly, layer upon layer, rolling into a vast heavenly blue.