Mengshi did not expect her to say this so suddenly; he was truly startled. Then, seeing the young girl who maintained proper bearing at all times, he wiped the water from his hands and smiled, saying, “Miss Susu, you overstate it. I am but a death-row prisoner who has killed; yet in the old house of a mountain hunter, you were willing to drape a rain cape over me and serve me fish soup. I am deeply grateful.”

A trace of astonishment flashed in Shang Rong’s eyes. She remembered that when she had taken down the rain cape and covered him with it, he had still been unconscious.

But now he spoke with such certainty, as though the rain cape had indeed been given by her.

“They harmed your daughter first,” Shang Rong came back to herself. Though her wariness deepened, what she said was nonetheless sincere. “The authorities could not seek justice for Daozhang, yet you dared to embrace death and avenge your daughter. I admire you.”

She paused, then added, “The rain cape was left behind by a hunter in the mountains, the fish soup was brewed by Zhezhu, and as for me, it was merely a small effort. Daozhang need not keep it in mind.”

The sunlight grew brighter, shining so that the snow piled along the eaves dripped drop by drop, melting into water and falling. After finishing her chicken-soup rice, Shang Rong watched as Mengshi set the washed cloth doll out to dry in a sieve on the wooden rack. He then poured the simmered chicken soup into an earthen jar and said, “The chicken belongs to Madam Yu; I should send her a portion to taste.”

Shang Rong recalled last night’s dinner, perfect in color, aroma, and flavor. Her gaze rested on clusters of red upon the distant mountain wall— the most vivid color in the forest.

“What does the young lady wish to do?” Mengshi lifted his head and saw Shang Rong stand up.

Shang Rong did not know what it was called and simply pointed toward it.

“Firethorn,” Mengshi understood at once. Setting down the work in his hands, he hurriedly said, “Just sit. I’ll go.”

As he spoke, he strode out of the courtyard. Reaching the mountain wall in the forest, Shang Rong watched him lightly borrow momentum to leap upward, snapping off several clusters of bright firethorn with ease.

When Mengshi brought the firethorn before Shang Rong, she accepted it and softly said thank you, then asked, “You know martial arts?”

“A little, not much.”

Mengshi casually straightened his sleeves, brushing off leaves clinging to him. “I come from Baiyu Zichang Temple in Tingzhou. Since childhood, I also practiced some skills to strengthen the body. Otherwise, how could I have killed those three wolves of the Sun family?”

Shang Rong trimmed the firethorn’s branches and leaves with scissors. Hearing him mention Baiyu Zichang Temple, she could not help but ask, “Does your Baiyu Zichang Temple refine elixirs?”

“In times like these, how many Zhengyang Daoist temples do not refine elixirs?”

Mengshi peeled roasted peanuts and tossed them into his mouth. “Our temple is divided into the Four-Image Halls—Azure Dragon, Vermilion Bird, White Tiger, and Black Tortoise. I grew up in the Black Tortoise Hall. But my master is extremely lazy; he dislikes refining elixirs, so we disciples he teaches also do not care for that whole business of refining pills and cultivating immortality. Every fifteenth day, we just casually hand in a few, and that’s enough.”

“If you do not like such things, why not join the Jiuqing Sect?” This was Shang Rong’s first time seeing a Zhengyang Daoist who did not enjoy refining elixirs and cultivation.

“The imperial court honors the Zhengyang Sect as orthodox. Look at how destitute the Jiuqing Sect is now—what rice do they even have to eat?” Mengshi continued, “But the food at Baiyu Zichang Temple is delicious and plentiful. Tell me, how would we choose?”

“The Dao of this world changes endlessly according to each person. Some yearn for cultivating immortality and becoming divine, while others enter the Dao for only two words.”

“Which two words?” Shang Rong clipped off a leaf and looked up.

“Cultivating heart.”

The clear breeze stirred Mengshi’s beard; his eyes were bright and spirited. “Not seeking long life, not seeking immortality—only seeking that the Dao follows nature. To live well as a person: not to torment oneself, not to trouble oneself, not to abandon oneself.”

A crisp snip of the scissors sounded, and Shang Rong’s hands paused.

Perhaps seeing that she had not moved for a long while, Mengshi called out, “Miss Susu? What’s wrong?”

Shang Rong came back to herself and shook her head.

“It’s just the first time I’ve heard someone speak to me of the ‘Dao’ like this.”

The trimmed firethorn, inserted into a slender-necked celadon vase, looked exceedingly radiant. Mengshi placed the firethorn and the chicken soup into a basket. Amid the rustling sounds of the forest seemed to mingle some other faint noise. Mengshi had long known that someone was stationed in the woods, so he said to Shang Rong, “I will go to the village for a while. Miss, you need not be afraid. This place is extremely safe.”

Once Mengshi left, the courtyard fell silent.

Shang Rong sat outside only for a short while before returning indoors. Lifting the curtain, she walked to the bedside. A sheet of bright light from beyond the lattice window shone upon her pillow.

She stared at that beam of light, recalling the young man who had stood beside her bed at dawn.

Shang Rong silently turned her face away and looked out the window.

What had he gone to do?

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

On Dongting Street in Shuqing City, the ground was damp. A carriage rolled over the half-melted snow, stopping in front of a cosmetics shop.

“Seventeenth Protector, that is Qian Yunxiang.”

Jiang Ying watched as the woman in an embroidered silk dress, her high coiffure adorned with flowers, was helped down from the carriage, then said to the youth beside him, “In her early years, she was the most renowned courtesan of Shuqing City, famed far and wide for both beauty and talent. Later, she redeemed herself and opened a gambling house in the city, which she has run to this day.”

“At the height of her fame, even if she had savings in hand, how could the brothel madam have easily let her go? On the surface, she redeemed herself, but in truth, it was with Liu Xuanyi’s support that she completely left the world of pleasure.”

As the sect master of Tianfu Sect, Liu Xuanyi had for many years been at odds with Zhifeng Tower—seizing business, killing disciples. The hostility between the two sides had long become irreconcilable. Earlier this year, Zhifeng Tower dealt Tianfu Sect a crushing defeat.

But Liu Xuanyi escaped.

Only recently had Zhifeng Tower discovered his hidden relationship with Qian Yunxiang.

Zhezhu responded lightly, finishing the half piece of rice cake in his hand. He stuffed the remaining paper bag into Jiang Ying’s hands and strode swiftly across the street.

Jiang Ying hurried after him. The moment he stepped into the cosmetics shop, he caught sight of a sweep of Qian Yunxiang’s skirt and heard her footsteps ascending upstairs.

“Are the two young masters choosing cosmetics for someone?” The shopkeeper noticed the two male customers among the many female patrons and was not surprised—men often came to buy cosmetics for ladies.

“Choose a box for me.”

Jiang Ying had not yet spoken when he suddenly heard the youth say this.

He froze for a moment, but seeing the cold glance cast his way, he quickly nodded. “Yes.”

Jiang Ying was no stranger to having female companions; choosing such things was simple for him. He quickly selected a box. The shopkeeper saw it and smiled. “This one has been selling the best lately. Young master has a good eye.”

They had just stepped over the threshold and descended the steps when Jiang Ying saw Qian Yunxiang also come out of the shop, supported by a maid as she boarded the carriage.

“So the owner of this shop really is her lover.”

Jiang Ying could not help laughing softly. “If Liu Xuanyi finds out, I’m afraid he won’t be able to sit still.”

“Then find a way to let him know.”

Zhezhu casually stuffed the rouge box into his robe.

Before Jiang Ying could respond, a young man hurried over and whispered a few words in his ear. After listening, he said to the black-clad youth, “Protector, there really is an opportunity.”

“He just overheard that Qian Yunxiang and her lover plan to meet tonight.”

“Tonight?”

Zhezhu frowned slightly and looked at him. “If they are meeting, then they are meeting. Why must it wait until night?”

“…Uh,” Jiang Ying felt somewhat embarrassed. Only now did he suddenly remember that this Seventeenth Protector was still an unawakened sixteen-year-old youth. He could only say tactfully, “Some things… in the daytime… are not quite appropriate.”

Zhezhu cast him a strange sideways glance.

“Does Protector have other urgent matters?” Jiang Ying quickly changed the subject.

“Go back to eat.”

Zhezhu’s voice was cool and indifferent.

“….” Jiang Ying did not know what to say for a moment. He could only wipe the sweat from his forehead and order that the news be spread into the gambling house.

Liu Xuanyi was not at Qian Yunxiang’s residence, but such a large gambling house—how could Qian Yunxiang manage it properly by herself? There must certainly be Liu Xuanyi’s people inside.

As long as the news reached the gambling house, there was no fear Liu Xuanyi would not learn of it.

When night had completely fallen, the carriage that had stopped before the cosmetics shop in the daytime quietly drove into a deep, secluded alley and halted before a courtyard gate.

Zhezhu hid within the dense shadow atop a tree, watching coldly as Qian Yunxiang stepped down from the carriage. Two maidservants stood respectfully beside it; only she pushed the gate open and went inside alone.

Within the courtyard walls, the lamplight was dim. One could vaguely see a tall man come out from the room to meet her. The two embraced and clung to each other in the courtyard, speaking words unknown. Before long, they supported each other and went inside.

Moonlight shimmered. The coachman and the two maidservants were all knocked unconscious and stuffed into the carriage. Immediately after, several figures descended lightly into the courtyard.

Jiang Ying stepped onto the stairs, listened carefully to the sounds inside the room, then kicked the door open with one blow.

Zhezhu bit into a sugar pill and stepped over the threshold. Raising his eyes, he vaguely saw, behind the gauzy bed curtains, the lips of a man and a woman pressed together. Then a hand blocked his view.

A woman’s shrill scream rang out, and the man shouted in alarm, “Who are you people?!”

Zhezhu looked expressionlessly at Jiang Ying, who was blocking his sight.

“Protector, do not let such things sully your eyes.”

Jiang Ying quickly beckoned to his subordinates. Two immediately understood, stepped forward, and lifted the bed curtains. With swift movements, they wrapped the naked pair together in a quilt, then tore down the curtain to use as rope, binding them tight.

The lamp inside the room was blown out. The man and woman tied together on the bed did not dare make a single sound. Moonlight filtered through the window lattice, casting on the window the shadow of their entwined necks like mandarin ducks.

So very tender.

In such stillness, the faint sound of a tile shifting outside became clearer. Jiang Ying grew alert in an instant.

“Qian Yunxiang!”

A tall figure landed before the door. A deep voice thick with fury rang out. The double doors were smashed apart with a violent blow, dust rising everywhere.

Liu Xuanyi stepped in with a savage expression, treading over the shattered wooden doors—yet he saw that the two on the bed were bound together, their mouths stuffed with cloth.

His expression stiffened abruptly. Slowly turning his head, by the moonlight that had entered with him, he saw the youth seated on the grandmaster chair at the other side.

He immediately turned and leapt down the steps. Several Zhifeng Tower assassins hidden in the courtyard dropped with swords in hand. He drew the saber at his waist and met them with a darkened face.

Liu Xuanyi was, after all, the sect master of Tianfu Sect. He easily crushed several assassins and did not linger in battle, using force to leap onto the rooftop.

A figure flashed past. The flutter of robes brushed Liu Xuanyi’s cheek in the wind. His steps halted as he fixed his gaze on Jiang Ying, who blocked his path. But only for a moment—he sprang forward, raising his blade in a sweeping strike.

Caught off guard, Jiang Ying raised his sword to meet it. Yet Liu Xuanyi’s internal force was overbearing, his moves vicious. Jiang Ying’s knees were forced down hard to the roof tiles, which shattered beneath him.

Jiang Ying lifted his head. The blade had already slipped past his sword and was about to reach his throat.

At the critical moment, a silver leaf shot through the air like a meteor. Liu Xuanyi reacted with extreme speed, leaning back to evade. His blade shifted slightly off course, slicing open the front of the garment of a figure rushing in with the wind.

He stepped back two paces and clearly saw the face of the black-clad youth who had suddenly appeared on the rooftop.

“Seventeenth Protector…”

Jiang Ying’s knees throbbed with pain; he gritted his teeth and called out.

But Zhezhu paid no heed. Lowering his eyes, he looked at the shattered wooden box fallen upon the roof tiles, and the vermilion powder, red as cinnabar, that fell in fine grains from his robe.

With one finger, he lightly touched a trace of red, then raised his eyes—clear, and utterly without feeling.