The chill of the winter night drowned out all the sounds of insects and birds. Melted wax trailed down along the carved wooden lotus petals, dripping silently onto the back of the youth’s hand.

There was sensation, yet no pain.

Leaning against the back of the chair, he lightly raised his hand, his gaze drifting from the congealed wax marks, almost absentmindedly, toward the bones of his wrist.

“Zhezhu, have you ever committed suicide?”

For no reason at all, her voice echoed by his ear.

The youth half lowered his eyelids. By the softly flowing canal, he bent down; the hem of his snow-white robe spread over the ground. He casually stirred the ripples, washing away the wax stains on the back of his hand.

Yet the droplets of water falling one by one from between his fingers, for an instant, became in his mind a cinnabar-like deep crimson. The dull sound of a blade viciously cutting through flesh—muted, yet piercing his eardrums with pain.

“After I die, you need not keep me in your thoughts, nor ask the cause of my death.” That hoarse voice came, mixed with extremely weak, labored breathing:

“Zhezhu, if you are to live, then live quietly. If you can go a lifetime without being found, that will be your greatest fortune.”

The rushing sound of water gradually weakened. He returned to his senses from his daze. The ripples reflected before his eyes shimmered faintly—no longer the overwhelming red of memory.

The night wind brushed his sleeves. In the stillness filling the entire courtyard, he turned his head and glanced at the door on the wooden steps. The window gauze was pitch black within; the person inside had long since fallen asleep.

Zhezhu had already slept a long time during the day, and now he had not the slightest trace of sleepiness. Lying back in the chair again, he silently stared at the sparse stars scattered across the dense black night sky. Yet in his mind was her, beneath the dim yellow lamplight, her fingers inch by inch touching the old scars on his wrist.

So light, a little ticklish. He thought.

The night passed without a sound. By the next morning, cold mist shrouded the entire bamboo grove. Within the vast whiteness, faint hints of green showed through. The not-so-bright daylight reflected against the window, and Shang Rong was awakened by the sound of Yu Niangzi knocking on the door.

“Miss, Young Master, are you awake?”

Yu Niangzi’s tone carried quite a bit of helpless awkwardness.

“Yu Niangzi, please wait a moment.”

Shang Rong rose while clutching the quilt, first answering her, then hurriedly putting on her clothes and shoes. Only after lifting the curtain and walking around the screen did she see the youth sitting at the bedside with his outer robe draped over him, lazily yawning.

She had only just finished washing up when he, with those eyes half open as though soaked in misty water, beckoned to her: “Come here.”

He quickly helped her affix the mask. Only then did Shang Rong open the door and go out, where she saw that besides Yu Niangzi, there were also two middle-aged men dressed in luxurious brocade, fairly refined in bearing.

“Miss.” The moment Yu Niangzi saw them come out, she hurriedly lifted her skirt and stepped up to greet them.

“Yu Niangzi, who are these people?”

Shang Rong was caught off guard at the sight of two unfamiliar faces and asked Yu Niangzi.

“Miss, these two have come from Shuqing City, and they once lived in this mountain residence before,” Yu Niangzi looked embarrassed, lowering her voice somewhat. “This morning they came to tell me they wish to rent this courtyard again. I told them someone is already living here, but they insisted that I bring them to ask whether the two of you would be willing to give it up.”

Yu Niangzi herself found it strange. In past winters, there had never been such good business. She did not know why those two honored guests insisted on renting at such a time.

One of them stood up; the jade pendant at his waist clinked as it swayed. His eyes swept over Shang Rong. Having long moved among painted faces and powdered beauties, he best understood that true beauty lies in the bones, not the skin. At a glance he saw her exceptionally fine bone structure—yet regrettably, her complexion was sallow, her brows unruly; her flaws concealed her virtues.

His gaze was far too blatant. Shang Rong frowned lightly, feeling uncomfortable. She turned her head, only to see Zhezhu walking slowly, as if his movement were impaired. Knowing he was maintaining the lie about his injured leg, she stepped forward to support him.

Zhezhu first glanced at her, one hand bracing against the doorframe. Then, expressionless, he faced the red-robed man’s gaze resting upon Shang Rong.

The man was merely glanced at by this seemingly frail youth, yet for no reason at all, a trace of fear rose in his heart. Still, he put on a smile and said gently, “This young master, my surname is Hu, from Shuqing. If you are willing to give up this place, I am willing to pay you double the amount you spent to rent it.”

“Double?”

The youth’s bloodless lips curved faintly.

“Do you even know what price that is? Could it be you’re still unwilling?” The other man was impatient; upon hearing just that one sentence from the youth, he stood up. “If not for Old Mister Cen’s fondness for this place, how could a brat like you have picked up such a bargain?”

“Brother Jiezhi.”

The man surnamed Hu shook his head toward him, then turned back to the youth and said, “Young master, Old Mister Cen is renowned in Shuqing for unmatched poetry and prose. Only by holding a poetry gathering here can I invite him. Might the young master grant us this convenience?”

“No.”

Zhezhu uttered the word plainly. The faint bluish weariness beneath his eyelids made his expression look languid. Turning around, he took Shang Rong’s hand and went inside.

Watching the door close, the middle-aged man called “Jiezhi” immediately looked toward Yu Niangzi on the wooden steps. “How can this brat be so rude? Yu Niangzi, we offered you more money and you still refused—do you even know how to do business?”

“My sincerest apologies, but this is not something I can decide alone. I must wait until my husband returns…” Yu Niangzi truly did not know how to deal with this man and could only lower her head and offer excuses.

Inside the room, Shang Rong heard Yu Niangzi’s words. She said softly, “Zhezhu, if Yu Niangzi really agrees to them, we’ll have to leave here.”

“Then we’ll go to Shuqing City.”

Zhezhu did not seem to mind at all.

Outside, it suddenly fell quiet. Before long, Shang Rong heard Yu Niangzi’s voice again: “Miss, Young Master, Mister Mengshi is still at the village school. My own young child is learning to read and write under him. Moreover, the young master’s leg is injured, and travel would be difficult now. Please stay here at ease, I will go prepare the meal.”

As soon as she finished speaking, Shang Rong heard her footsteps descending the wooden steps.

Zhezhu pushed the door open just a crack. Watching Yu Niangzi enter the kitchen, he turned his face to Shang Rong. “I’m going out for a while.”

Before Shang Rong could say anything, he had already opened the door and stepped out. With a light push, he leapt forward, his figure graceful as it vanished into the thick mist of the forest.

The stone path in the woods was damp. The two middle-aged men who had just been rebuffed in the courtyard were walking along it.

“Brother Hu, the poetry gathering can’t be delayed. We still need to think of a way to drive them away. That brat looks like he won’t budge—just fake aloofness. Did you see that little girl? She doesn’t even wear a married woman’s bun, likely living under the same roof before marriage…”

The slightly plump man spoke as he walked. “And with that kind of looks, he actually fancies her? I wonder if he has to put out the lamp at night just to dare kiss her. A mountain cat and a wild dog, yet they make a pair!”

“Brother Jiezhi, I observed that young lady’s bone structure is good,” the man surnamed Hu shook his head in rebuttal. Thinking again of that face, he could not help but sigh. “I have never seen such fine bone structure. It’s just a pity that this outer appearance was born wrongly. If she had snow-white skin and arched brows without flaw, she would surpass even the top courtesans of Shuqing City by far…”

As he spoke, a trace of fascination even entered his thoughts. Yet before he could dwell further, something struck the backs of his and his companion’s necks. The two lost consciousness at the same time; their bodies tilted, tumbling from the stone path into the mountain gully below.

Mengshi returned from Tao Xi Village and had just entered the bamboo forest when, from afar, he saw through the damp mist the thinly clothed youth standing by the stone path, eyes lowered, as if looking at something.

“Young Master Zhezhu?”

Mengshi quickly walked forward. Following the youth’s line of sight downward, he saw two unfamiliar faces lying in the muddy gully below, unconscious.

“I heard at the school that two people came to ask Yu Niangzi about renting the courtyard we now live in. It must be them?” Mengshi immediately guessed their identities. He raised his head to look at the youth beside him. “Young Master, what happened?”

“Daozhang, do you know what is buried beneath the wooden planks beside the water channel in our courtyard?”

The youth’s voice was calm, yet deeply suggestive.

“What?” Mengshi’s face showed shock.

The youth slightly lifted his chin. “Perhaps… they know.”

Mengshi looked down again at the two men below. “Young Master means… they came at this time not to rent the courtyard, but for something hidden inside it?”

“And then why did you…” Mengshi trailed off.

Though the stone path was slippery, it was not to the extent that one would fall down in broad daylight.

“They don’t speak very well.” The damp, cold mountain wind made the youth’s sleeves flap sharply. His brows and eyes were severe, his pale face expressionless. He sighed with regret, “If not for still having a play left to watch, I would really want to cut off their tongues.”

Don’t speak very well?

Then their words must have offended someone. But whom did they offend—this youth, or… Susu?

Mengshi guessed it was probably the latter.

“Young Master Zhezhu, the wind is strong here. You should go back first. Leave this matter to me, I know what to do.” After only a brief thought, Mengshi said this to him.

He did not linger. Finding a rugged wild path, he carefully made his way down. The two men lay in the ditch filled with filthy water and mud, their faces and bodies covered in abrasions.

Mengshi reached out and felt their bones, discovering that one had a broken leg and the other a broken arm.

How could that be enough?

He immediately grabbed their arms and, using all his strength, bent them viciously. With a crisp crack of bone, the two cried out in pain and jolted awake.

“How could the two of you be so careless?”

Mengshi pretended as though he had only just touched their arms, his face grave. “Your injuries are severe. Don’t move, I’ll go call someone at once.”

“Thank you, thank you!”

The two gasped in pain. Hearing this, they hurriedly expressed their gratitude.

When Zhezhu returned to the courtyard, Yu Niangzi was still busy in the kitchen. He silently walked up the steps, pushed open the door, and entered the room.

Shang Rong had just poured the cold tea into the inkstone, preparing to grind the ink. Hearing the sound of the door opening, followed by soft footsteps, she rose and lifted the curtain—only to see the youth’s slender figure reflected faintly through the gauze screen.

Caught off guard, the narrow sash of the robe he casually threw over the screen—still stained with mud—struck her forehead. Her steps halted. Touching her forehead, she vaguely glimpsed his back and immediately turned away.

“You…”

Shang Rong pressed her lips together, somewhat at a loss. “What did you go to do?”

“Kill someone.”

He answered lazily.

Hearing this, Shang Rong instinctively wanted to turn her head, but suddenly stiffened. With the screen between them, they stood back to back. “Zhezhu, killing people at will will bring trouble.”

“They’re not dead.”

As he changed into clean clothes, he spoke.

“Then… are we not leaving?”

Hearing his footsteps, Shang Rong knew he had finished changing. She turned, walked around the screen, and stood in front of him, looking at him as she spoke.

“Why should we leave?”

The youth rubbed his eyes sleepily. His thin eyelids were slightly red. Lowering his gaze to look at her, he said, “I’m very sleepy. Let me sleep first, then I’ll tell you something interesting.”

Just as Shang Rong was about to say something more, suddenly his hand fell onto the top of her head and lightly patted it.

She froze for an instant.

She even forgot what she had meant to say, only staring blankly as he turned around like a sleepwalker walking stiffly to his bed, lifting the quilt and lying down, closing his eyes.