His embrace was wet and cold, full of the smell of blood.

But Shang Rong forgot to mind the mask that must not get wet. In the bleak night of winter rain, her mind was in turmoil and hard to bear; she merely turned back and saw him, and for some reason, burrowed straight into his arms.

“Did Cen Zhao neglect you?”

The youth took quite a while before he found his voice again.

She shook her head, saying nothing.

“Was the dinner not good?” His voice was even clearer and more melodious than the rain.

Hearing this, Shang Rong lifted her head from his arms, suddenly meeting those pitch-black eyes of his. The winter rain struck the railing in urgent bursts, and gradually, her heartbeat grew just as chaotic as the falling raindrops.

She abruptly sat upright.

The lantern under the eaves swayed unsteadily. The two of them almost at the same time turned their eyes aside, no longer looking at each other.

“Are you hurt?”

Remembering the strong smell of blood on him, Shang Rong still turned her head to look at him.

In the dim yellow light, it was impossible to tell whether the youth’s dark black robes were stained with blood, but the face wet with rainwater was very pale, and even his lips had no color.

“Not my blood.”

The youth flicked his robe hem and sat down on the corridor bench, staring at her face. “At this moment Cen Zhao is already in the main courtyard seeing Tian Mingfang. Want to go take a look?”

Shang Rong nodded and stood up.

“Where did you put my box?”

The words that had been interrupted earlier by her sudden embrace—only now did he finally ask them aloud.

Inside that box were the masks he had prepared in advance; now only a few remained.

Tonight the rain was heavy. Zhezhu’s mask had long become unusable. He concealed himself with a muli hat; after handing Tian Mingfang over to the Cen residence steward at the gate, he came to find her to retrieve the box.

When the two of them finished tidying up and arrived in the hall, Cen Zhao was inside comforting the young woman dressed in plain clothes and a simple skirt, her appearance delicate and refined: “Miss Mingfang, no matter what, the fact that you are still alive is already a blessing.”

“But Xian-lang, he…”

The woman lowered her brows. A section of the back of her neck was exposed, and it was covered in dark bruises.

“This case has been moved to be heard in court the day after tomorrow. To bring Qian Xiyuan to justice, miss, you are the best witness,” Cen Zhao said.

“Testify…”

Tian Mingfang reacted slowly for a moment, silently rolling the two words in her mouth. After a while, she raised her head to look at Cen Zhao. “Then wouldn’t it mean that what I suffered—being humiliated by others, my chastity completely lost—will also become known to everyone?”

Cen Zhao was taken aback. He examined Tian Mingfang’s pale and gaunt face, saw the blood scabs covering her neck, and the crease between his brows deepened slightly. With a slow sigh, he said, “I know you have suffered greatly, and I understand your difficulties. If you are unwilling, I will absolutely not force you. As for Zhang Xian’s matter, I will seek another way.”

Cen Zhao called for a maidservant to help the absent-minded Tian Mingfang to a side room to rest.

Shang Rong turned her head, watching Tian Mingfang walk unsteadily, like a puppet on strings, being supported by the maidservant as she left the room.

Seeing the young man and young woman enter, Cen Zhao had a maid serve them tea, then said to the youth, “Thanks to you, young master, I have now truly confirmed that the one who killed Zhang Xian really was that Qian Xiyuan.”

That day at the poetry gathering, Qian Xiyuan had been among those present.

Qian Xiyuan was a juren, and his family wealth in Shuqing was especially abundant. He was closest to the two men who had tried to forcibly lease the bamboo grove courtyard that day; their friendship was extremely good.

“What a pity, she is unwilling to testify.”

At this moment the youth had already changed into a clean, light cyan robe. He held the teacup without drinking, and a trace of disbelief surfaced between his brows.

Clearly, when he found Tian Mingfang in the secret chamber of the Qian residence, upon first hearing that Zhang Xian was dead, she had cried as though her heart and intestines were breaking.

“Young master appears still quite young,”

Cen Zhao looked over the youth’s dim and flawed face. “You still do not understand this world—what a woman’s reputation truly means. Even if they have done nothing wrong, they must still face endless pointing fingers, endless prejudice. Since ancient times, countless women have been trapped to death by the word ‘chastity.’”

Shang Rong and Zhezhu shared one umbrella, led by a maidservant toward the pavilion where they were temporarily staying. Passing through the moon gate, the rain dripped and pattered, washing over large stretches of glossy green branches and leaves.

Within the dense curtain of rain, Shang Rong studied those trembling branches by the lantern light. Her nose was filled with the damp fragrance of grass and trees. In her heart she thought of Tian Mingfang whom she had just seen in the hall, and in her ears lingered Cen Zhao’s words.

She lifted her head to look at the youth beside her. “Zhezhu, can we still save Daoist Mengshi?”

According to what Mister Qing Shan had said, the day after tomorrow would be the final hearing deadline. Presumably the people in the prison would certainly make Daoist Mengshi and Madam Yu and her husband suffer every torment before that day arrived.

“If this path through Tian Mingfang does not work, then we will change paths,” the youth held the umbrella, facing the slanting rain blown in from beyond its edge. His tone was calm. “Cen Zhao is not an ordinary man either. He will have a way.”

A whole night of wind and rain, dark and oppressive; the clamor against the windows would not cease.

Zhezhu did not stay in the pavilion. Shang Rong drifted between dreams and wakefulness through the night, sleeping uneasily. When she rose in the morning, she saw the faint bluish shadows beneath her eyes in the mirror, but concealed by the thin mask, they faded considerably.

She pushed the door open and stepped outside. White mist swirled inside and outside the railings. Within it, she saw the figure of a woman sitting on a soft stool, motionless.

It was Tian Mingfang.

So she was staying in the room next door.

Tian Mingfang had long heard the movement, but it took her quite a while before she turned her head. Those hollow eyes fixed on Shang Rong, unmoving for a long time.

Once again Shang Rong saw the wounds lining her neck.

“You… have you seen him?”

Tian Mingfang suddenly spoke, her voice unusually hoarse.

Shang Rong first paused in surprise, then thought that when Zhezhu rescued her last night, he must have told her something to ease her wariness.

“Not exactly seen him.”

Shang Rong walked closer to her and thought for a moment before saying, “When I saw him, he was already in the pool in that courtyard, wrapped in oilcloth. I did not see clearly.”

“The pool…”

Tian Mingfang murmured the two words. Those eyes, already swollen red from crying, silently filled with tears again. “He must have been very cold.”

“Miss Mingfang.”

After hesitating a moment, Shang Rong crouched down in front of her, the hem of her skirt lightly brushing the ground. Looking up at Tian Mingfang’s face, she took out her handkerchief from her sleeve and carefully wiped her tears. “Don’t cry anymore.”

Tian Mingfang was dazed for a moment. Looking at the young girl crouching before her, the gentle wiping on her face made her somewhat absent-minded. “Don’t dirty your handkerchief.”

“They’re only your tears,” Shang Rong shook her head. “Not dirty at all.”

The surge of tears in Tian Mingfang’s eyes only grew more violent. She avoided Shang Rong’s hand. “You don’t understand, you don’t understand…”

“I clearly know he died because of me,” those lifeless eyes of hers stared into the dense fog beyond the railing, “but because I am afraid people will know my chastity is gone, I dare not go to court to testify for him. I know I shouldn’t be like this, but I am truly afraid.”

“But what exactly is chastity? Why must everyone be afraid of it?”

Shang Rong could not understand.

Tian Mingfang’s gaze fell again upon her face. “Because people’s tongues are the most terrifying thing in the world. My mother was a widow—clearly she had done nothing at all, yet people always watched her every word and action, picking at her faults, scrutinizing her virtue.”

“Now that I have become like this, if people find out, whether I live or die, I will have to bear their rumors and slander. I cannot endure it, truly…”

Tian Mingfang clutched tightly at the front of her clothes. She seemed already to have imagined those eyes examining her, and those filthy words spoken about her.

“But Miss Mingfang,” Shang Rong looked at her quietly for a moment and said, “this is not your fault.”

Tian Mingfang’s eyes were filled with tears. At this moment she could not clearly see the girl before her, but upon hearing such a sentence from her, she took a long while to react, then choked softly, “Whether it is my fault or not—does anyone care?”

The sound of maidservants’ footsteps ascending the stairs was clear. Before long, half their figures appeared. They first bowed to Shang Rong, then helped the absent-minded Tian Mingfang back to her room.

Behind them, the old physician who followed with trembling steps also entered, carrying his medicine chest.

When Shang Rong had been crouching she had not noticed, but now when she tried to stand, her calves were terribly numb. Just as she reached to grab the red-lacquered railing, a hand suddenly extended before her.

The youth’s sleeve flowed like a cloud. She lifted her head and saw his face.

One of his hands held a bundle of oil-paper packets against his chest, and he still had a piece of candied fruit in his mouth. His eyes looked as though they had been washed by the morning mist—moist and bright.

Shang Rong took his hand and endured the discomfort as she stood up.

“What were you doing last night?”

Inside the room, the youth propped his chin with one hand, staring at the fatigue beneath her eyes that had not been completely concealed.

“You were very far from me. I couldn’t sleep.”

Shang Rong ate the steaming rice cake and spoke softly.

In the Cen residence, the courtyards for male and female guests were to the south and north, truly not close at all.

But in such a strange place, she simply was not used to being alone. Moreover, Mengshi was still in prison—how could she sleep well?

She lowered her head and did not look at him, completely unaware that because of her words, the youth’s expression paused slightly. He held half a rice cake in his hand, his beautiful eyes watching her for a moment.

He bit into the rice cake. His thick eyelashes flickered once, and he responded lightly, “Oh.”

“Zhezhu.”

Shang Rong was still thinking about what Tian Mingfang had said to her. Slowly eating the rice cake, she asked him, “Is chastity really that important to a woman?”

Zhezhu had a hundred and a thousand ways to kill people, but he had never understood these things about chastity or not. How could he give her a proper answer?

He did not reply to her, but casually picked a steamed bun from the oil-paper bag on the table and handed it to her, stuffing the remaining half of the rice cake into his own mouth.

Shang Rong took the bun and lifted her head. She truly could not understand the things Tian Mingfang had said, so she asked him in confusion, “I live in the same room as you and eat three meals together with you—is that also wrong?”

The dull-colored mask could not conceal the youth’s naturally refined and clean brows and eyes. The damp mist behind him thickened and thinned from moment to moment.

His voice was clear and cool, calm and composed:

“What others think is right or wrong is not important. What matters is what you yourself think in your heart.”

“I don’t think it’s wrong.” Shang Rong said seriously.

Hearing this, the youth lightly lifted his eyelids to look at her. “Then eat properly.”