Zaoxiang Hall specializes in making gilded statues of gods and Buddhas for Daoist temples and monasteries. In Shuqing City, it is considered fairly well-known. Perhaps because it had never taken part in the killings Tianfu Sect carried out across the jianghu, and because its business was confined to this one Shuqing City — not large, yet not exactly small either — even the bait scattered outside by Zhifeng Tower happened to miss this place.

If Zhezhu had not followed the faint imprint on that letter to find Xingnan Pharmacy, he would truly have thought that everyone from Tianfu Sect was already dead.

No wonder Liu Xuanyi had fled all the way to Shuqing.

Nightfall enveloped the city walls on all sides. In Huailiu Alley, lanterns hung in varying shades of red, casting a hazy, ambiguous glow that illuminated the perfumed figures and coiffed hair before Yuying Tower’s entrance, where laughter and chatter never ceased.

“Uncle Mengshi has been inside for a long time already.”

Shang Rong rested both hands on the vermilion railing and said.

“He insisted on meddling in my business himself.” Zhezhu also leaned on the railing with both hands, his chin resting on the back of them, a preserved fruit held between his teeth.

Mengshi was afraid Zhezhu would truly bring Shang Rong into Yuying Tower. As soon as dusk fell, he rushed into the building ahead of them without even eating dinner. Judging by his manner, he was determined to find the master of Zaoxiang Hall for Zhezhu no matter what.

“His leg injury still hasn’t healed.”

Shang Rong was somewhat worried — if Mengshi encountered any danger inside, what then?

Early spring brought frequent rain. Before long, the eaves were dripping damply. Amid the dense patter of rainfall, Zhezhu heard her say this and turned his face toward her. “My injury hasn’t healed either.”

Moist vapor brushed lightly over the boy’s fair face; his eyes were black and glistening.

“I know.”

Shang Rong even remembered how many times his wound had split open again these past days while saving Mengshi, how much blood he had lost. She couldn’t help staring at his arm. “There’s no more wound medicine left either. When we went to the pharmacy today, we should have bought some.”

But clearly, both of them had forgotten.

Zhezhu’s thick eyelashes lifted slightly as he looked very seriously at her annoyed expression. After a moment, the curve of the “lying silkworm” beneath his eyes deepened, and a small mole appeared vivid and pretty.

“Daozhang Mengshi will buy it,” he said indifferently.

Mentioning Mengshi again, the two of them coincidentally looked down past the railing once more. In the lamplight, the night rain appeared as distinct fine threads. Inside the wide-open doorway, a woman, slender and graceful, supported a richly dressed man who was drunk beyond reason as they walked out. A servant at the side raised an umbrella to help the man into his sedan chair, but unexpectedly the man wrapped an arm around the woman’s slender waist, reluctant to part, lifting her chin and kissing her without care.

“Tsk, the girls of Yuying Tower really are beautiful. Brother, look — they still can’t bear to separate down there…” At a nearby late-night dining table, people occasionally glanced at the alley below. One young man, seeing this scene, felt an itch in his heart.

“Alas, my luck’s been bad lately. Otherwise why would I be eating a late-night meal here? I’d have gone to that building for a spring night already! This wine with supper, how can it compare to the flower wine across the way!” The man at his table let out a long sigh as well.

“Exactly. The one at home can’t compare to the girls here — fair-skinned and beautiful. I think…”

Their idle chatter grew increasingly explicit.

They had no idea that behind a carved wooden screen just one partition away, a young boy and girl heard every single word they said.

Shang Rong’s eyes widened slightly as she watched the woman below, soft as though boneless, clinging to the man, smiling brightly as he held her face and kissed her, then following him into the sedan chair.

As the curtain of the sedan fell, Shang Rong and the boy beside her almost turned around at the same time, leaning against the railing. The lantern light under the eaves flickered before their eyes, the sound of rain filled their ears in rapid pattering. They met each other’s gaze without reason, then almost simultaneously turned their faces aside. The mist drifting toward them was clearly damp and cold, yet it made their ears burn.

A young waiter brought a plate of roasted goose to the two men, and they finally stopped talking, turning instead to discuss whether the roasted goose tasted good.

Shang Rong had once admired a painting together with Xue Danshuang — Misty Rain of Yujing. The painting seemed to encompass nearly all the bustle and prosperity of Yujing City, and Xue Danshuang had pointed out each place to her one by one.

“This is a flower house, a place men go,” Xue Danshuang’s voice seemed to echo again by her ear, “Princess, the men who have been to flower houses are filthy. They treat the girls there as toys for amusement, how could they possibly respect their own wives?”

Fireworks grounds, wind-and-moon venues.

So this was the flower house Xue Danshuang had spoken of.

“Zhezhu, you can’t go.”

Shang Rong gripped the skirt over her knees, her palms slick with sweat. She did not look at the boy sitting beside her at all.

“Mm?”

Zhezhu came back to himself. The raindrops falling in full streams from the eaves shimmered in his pupils like ripples on a lake. The tea in his hand had long gone cold, yet he still took a sip. Lowering his lashes, he said, “Oh.”

It was not the first time he had seen such a scene below. When Qian Yunxiang secretly met someone in the small courtyard, he had vaguely seen those two with their mouths pressed together, though he did not know what they were doing — later, Jiang Ying blocked his view.

But tonight the rain fell in torrents, and she was by his side.

For some reason, the boy who had once been able to remain expressionless now felt his thoughts churning. He curled his fingers, and for a long time forgot to set down the empty teacup.

A late-night meal was brought to their table. The two sat together, yet for a long while, neither spoke.

The two behind the screen had already left. The biting chill of early spring blew against Shang Rong’s back, and she could not help sneezing. Zhezhu lifted his eyes, saw the tip of her nose reddened, and silently removed his cloak, draping it around her shoulders.

“Turn around.”

His voice was clear and pleasant.

Shang Rong stiffly turned toward him, letting him tie the cloak’s ribbons for her. The boy’s presence was so close, carrying a faint fragrance of tea leaves. She still could not help but raise her head to look at him.

His eyes, his face — always so clean, like bamboo branches burdened with winter snow, proud and beautiful.

With their breaths brushing so near, she wondered whether both of them, without speaking, thought of the man and woman below — just as close like this — and then…

Zhezhu lowered his eyelids halfway, yet his gaze inadvertently fell upon her lips.

He remembered the soft touch when he had fed her the plum.

Suddenly, Shang Rong grabbed his hand. The dull-colored mask covered her burning face, and only her moist, bewildered eyes stared at him.

Their fingers met — the chill of their skin touching — yet it felt as though seared by flame. He released the cloak’s ribbons, and at the same moment, she let go of his hand.

When Mengshi came out from Yuying Tower, his body was filled with the scent of powder and wine. After sitting upstairs, he first drank a bowl of hot tea to warm himself, then said to the boy, “I asked around inside — the master of Zaoxiang Hall is not in the building now.”

“Not here?”

Zhezhu’s gaze, which had been fixed on the brazier, finally shifted to Mengshi.

“I heard he left Shuqing City last night,” Mengshi picked up his chopsticks, carefully chose a piece of crispy roasted pork, and only after taking a bite did he continue, “As for where he went, I couldn’t ask further. This matter — young master, you’ll have to question his subordinates yourself.”

“If you’d really gone today, it would’ve been a wasted trip anyway…” Mengshi raised his head as he spoke, but his voice stopped abruptly. His gaze moved back and forth between the boy and girl opposite him. He felt something odd between them, so he said, “You two… what’s going on?”

Shang Rong said nothing, lowering her head to eat meat.

Zhezhu also said nothing, his half-lowered lashes casting a faint, indifferent shadow beneath his eyes.

By the time they returned to the inn, it was already midnight. Outside the window facing the street, the rain had grown heavier. The room, with its lamps extinguished, lay in dim darkness. Shang Rong could not hear even the slightest sound from the boy. She secretly looked down past the edge of the bed. The pitch-black darkness prevented her from seeing his figure at all, but she knew —

He was right here.

Very, very close.

As the night deepened, her boiling thoughts were gradually wrapped and drawn along by the sound of rain, slowly winding into dreams — unaware that outside her dreams, the boy slipped out the door without a sound.

“Seventeenth Protector.”

In the pitch-dark room, someone spoke in an extremely low voice.

Unhurried, the boy lit a lamp with a fire striker. The lamplight revealed the newcomer’s travel-worn, unkempt appearance.

It was Jiang Ying.

“So soon there are leads on Daoist Miaoshan’s matter?”

Zhezhu looked at him.

“Not yet. For now, this subordinate only knows that Miaoshan is a Daoist of the Jiuqing Sect, apprenticed to Tianji Mountain. Twenty years ago, relying on his Tianji techniques, he was indeed extremely renowned in the jianghu. But sixteen years ago, he suddenly vanished without a trace.”

Jiang Ying answered respectfully.

Tianji Mountain.

In the cold, damp rainy night, occasional lightning flashed, illuminating the boy’s thin robes. That cold light and shadow fell across his face; his expression was indifferent, not revealing the slightest ripple.

“This subordinate hurried back because news came from Zhifeng Tower. It concerns Princess Mingyue. I believed the information should be reported to you first.”

Jiang Ying did not dare study him further and continued.

At the sudden mention of the words “Princess Mingyue,” the boy’s expression indeed stirred slightly.

“Speak.”

“The Tower Master has already confirmed that the one who colluded with the Eleventh Protector to assassinate Princess Mingyue was Xue Nongyu, son of Marquis Xinling, Xue Chong. Xue Nongyu has an elder sister, Xue Danshuang, who was once executed by imperial decree for poisoning Princess Mingyue. Xue Nongyu and his elder sister share the same mother, they are twins. He harbors hatred in his heart and knew Zhifeng Tower would never interfere in imperial affairs, so he sought out jianghu connections himself and used the Eleventh Protector as a stepping stone for the assassination in Nanzhou.”

The name Xue Danshuang, this was not the first time Zhezhu had heard it. The elder sister Shang Rong spoke of, the one who treated her so well — how could she bear the crime of poisoning her?

The hidden truth behind this was likely known best by Shang Rong herself.

“The Tower Master has already revealed this information to the court?”

Standing by the lamp, Zhezhu asked casually.

“Yes. He Xingjin, a Qianhu of the Lingxiao Guard, is still searching for Princess Mingyue’s whereabouts. The Tower Master passed the information to him. I fear the Xue family will soon be wiped out entirely.”

As Jiang Ying spoke, he suddenly lowered his head, cupped his hands again, and said, “Seventeenth Protector, anyone who becomes entangled with Princess Mingyue will not meet a good end. The Tower Master has repeatedly warned everyone in the Tower not to involve themselves in this matter again. Protector, if it is discovered by the court or by the Tower Master that Princess Mingyue is by your side, how will you conduct yourself then?”

“Seventeenth Protector…”

Seeing the boy’s cold eyes glance toward him, Jiang Ying forced down the chill running along his spine and dropped to one knee.

“You are a Protector of Zhifeng Tower. You have been in the Tower three years — this subordinate has followed you three years. Because of you, this subordinate did not return to the Blood Pool nor lose my life in the Yellow Springs. Therefore, I cannot stand by and watch you be delayed by love, especially when she is Princess Mingyue!”

“Seventeenth Protector, liking her will not lead to any result! And even if it does, it will be an evil result!”

Previously, Jiang Ying had thought the boy must have some calculation in mind, so whether rouge or anything else, it was merely a method used by the boy to coax that Princess Mingyue.

But tonight, he had seen it downstairs.

The Seventeenth Protector draped clothing over her shoulders, picked dishes for her, and was always watching her.

Jiang Ying had also once had a few confidantes among women, but he never dared let it last long. As an assassin, if he became entangled in love, then in the end, what would kill him would surely be love.

Just like the dead Eleventh Protector.

He could not watch this boy, still in the haze of innocence, unknowingly walk into the abyss of mire for the sake of one person.

The sound of rain fell chaotically against the window like strings of broken beads. The boy in frost-white robes stood quietly before the lamp. After a long while, he belatedly lifted his eyelids slightly.

His voice seemed wrapped in rain mist — light, and bewildered:

“Like?”