“Play?”

The white snow was stained, mottled with remnant red; this youth had just, with one hand, wrought a slaughter, yet now suddenly asked her whether she wanted to go play with him.

He even revealed a kind of innocence untouched by worldly affairs.

Shang Rong did not know how to answer him, yet felt much more curious about him in her heart. In the silent moment, the wind rustled through the mountain forest, and he, utterly bored, suddenly lifted his sword, leaned past the railing, and with a flick of the blade, a silvery-white cluster of ice and snow snapped and scattered onto her outstretched palm.

Her palm, scalded by the teapot, was terribly red; now the chill of the snow diluted the burning, stabbing pain filling her hand. The melting snow dripped drop by drop, flowing down along her fingertips.

Shang Rong raised her head to look at him.

Perhaps because of excessive blood loss, his complexion had grown even paler. Though the deepest wound on his arm had stopped bleeding, the many smaller wounds elsewhere had not yet been treated—only some hemostatic medicine had been applied, and it was unclear whether it would be effective.

“I’ll accompany you to find a physician.”

Even though she had first sought him out to die, he had saved her again and again—it was an act of kindness on his part. Shang Rong thought she ought to do this.

She helped Zhezhu stand up. Seeing him lean against the railing behind him to barely keep himself upright, his breathing somewhat heavy, one hand braced on the railing, the sinews and bones raised on the back of his hand appearing even more smooth and defined, she heard him say, “Go. In the cabinet to the right of the bamboo couch, find a set of clothes for me.”

Shang Rong nodded vaguely, let go of him, and when she turned around, she suddenly saw again the corpse at the doorway whose head she had smashed in. She stiffened for a moment, then lifted her skirt and hurried into the room, circling around it.

Zhezhu listened to the faint rustling sounds inside the room; he straightened his body and walked in.

The room was splashed everywhere with tea and winding streaks of blood, a complete mess. The girl had just shaken out the indigo robe taken from the cabinet, and the visible dust rising into the air made her frown and cough.

Her brows were both faint and dense, a light dusky shade like distant mountains shrouded in mist—not curved and slender like willow leaves, only slightly arched at the ends. Her eyes were rare phoenix eyes, narrow yet not small; the folds of her double eyelids were beautiful, the outer corners slightly upturned. In the bright morning light, great swathes of cold daylight poured in through the broken window lattice, and in that spread of light, her brows and eyes gained an added clarity untouched by dust.

She turned her face, coughing until her eyes were moist, and said to him, “Zhezhu, you’d better not wear this.”

“Mm?”

He waited for what she would say next.

“Who knows how many years it’s been sitting there, so much dust has gathered,” the more she spoke, the tighter her brows knit. She even emphasized to him, “It’s very dirty.”

“The one I’m wearing isn’t clean either.”

His steps were unsteady; fortunately Shang Rong quickly moved to support him. He lowered his head to look at her. “To avoid drawing attention, you and I will disguise ourselves as farmers and go down the mountain as soon as possible.”

“Alright.”

Shang Rong nodded. Lowering her head, she noticed the sash at his waist and, without thinking, reached out to hook it open. Only when she lifted her head again and met the youth’s slightly startled gaze did she realize how close he was—so close she could even see clearly the faint shadow cast by his dense eyelashes spreading over his eyelids.

The torn fabric on his arm was stuck to the wound. Shang Rong did not dare move rashly for a moment. Just as she was wondering how to remove his blood-soaked outer robe smoothly, she saw him suddenly tear off his sleeve himself. The next instant, the wound that had been stopped by medicinal powder began once again to pour out blood in thick streams.

Just looking at it made Shang Rong ache, but when she raised her head, she saw his face expressionless, though his handsome features had grown much paler.

“If it hurts, don’t endure it,” Shang Rong could not help but say.

“Whether I endure it or not, what meaning does it have?”

Fine beads of sweat appeared on the tip of the youth’s nose; hearing her words, he found them amusing.

“It does.” Shang Rong opened that bottle of hemostatic medicine again, took hold of his wrist—this time her hand no longer trembled—and carefully sprinkled the fine medicinal powder onto his wound.

The youth lowered his eyes and waited for her to finish applying the medicine, then was about to pull his hand free, but her tightening fingers held him even more firmly. She suddenly lowered her head, her jet-black long hair gleaming like silk in the light.

A gentle, cool breeze brushed over the savage wound on his arm.

Just like that, once, twice.

The youth’s eyelashes trembled, and he was so startled that he forgot to react.

“These clothes are dirty and rough. If your wound isn’t bandaged, it will be rubbed open by them again.” Shang Rong glanced at the indigo robe placed on the bamboo couch. She released his wrist, lifted her head, and looked at him as she spoke.

Zhezhu, however, half-narrowed his eyes and examined her.

He said nothing.

Shang Rong was about to speak again, when she saw his fair, slender fingers suddenly pinch the sleeve of her outer garment. Before she could react, there came a sharp “rip,” and in an instant a short strip of her sleeve was torn off.

“What are you doing?”

Shang Rong widened her eyes in astonishment. When she looked up, she found that piece of soft, lustrous snow-satin had already been wrapped around his wound, faintly stained with blood.

She touched her damaged sleeve, at a loss. It had been one of her favorite outfits, and now…

Zhezhu lifted his eyes and found she was not speaking, only pressing her lips together as she stared at him, looking not at all pleased.

“If you are a fugitive, the clothes you wore when you fled must be firmly remembered by others. Do you want to be found the moment you go down the mountain?” He picked up the robe from the bamboo couch and shook it as well. The dust floated in the morning light, each grain distinct. His brows and eyes were refined and sparse.

Shang Rong froze for a moment, then shook her head. “I don’t.”

All at once, she felt too embarrassed to be angry anymore.

“Then change clothes.”

Zhezhu had little desire to speak. After putting on the outer robe, he walked out with slightly unsteady steps.

Shang Rong watched him kick the corpse at the doorway outside. The indigo hem of his robe flickered past the threshold. She opened her mouth but had no time to say anything. Turning to look at the dust-covered clothes in the cabinet, she frowned in distress.

The wind in the mountains was sharp with cold, biting painfully at one’s ears.

Shang Rong did not know how long she had been supporting the injured youth as they walked. Her thin-soled embroidered shoes had already been worn through, and now soaked with snow, each step she took was cold to the point of numbness.

Aside from cabinets full of coarse old clothes, that house also had several pairs of women’s cloth shoes, but they were much too large. She could not walk properly in them, so she had no choice but to change back into her own.

The sun at the horizon grew rounder and more golden. They had finally made it down the mountain when Zhezhu suddenly collapsed without warning. Shang Rong tried to support him but failed, and the two of them fell together into the snow.

The commotion drew the attention of a white-haired old man passing along the mountain path with an ox cart. He craned his neck from not far away and called out, “Girl, what’s happened?”

“Uncle, please help us!” Shang Rong could not lift Zhezhu. Hearing him, she turned her head and cried out anxiously.

The ox cart swayed and jolted along the muddy mountain road piled with snow. Shang Rong had never ridden such a strange cart before. She sat stiffly and fearfully, gripping the side of the wooden plank, kneeling and not daring to move.

The big yellow ox’s tail swished back and forth. While she was distracted, it struck her arm with a slap. She jumped in fright and nearly fell off the cart.

“Miss, be careful.” The old man driving the cart turned his head back. Just now he had only looked at what the unconscious youth looked like and had not carefully examined the girl. But now, upon looking closely, he was truly startled.

This pair of young man and young woman—each one looked as though they had descended from immortals.

“Miss, are you and he siblings?”

Though he asked this, the old man thought to himself that their brows and eyes did not resemble each other at all.

Hearing his words, Shang Rong lowered her head to glance at the youth with his eyes tightly shut. She noticed the soft sword at his waist, half of the hilt and the blood-soaked tassel exposed from his belt, so she quickly tucked it further in. When she lifted her head and saw that the old man was not looking back at the moment, she let out a breath and softly replied, “Yes, Uncle.”

“I don’t know what illness your elder brother has come down with. The town isn’t too far from here. This old man will take you there at once—don’t delay his treatment.”

The old man, hearing her answer, did not grow too suspicious. He merely flicked the yellow ox with the short whip in his hand, and amid the rumbling sound of the cart wheels, he raised his voice slightly.

“Thank you, Uncle. We will pay you the cart fare,” Shang Rong thanked him, yet in her heart she was thinking about whether it was safe to send Zhezhu directly to a medical hall.

Perhaps there were still people hunting him down, and the Lingxiao Guards following the imperial procession must certainly still be searching for her whereabouts.

At this thought, Shang Rong’s worry deepened. She stared silently at the youth still unconscious, thinking over and over in her heart that no matter what, she must not be discovered by the Lingxiao Guards.

Absolutely not.

Perhaps those people on the mountain had died, and no one would come after him anymore. Even if there were, someone as capable as he surely could escape.

Otherwise, he would not have gone down the mountain.

Perhaps the one truly unsafe now was only herself?

Shang Rong struggled inwardly for a long time. The sound of the wind by her ears grew indistinct. She stared blankly at his face, lost in thought, yet in her mind there was a spreading haze of heat, petals red and white floating in a pool full of blood, and… the corpse of a woman, her hollow eyes wide open, dead and unable to close them.

Shang Rong’s hand clenched tightly at the corner of her skirt, trembling faintly. Before she had even come back to her senses, she had already spoken: “Stop!”

“Uncle, I…”

When the old man stopped the cart and turned back to look at her in confusion, Shang Rong placed two pearls she had pulled off her embroidered shoe into his hand. “I left something important behind. Please take my… elder brother to the medical hall in town first. I will find the thing and then go to town to look for him.”

“Eh, miss…”

Before the old man could finish speaking, he saw that the girl had already gotten off the cart.

He felt somewhat doubtful—what thing could be more important than her own brother’s life? But seeing that the youth on the cart was still unconscious, he dared not delay, fearing it would hinder treatment. So he said, “The Kangping Medical Hall in town is one I often go to. The physician there is very good. Go quickly and find your thing. There are many villages around here, and the sun is high now—many people will be heading to town for the market. You’ll surely run into another cart!”

“Alright, I will be quick.”

Shang Rong was absent-minded, nodding sluggishly. She did not even look much at the youth on the cart.

The creaking sound of the ox cart grew more distant. Shang Rong stared at the reddened palm of her right hand. She suddenly lifted her head—the long stretch of sunlight was blinding.

On the mountain path, yellowed under the sunlight, she gazed at the motionless figure lying still on the ox cart.

Shang Rong, don’t think anymore.

She said this to herself in her heart.

Nothing is more important than escape. If you return there, you will not even have the freedom to die.