The spring rain was damp, pouring into the ears in a continuous drench.

Inside the room, a single lamp flickered, illuminating the strange expression on the young boy’s face. Jiang Ying did not know how long he had waited before he finally heard his voice:

“If you dare to reveal this matter to the Tower Lord,” the boy’s jet-black eyes were faint and merciless, “Jiang Ying, I will definitely kill you.”

Jiang Ying merely received that single glance from him and felt a chill pierce to the bone. He had followed at this boy’s side for three years, and before this, no person and no matter had ever stirred even the slightest trace of pity in him.

A boy who could not feel pain—ruthless to others, and even more ruthless to himself.

Jiang Ying had never doubted this boy’s coldness and cruelty.

Even the Eleventh Protector had once worked with him, and he could still kill him without the slightest hesitation.

“The Seventeenth Protector has shown Jiang Ying immense kindness. The matters entrusted by Protector, Jiang Ying absolutely would not dare disobey Protector’s will,” Jiang Ying lowered his head, cupped his hands and said, “Jiang Ying only cannot bear to see you, Protector, sink deeper and deeper into the mire… Protector, even if the Tower Lord treats you with great tolerance, you will ultimately have to return to Zhifeng Tower.”

“Didn’t you once tell me that having three or two red-faced confidantes is the greatest blessing in the mortal world?”

The boy paid no mind to the wax dripping onto the back of his hand. He slowly walked in front of Jiang Ying and looked down at him. “I don’t want three or two. One is enough.”

Jiang Ying raised his head. “Seventeenth Protector, but she is the Mingyue Princess.”

“I know,” the boy said carelessly, looking at him with strange scrutiny. “So what? I’m happy to keep her with me.”

“Will you also take her with you when you return to Zhifeng Tower?”

Jiang Ying only felt cold sweat running down his forehead, yet he did not dare casually raise a hand to wipe it away.

Hearing this, the boy lowered his eyes slightly, as if thinking seriously for a moment, then gently shook his head and said, “Zhifeng Tower is not good. I don’t even like that place. She certainly wouldn’t like it either.”

“You don’t need to worry about it,” he frowned slightly with impatience, “I have a place to hide her.”

Jiang Ying was momentarily speechless. He knew that this was probably the difference between having three or two red-faced confidantes and having only one. If one had three or two, one would not easily hand over one’s true heart for any single person among them.

But this boy was different. He wanted only one, so this heart of his—just newly awakened to love, pure and fervent—would certainly be given earnestly to a single person.

“And what about her?”

Jiang Ying asked again. “Seventeenth Protector, you like her, but does she like you?”

“You want to keep her hidden at your side forever, do you know whether she is willing? A princess who has lived in silks and delicacies since childhood—would she be willing to accompany you through storms of blood and slaughter, willing to marry you, to become your wife?”

Marry you, become your wife.

For some reason, the boy rolled these latter words over and over, his thick and slender eyelashes trembling slightly.

“Jiang Ying,” his voice remained calm, “I have a lot of money.”

Whether cosmetics and clothes, gold and jade ornaments, anything to eat or to play with—he could afford them all.

“Keep a close watch on those two people at Xingnan Pharmacy. The matter that Shuqing Zaoxiang Hall is an industry of Tianfu Sect, you may also send word back to the Lord. As for the rest, you had better not say a single word.”

The boy’s expression was cold and severe. The invisible pressure in his words forced cold sweat to bead across Jiang Ying’s back. He swallowed, sighed inwardly, and in the end did not dare persuade him further, only saying, “No matter what, please believe, Protector, that in this lifetime, Jiang Ying will never betray you.”

The night rain grew heavier, disturbing the mind.

The boy stood in the cold, deserted corridor. Outside the half-open window, he caught a palmful of damp rainwater. A lone lamp illuminated his frost-and-snow-colored sleeves, and on his long, pale fingers were droplets of water, crystal clear and translucent.

Before him was the wet, frigid wind. He lowered his eyes slightly. The crisp sound of cold rain striking the eaves continued without pause. He listened silently for a while, then stared again at his damp palm.

His entire body was nearly chilled through. Like a gust of wind, he slipped soundlessly into a room. Without caring that his sleeves were soaked by the rain, he lay down on the floor bedding.

It was the depth of night. The room was so dark that he could not see the girl on the bed at all, yet he still stared.

“Seventeenth Protector, you like her, but does she like you?”

Unbidden, that voice sounded again by his ear.

“Is she willing to marry you, to become your wife?”

Wife.

What is a wife?

It was not as though he had never seen married couples in the world. If he thought carefully, he seemed to have killed married couples before.

If you like someone, must you become husband and wife?

His mind had not been this chaotic for many years, like a tangled mass of threads that could not be sorted no matter what. He tossed and turned beneath the covers, and at some unknown time, only from sheer exhaustion did he finally close his eyes.

It had rained the entire night, and even by dawn it had not stopped. Because of it, the morning light was much dimmer. Shang Rong woke from sleep and first looked at the boy beneath the bed.

The quilt that should have covered him had already become a crumpled heap pressed beneath his shoulders and back. The cold light shone upon his sleeping face, his eyelashes dark and beautiful.

Shang Rong lay against the edge of the bed. For some reason, she stared at him for a long while.

She had even thought back to when she was in the Yujing Imperial Palace. She had seen several of her imperial uncle’s princes, and at palace banquets, many ministers had also brought their families.

Of all the people she had seen, not one was as good-looking as him.

Shang Rong rose with the lightest movement. Only after putting on her shoes did she crouch beside him. She had not even had time to tug at his quilt when she saw him suddenly open his eyes.

Sleepiness that had not fully faded still lingered between the boy’s brows and eyes. Caught off guard, he met her gaze.

“Zhezhu.”

In the slightly bluish-gray light, her cheeks were pale and clear.

“What is it?”

He rubbed his eyes, his voice somewhat hoarse.

“Go sleep on the bed.”

Seeing that his thin eyelids had been rubbed faintly red, Shang Rong grabbed his wrist and told him.

The warmth of her fingers touching him made him lower his eyes slightly to stare at her hand. Perhaps because he was still drowsy, or perhaps for some other reason—he did not know anyway—he softly said “Oh,” and then obediently got up and lay down on the bed.

The spring rain continued without end beyond the eaves. The boy’s thoughts also seemed soaked through by the rain, damp and heavy. His cheek pressed against the soft pillow, silently listening to the sound of the girl changing clothes and washing up.

Drowsy, on the verge of sleep.

“Are we leaving today?”

He suddenly heard her voice again, so his lowered eyelids lifted halfway.

“Not leaving.” He replied lazily.

After a moment, he added, “When I wake up—if the rain stops—we’ll go out and have some fun.”

Hearing this, Shang Rong turned her head back, only to see that the boy on the bed had already closed his eyes. She pressed her lips together, went to fetch the box, and applied her mask herself.

Outside the inn, rain and mist blurred everything. Shang Rong and Mengshi sat together eating breakfast. The soup dumplings were small, and the hot broth inside was scalding. Mengshi burned his mouth and reminded her, “Susu, be careful, it’s hot.”

“Mm.”

Shang Rong responded, gently biting open the thin wrapper. The hot broth flowed out—fragrant and rich.

“Susu,” Mengshi asked as he ate, “what exactly happened between you two last night? You barely spoke to each other. Did you have a quarrel?”

He was still thinking about the strangeness between them the previous night.

“…No,”

Some things she had deliberately tried to ignore began drifting through her mind again. Shang Rong suddenly became extremely unnatural. She stammered, “Uncle Mengshi, there’s nothing between Zhezhu and me.”

“Nothing?”

Mengshi looked at her and smiled. “That’s good, then.”

After all, it was a matter between the two of them. Mengshi felt it was not appropriate to press further.

After breakfast, Mengshi took an umbrella and went out to buy wound medicine for Zhezhu, while Shang Rong silently recited scriptures in her own room. Outside the window, the fog was thick. When it rained, one could not tell how the light of the sky changed.

Shang Rong set down her brush and stared at the xuan paper where the ink had not yet dried.

Has Zhezhu woken up?

She could not help thinking.

Rising and stepping out, Shang Rong had just reached Zhezhu’s door when Mengshi, who had just finished changing Zhezhu’s wound dressing inside, opened it. Seeing her, he smiled and said, “Susu, how about we have lunch brought up and eat together?”

“Alright.”

Shang Rong withdrew her hand and nodded.

Mengshi went downstairs. As soon as Shang Rong entered, she saw the boy sitting at the edge of the bed, leaning against the bedpost, yawning listlessly.

He accurately recognized her footsteps and lifted his eyes to look at her.

Shang Rong walked closer and examined him carefully.

“What are you looking at?” he asked.

“Zhezhu, I’ve thought it through,” Shang Rong sat down beside him. “You’re still injured. You can’t keep sleeping on the floor. I can’t let you keep sleeping like that with me just because I’m afraid. You didn’t sleep well last night either.”

“I didn’t sleep well last night not because of that.” he said.

“Then because of what?”

Shang Rong looked at him and saw the faint trace of weariness beneath his eyelids.

“In any case,” Zhezhu turned his gaze aside, no longer looking at her, “it’s not what you think.”

“But these past two days you haven’t slept well,” Shang Rong reached out to grab his sleeve. She smelled the faint bitterness of medicine on him. “Zhezhu, I can sleep by myself.”

“And you’re not afraid that in the dead of night, someone might abduct you while I know nothing about it?”

Zhezhu raised his brows and said deliberately.

Hearing this, Shang Rong seemed to imagine those scenes along with his words. Her brows indeed knit slightly, and she pressed her lips together. “But…”

Zhezhu’s features were refined and distant, his tone calm. “This rain probably won’t stop today. Since what I need to do cannot be done for the moment, tomorrow we will return to Taoxi Village.”

Rain battered against the window in restless waves. For a moment, the room fell silent.

“Shang Rong.”

Shang Rong sat beside him quietly listening to the rain when she suddenly heard him call her name. She lifted her head and once more looked at the boy’s pale profile.

His eyelids half-lowered, his clear eyes fixed on her. “If I want to, I can hide you for a very long time. What about you? Are you willing to follow me, no matter where we go?”

“You’re leaving Shuqing?”

Shang Rong did not understand and asked him.

“Perhaps.” Zhezhu said lightly.

“It’s all the same to me wherever I go now,” Shang Rong lowered her eyes and spoke earnestly. “Zhezhu, you know I have nowhere to go. I will only follow you.”

She had not forgotten that she still had to recite the Daoist scriptures for him. Wherever the future led, for now, she truly had to remain by his side and keep her promise.

The boy heard her clearly say, “I will only follow you,” and for quite a long while, he did not speak.

Yet the fingers within his sleeve curled tight, then loosened.

He stared silently at her profile.

The dull yellow mask covered her original complexion. The brows she had drawn herself were even uglier than the ones he had drawn for her.

She truly could neither arrange her hair nor draw her brows.

Yet as he looked at her at this moment, his eyes curved slightly.

Forget it.

If he likes her, then he likes her.