Raindrops lightly fell onto the boy’s flushed red earlobes, a bead of water so clear and icy cool winding downward, silently slipping along the pale side of his neck and disappearing into his collar.

Shang Rong’s fingertip lightly touched the warmth of his wrist bone, the full glow of the warm yellow candlelight revealing the slanting strands of rain drifting into the room. He half lowered his eyes to meet her gaze—just for an instant, and she hurriedly let go.

A muffled rumble of thunder stirred, shadows on the window gauze flickering between dimness and brightness. She hastily avoided the boy’s eyes, yet suddenly heard him say, “Seems like… it’s enough too.”

What?

Before Shang Rong could understand, she was pulled to her feet by the hand he extended.

“Zhe Zhu…”

Just the single word “want” slipping out, and her heart became more chaotic than the wind and rain filling her ears. Her cheeks burned hot, and at a loss, she called his name softly, secretly lifting her eyes: “Your face…”

Red.

The boy’s knuckles curled again like a mimosa folding in on itself. He lay down on the bed on his own, lifted the brocade quilt and covered himself, then turned to face away from her. “I’m sleepy.”

“But your hair…”

Shang Rong was still worried that his hair was damp. If he slept like that, what if he had a headache tomorrow?

“Shang Rong.”

The boy turned with great quickness and caught her hand. Just the touch of his knuckles against hers made his eyelashes tremble involuntarily. He looked at her. “Sleep.”

Shang Rong watched him sit up with his back to her and dry his hair himself, so she had no choice but to listen. She turned, walked around the screen, and returned behind the curtain, lying down on her own bed.

The night rain was noisy. The boy could no longer hear any movement from her. He wiped his hair carelessly and lay down. His hair was damp and slightly cold, yet it just happened to ease the heat in his ears.

The candlelight’s shadow swayed upon the screen until it dimmed and waned. He did not know how long he stared in silence.

She said she wanted.

Did that count as… she liked him too?

On this night of pouring spring rain, the boy clutched the quilt, tossing and turning.

Shang Rong would occasionally hear faint rustling sounds, but wrapped in the noise of the rain, they were unclear. The falling rain sounded like scattered beads, as if spilling across her pillow. At some unknown moment the candle flame burned out. Her eyelids gradually drooped closed. Even in her dreams everything was damp and misty. She was once again sitting on that withered tree, the boy beside her with robes crimson like flowing sunset clouds.

She did not know when, half dreaming and half awake, a finger poked her cheek again. With great difficulty she half opened her eyes; his figure was somewhat blurred and indistinct.

“Shang Rong.”

Yet his voice seemed forever so clear and brimming with vitality.

“Will you go to Shuqing City with me?” He said.

“Mhm…”

She had not yet reacted to what he said, only giving him an answer.

She had slept late last night. Even when the boy wiped her face with a damp cloth, she still could not quite wake up. Her whole body remained groggy. When she stuck on the mask before the mirror, she nodded off and bumped straight into his arms.

Her nose filled with the faint fragrance from his body. Shang Rong barely opened her eyes, lifted her head, and met his gaze. Only then did she realize and sit up straight.

Morning light spread slowly. A cluster of mountain flowers on the table had been drenched by last night’s rain, several petals fallen in scattered pieces. Just as usual, he crooked a finger toward her, and she knew to hand him the dark eyebrow brush.

“What are we going to do?”

Only when Shang Rong rode with him on the same horse onto the small stone bridge did she remember to ask him.

“Someone invited me to a meal,” Zhe Zhu said unhurriedly, “I want to bring you along.”

“Who?”

Shang Rong tilted her head up, looking at his jaw.

“The Hall Master of Zaoxiang Hall.”

“He’s back?” A trace of surprise appeared on Shang Rong’s face. “But why would he invite you to a meal?”

“Naturally, to save his life.”

The smile in Zhe Zhu’s eyes faded quite a bit.

The meal the Hall Master of Zaoxiang Hall had arranged was at noon. After Shang Rong and Zhe Zhu arrived in the city, they first watched a new opera at Jiuyuan Tower, then slowly made their way to Haiyun Pavilion.

The Hall Master of Zaoxiang Hall had already been waiting upstairs for quite some time. He sat restlessly, from time to time wiping his hands and forehead with a handkerchief. At the sound of the door opening, he lifted his head and looked closely.

Outside the door stood a pair of a young man and a young woman. Perhaps the contrast in their complexions was somewhat striking—at a single glance, the Hall Master froze.

“Young Master.”

This was the first time he had truly seen this boy.

Thinking of the people and money Zaoxiang Hall had lost over the past month or so, fear filled his heart. He hurriedly stood to greet them.

“The Hall Master is indeed generous.”

Zhe Zhu glanced at the table full of steaming delicacies.

“Since I am hosting Young Master, I naturally dare not be negligent.”

The Hall Master of Zaoxiang lowered his head.

Shang Rong and Zhe Zhu took their seats at the table, but the Hall Master still stood at the side, not daring to sit easily.

“Why not sit?”

Zhe Zhu rested his chin on one hand and raised a brow.

“Yes, yes.” The Hall Master wiped the sweat from his forehead and carefully sat down.

His build was rather tall, his features somewhat fierce, and his eyes sharp and calculating. But Shang Rong saw that at this moment he was like a sick snake, its vital point seized, trembling, his entire body filled with fear.

“Young Master also knows, although Zaoxiang Hall was once in the hands of Tianfu Sect, now that the Sect Master is dead, I absolutely would not dare to seek revenge against Zhifeng Tower.” The Hall Master of Zaoxiang lifted a cup of wine. Seeing the boy raise his hand, he was about to offer a toast, but then saw him pick up his chopsticks and place a piece of shrimp into the small bowl of the girl beside him.

The Hall Master of Zaoxiang was momentarily embarrassed. He could only withdraw his hand awkwardly, take a sip of wine himself, then continue, “From now on, Zaoxiang Hall and Tianfu Sect will have no connection whatsoever. I ask that Young Master show mercy.”

“With just a few words, you want to preserve the lives of your entire family?”

Zhe Zhu held the wine cup, smiling yet not smiling.

“This humble one understands what Young Master wishes to know,” the Hall Master of Zaoxiang Hall had already seen from his subordinates that letter crumpled into a paper ball. “That letter did indeed pass through my hands, but I do not know who the ‘Xin Zhang’ signed on it truly is. Only because the reward he promised was extremely generous—after I reported this matter to the Sect Master at the time, it was the Sect Master who had been in contact with him all along.”

Zaoxiang Hall only stayed in Shuqing, doing business crafting statues of gods and Buddhas, but all the hidden industries under Tianfu Sect ultimately served Zaoxiang Hall. On the surface it was a marketplace trade; in secret, it was Jianghu business.

Tianfu Sect Master Liu Xuanyi had accumulated wealth precisely by trading in information.

“This humble one only knows that the letter came from Tingzhou,” he said, carefully watching the boy. “And the night before the Sect Master died at your hands, he once mentioned that Xin Zhang was coming to Shuqing. I fear that by now, he is already on the road.”

From Tingzhou to Shuqing was a journey of three full months.

Zhe Zhu half lowered his eyelids, deep in thought.

“There is one more matter, which may be exchanged for the lives of myself and my family.” The Hall Master of Zaoxiang truly could not read the boy’s expression. The fear in his heart was unbearable, and he no longer concealed anything, taking a letter from his robes.

Shang Rong saw him carefully push the letter over. She only glanced at the forceful strokes pressing through the paper, then saw the boy beside her set down his wine cup and pick up the thin sheet of paper.

“The one described in this letter—about sixteen or seventeen years old, with a silver snake sword at the waist, once traveling from the direction of Nanzhou toward Rongzhou—should be Young Master you.”

As the Hall Master of Zaoxiang spoke, he carefully observed the boy’s expression again.

“So this is why you went to Rongzhou.”

Zhe Zhu slightly raised his eyes and looked at him coldly.

“Young Master, before, this humble one did not know the immensity of heaven and earth and rashly accepted this business, but now this humble one does not dare to have even the slightest thought.” The Hall Master of Zaoxiang hurriedly stood.

Zhe Zhu casually tossed the letter onto the table. He keenly sensed something. “Tell me, who was it that paid you to buy information on my whereabouts?”

“It was a young man, around twenty or so,” the Hall Master of Zaoxiang carefully recalled the man’s appearance. “He did not seem like someone of the Jianghu, rather like…”

“Like what?”

“Like someone who eats the government’s rice.”

The Hall Master of Zaoxiang answered truthfully.

He had traded in information for many years. His eyes had long been sharpened—whether someone was of the Jianghu or not could be seen from their conduct and bearing.

That day the young man carried a kind of arrogance. Whether sitting or standing, his posture was disciplined, as if trained. At a glance, he was clearly not like an ordinary Jianghu person.

Shang Rong had been undoing the nine-linked rings Zhe Zhu bought for her. Hearing the Hall Master of Zaoxiang’s words, her hand trembled. Careless for a moment, the sharp edge of a jade piece cut her fingertip.

Zhe Zhu heard the crisp sound of the nine jade rings colliding. Turning his face, he saw beads of blood welling one after another from her fingertip.

He frowned slightly, seized her wrist, pulled her handkerchief from her sleeve, and wrapped it around her finger. Then he turned his face and happened to meet the Hall Master of Zaoxiang staring at Shang Rong as well.

Under the boy’s thin, cold gaze, the Hall Master of Zaoxiang broke into a cold sweat and dared not look again.

“The Hall Master must be guessing something in his heart.”

There was not the slightest trace of a smile in Zhe Zhu’s eyes.

The Hall Master of Zaoxiang only felt that even the boy’s voice was wrapped in bone-piercing chill. He hurriedly shook his head. “No, this humble one would not dare.”

“The meal has been eaten, and the words have been said,”

Zhe Zhu took Shang Rong’s hand and stood. “Then we shall take our leave first.”

“Young Master…”

The Hall Master of Zaoxiang watched the two of them walk to the door of the room. He hesitated before speaking.

But after only calling out once, he was interrupted by the boy.

“Rest assured.”

Zhe Zhu did not turn back. His pitch-black eyes were cold and heavy, his tone light and drifting, yet full of meaning.

The door opened. The Hall Master of Zaoxiang watched them leave. He stood in the room for a long time. With the slightest movement, his legs went weak and he collapsed to the ground, his back already soaked with cold sweat.

The spring sun was brilliant, yet it felt cold upon Shang Rong. There were many voices all around, but she had no mind to hear them.

On the short waterside corridor, Zhe Zhu pressed her shoulders and had her sit on the corridor bench, applying the medicine he bought to the long, thin cut on her finger.

It was as if her soul had only just returned. She paid no attention at all to the wound on her hand, tightly grasping his hand. “Zhe Zhu, it must be them…”

It was the Lingxiao Guard.

They must have discovered something in Rongzhou. Perhaps it was what happened on Xingyun Mountain, perhaps also the prison break in Rongzhou City.

“Let go.”

Zhe Zhu’s voice was slightly cold, his gaze fixed on the beads of blood emerging again from her fingertip.

Shang Rong subconsciously loosened her grip.

“Why are you crying?”

Seeing her eyes quickly redden, he reached out and lightly brushed her eyelashes. Watching her blink involuntarily, he reminded her again, “You’re still wearing a mask.”

Shang Rong knew she could not get the mask wet. But as she looked at him, the shimmering ripples of water beneath the railing swayed, reflected upon the side of his face. Her eyes still could not help but grow moist.

“Zhe Zhu, I don’t want to implicate you.”

She reached out, tightly grasping the hem of his robe, shaking her head lightly. “I’m afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“Afraid that you—”

She tried very hard to restrain the sourness at the tip of her nose. “Afraid that because of me, they’ll discover you.”

She had heard of them before, the Lingxiao Guard were the emperor’s eyes and ears. They were always ruthless in their actions, people even palace maids dared not speak of to her.

She had once thought hat the world was vast, far beyond those four palace walls. Perhaps they would not find her.

But, but…

The boy had just opened his mouth to speak when she suddenly threw herself into his arms, like a snail that had lost its shell, able only to desperately hide in his embrace.

At this moment, his heart pounded like thunder.

Beat after beat, wave after wave. Yet he lowered his eyes, looking at the crown of her dark hair.

She was so close—he did not know whether she heard it.

“Shang Rong.”

The motion of his hand patting her back was no longer so stiff. His dark, thick eyelashes lowered slightly as he said to her:

“Come with me. Leave here. All right?”