“Come with me, leave here, alright?”

Shang Rong clearly heard what he said.

Yet she did not respond for a long time.

The sunlight dried away the morning mist; on the way back to Taoxi Village, Shang Rong kept her head lowered the whole time, saying nothing. The afterglow of the setting sun spread a dazzling layer of light across her eyelashes, so bright that she could hardly lift her eyes.

In the mountains and fields, wild pear trees were in full bloom, their branches laden with blossoms. The wind scattered fallen petals across the mountain path, where they were trampled beneath the horse’s hooves. Suddenly the horse stopped, and she came back to her senses, startled to find that the boy behind her had suddenly swung down from the horse.

“What’s wrong?”

Shang Rong finally spoke.

“It’s thirsty.”

The boy said calmly, then extended his arms toward her.

Shang Rong glanced at the horse, which had seized the chance to nibble at the roadside wild grass, and could only obediently wrap her arms around his neck, letting him lift her down from the horse.

At the end of the wild pear grove flowed a river shaped like a crescent moon. The thick, towering roots of a kapok tree twisted half into the water, while the other half was deeply embedded in the soil of the riverbank.

In the height of fragrant spring, the kapok blossoms covering the tree blazed a vivid red, forming a striking contrast with the white of the wild pear flowers.

The horse lowered its head by the riverbank, swishing its tail as it grazed on the lush water plants. Shang Rong sat on the curved trunk of the kapok tree that dipped into the water; though the current nearly soaked her feet, she did not mind. She silently watched the boy toss one pebble after another, each striking the water’s surface and drawing smooth, flowing lines across it.

She always stole glances at him, yet did not know how to speak to him.

“Come here, I’ll teach you to play.”

The boy caught her gaze precisely and crooked his finger at her.

Shang Rong’s embroidered shoes were completely soaked. As she ran toward him, droplets still dripped ceaselessly from the hem of her snow-white skirt. She stopped in front of him and looked at him.

The boy placed a small pebble—wet and translucent, picked from the shallow water by the river—into her hand, then held her hand and gently lifted it.

He stood just behind her. Shang Rong felt as though she had become a wooden puppet; the warmth of his fingertips was like threads tugging at her emotions. At this moment, her mind was completely blank, willing to move according to his brief words and his gestures.

A pebble flew from her hand, lightly tracing a long line across the water rippling under the glow of the sunset.

Shang Rong heard him laugh softly.

She could not help turning back to look at him.

His eyes curved as he smiled, clearer and more beautiful than the shimmering ripples on the water’s surface.

“Try it yourself.”

The boy seemed unconcerned that she had remained silent earlier on the riverside corridor in Shuqing City. In high spirits, he placed another pebble into her hand and lifted his chin toward her.

Shang Rong held the pebble, looked at him, and finally imitated what he had just taught her, cautiously extending her hand to throw it.

But the pebble sank the moment it touched the water.

A little disappointed, Shang Rong could not help looking at him again.

“Try another one.”

As he spoke, the boy opened his palm and handed her another pebble.

“I can’t.”

Shang Rong shook her head, unwilling to try again.

“How about a wager?” The boy slightly raised his brows. Grasping her wrist, he stuffed the pebble back into her palm once more. “I bet you’ll definitely succeed this time.”

“Zhezhu…”

Shang Rong had only just called his name when she saw him release her hand, fold his arms, and step aside, watching her with a smile in his eyes.

Pressing her lips together, her gaze fell once more upon the water’s surface. She raised her hand.

She did not know that at the instant the pebble left her hand, the boy beside her flicked a silver leaf from between his fingers with a surge of inner force, sending it flying with incredible speed.

The silver leaf moved so fast that Shang Rong could not see its shape at all. She only thought it was a flicker of mottled light from the treetops swaying faintly. It skimmed lightly along the water’s surface, pushing the pebble forward as it swiftly traced an extremely long streak.

Shang Rong’s eyes were full of astonishment. She turned her face at once to look at him.

“I won.”

Zhezhu stood calm and composed.

Shang Rong, however, could hardly believe it. She crouched down, picked up a pebble herself, and threw it again—while at the same time, the silver leaf between the boy’s fingers shot out once more, pressing against the pebble and drawing another long line across the water’s surface.

“I’m amazing.”

She lowered her head, staring at her own hands, her voice filled with wonder.

“Yes.”

Zhezhu nodded lightly.

It was only a child’s game, but when Shang Rong discovered that she could so easily make such beautiful skipping stones, she could not help trying several more times.

Her earlier distraction and the weight of her thoughts seemed, for the moment, to be washed away.

For Zhezhu, sending out the silver leaf again and again to push her pebbles farther—without letting her notice—required the expenditure of inner force. Techniques once used to kill were now silently used to amuse her.

Yet as rosy clouds burned across the sky, golden-red light interweaving over the river and forest, and bright red kapok blossoms drifted down one by one with the wind, he merely watched her in silence, willing to spend every last silver leaf he had.

“Since I won the wager, then you must agree to one thing.”

When the last silver leaf flew out, he suddenly spoke.

Hearing this, Shang Rong turned back.

“What is it?”

“You promised to copy two volumes of Daoist scriptures for me, but so far you’ve only copied one.” Zhezhu walked closer to her, half lowering his gaze as he glanced at the kapok petal resting in her dark hair. He reached out and gently plucked it away. “I believe you are someone who keeps your promises. You certainly won’t go back on the remaining volume. So, Shang Rong—correspondingly, I will definitely keep you safe.”

“Besides, you said it yourself,” He rolled the kapok petal between his fingers and said to her, “no matter where I go, you are willing to follow me.”

First the Daoist scriptures, then the words she had personally spoken before—almost the moment he opened his mouth, he blocked off all of Shang Rong’s countless excuses.

“I know.”

Shang Rong quickly turned her face away to avoid his gaze. After a long while, only the sound of wind and water remained by her ears. “I remember everything, but…”

“But what?”

Zhezhu tossed away the petal. His dark eyes looked at her with seriousness as he said, “Shang Rong, I have a place to hide you.”

The languid sunset dyed heaven and earth in a wash of orange gold. After feeding their fill by the riverbank, the horse returned to the mountain path, its hoofbeats sounding much lighter.

In Shang Rong’s hand was Zhezhu’s flexible sword. Three fish were threaded along its thin blade. For the sake of those three fish, he had even soaked his clothes.

Only then did it occur to her—

Zhezhu seemed not to have applied that herbal juice to the sword hilt for quite some time.

“What happened to you two?”

Mengshi had been in the courtyard, pondering what to make for dinner. Hearing the sound of hoofbeats drawing nearer through the woods, he went out of the courtyard to meet them—only to see that both the boy and the girl on horseback had clothes completely drenched.

“Sweet-and-sour fish.”

Zhezhu helped Shang Rong down from the horse, took the sword from her hand, and pointed it toward Mengshi.

“All three to be made into sweet-and-sour fish?”

Mengshi caught sight of the three fish skewered on the blade and could not help laughing.

These days, Mengshi often cooked. How could he not know that when Shang Rong ate fish, what she liked most was sweet-and-sour fish.

“The rest, however you like.”

After watching him remove the fish, Zhezhu pulled Shang Rong into the courtyard.

While Shang Rong went inside to change her clothes, and Mengshi was in the kitchen preparing the three fish, Zhezhu wiped down the blade of the sword and then stepped out of the courtyard, walking into the bamboo grove.

“Seventeenth Protector.”

As soon as Jiang Ying saw Zhezhu come alone, he emerged from behind the swaying bamboo branches.

The afterglow of the setting sun burned away, and the sky dimmed considerably.

“Since the Lingxiao Guard are using the methods of the jianghu to search for me, surely Zaoxiang Hall cannot be the only one that received the news,” Zhezhu coiled the cleaned flexible sword into the golden clasp at his waist. “Has any message come from the tower?”

“No,” Jiang Ying shook his head. “But Seventeenth Protector, if the tower also receives this news, I fear the Tower Master will immediately order you to return to Zhifeng Tower.”

This move by the Lingxiao Guard served two purposes: to find someone, and to probe.

The price they offered Zaoxiang Hall was extremely high; presumably, what they offered Zhifeng Tower would not be small either. If the Tower Master refused, it would instead arouse their suspicion.

But in that case, the Tower Master would certainly order the Seventeenth Protector to return and explain the cause and circumstances.

“What about that trafficker?” Zhezhu suddenly asked.

“At the latest, the day after tomorrow, we can bring him here.” Jiang Ying answered truthfully.

That trafficker was the one who had abducted Mengshi’s daughter. The men he had sent out had found him in Huaitong. According to the news received this morning, they still needed one more day’s journey to reach this place.

“Once he arrives the day after tomorrow,” Zhezhu’s face was hidden in a shifting patch of shadow, his voice cold and indifferent, “we set out for Shenxi Mountain in Yezhou.”

Even if the Lingxiao Guard might already know about what happened at Xingyun Mountain and in Rongzhou, it would not be so easy for them to follow those faint traces all the way to Shuqing.

But he truly had no choice but to take precautions in advance.

As for Xin Zhang…

He had remained in Shuqing precisely to uncover this person and eliminate the danger behind him, yet now, to protect Shang Rong, he was afraid he would not be able to wait until this person appeared in Shuqing.

“But the Tower Master…”

The words Jiang Ying had just begun to speak abruptly died away beneath the boy’s sparse, cold glance.

“Tonight,” The boy’s brows and eyes seemed steeped in snow; his tone was light, yet piercingly cold. “We will clean out Zaoxiang Hall completely.”

Deceptive words—he was accustomed to telling them to those who were about to die.

Whether they believed or not, he would kill them all the same.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

On a rare clear night, Shang Rong tossed and turned in her room, unable to sleep. She heard even the faint sound of the boy pushing the door open as he went out, yet she made no sound at all. Wrapped in her quilt, she lay with her eyes open in silence, waiting for drowsiness to completely envelop her.

After Zhezhu left, he did not return until the afternoon of the next day.

“The old scholar’s son is getting married today. He invited me, and asked me to bring you along as well,” Mengshi patiently urged Shang Rong on the corridor. “You’ve probably never seen such a scene before. Come with me and take a look?”

Unable to withstand Mengshi’s repeated persuasion and not wanting to disappoint him—Shang Rong felt too embarrassed to refuse again, so she pushed the door open and went inside to change her clothes.

The boy returned after staying up all night killing, almost drenched in blood. Mengshi heated water for him to bathe, and afterward he drifted into the room like a wandering spirit, fell onto the bed, and did not move at all.

Shang Rong sat before the mirror, fastening her mask in place. But when she saw her hair hanging loose, she could not help turning back to look at the boy on the couch.

She had just picked up the wooden comb when she heard his listless voice:

“You want to go?”

“Uncle Mengshi really wants me to go.” Shang Rong turned her head again and saw that he was still lying face-down on the soft pillow, his eyes not even open.

“You’re always like this,” His voice, heavy with sleep and a little hoarse, let out a soft hum. “Always caring so much about others.”

After having slept for barely an hour, he sat up and reluctantly opened his eyes. He did not even bother to put on the pair of black boots on the wooden footrest. Barefoot, he walked over to her and took the wooden comb from her hand.

In the smooth, clear bronze mirror was reflected the boy’s handsome face.

Shang Rong secretly stared at him.

Yawning as he combed her hair, the boy said, “You’re such trouble.”

His voice, wrapped in drowsiness, sounded a little muffled.

“I’m sorry.”

Shang Rong tilted her head up and apologized sincerely.

The spring sun of the afternoon was brilliant. Mountain flowers filled the window, trembling gently in the soft breeze. As the boy was gazed at like this by her, he suddenly turned his face aside—

“It’s alright.”