Chu'he thanked Doctor Wu, then turned to Fang Songhe, "Shall we go up the mountain to find them?"
Fang Songhe nodded.
As the three were about to leave, Painter Gao reached out, "Hey, what about me?"
Chu'he glanced back, "Go stay at my residence for a while. Just tell the gatekeeper I sent you!"
"Really letting me stay at your place?" Painter Gao watched their retreating figures, crossing his arms smugly. "I heard Miss Chu has peculiar tastes—especially for men who live off women. Could it be she’s taken a liking to me?"
Doctor Wu rolled his eyes, "A toad lusting after a swan’s flesh."
The mountain grew colder as they ascended. Though the sun hadn’t set yet, a biting chill crept in.
Li Furong gripped a walking stick, carefully making her way up the path. When she was younger, Li Huaijin’s health hadn’t been so poor, and she’d once followed him into these mountains to play.
But that single trip had nearly ended in disaster—she’d gotten lost, wandering from day into night before Li Huaijin finally found her.
Since then, she’d never set foot on this mountain again.
This time, she’d come prepared, wearing thick layers. Yet her pampered body was already exhausted after just a few steps. Gazing at the seemingly endless trail, a thought crossed her mind: Maybe I should just turn back.
But then she remembered Li Huaijin lying sick in bed. Gritting her teeth, she pressed on.
That old man had said sincerity moved the heavens. She was his savior, after all—he wouldn’t dare lie to her!
If he had… she’d skin him alive when she got back!
Li Furong recalled the old man’s description of the Tideflower—pure white from stem to petals. Yet after her grueling climb to the summit, she’d spotted plenty of red and yellow blooms, but not a single white one.
As night fell, the air turned sharper. The cries of nocturnal creatures echoed, lending an eerie atmosphere.
Just as fear threatened to overwhelm her, Li Furong looked up and saw it—a small white flower perched on the cliff’s edge. Her eyes lit up. Dropping her stick, she rushed forward.
Deep in the woods, a fire flickered.
Sang Duo sat on a rock, massaging her sore legs and grumbling, "The Young Master would never obediently return to Miaojiang. Next time he sees me, he’ll probably kill me. Why is my life so hard?"
Beside her, Cang Yan sat silently, a wild chicken skewered on the stick in his hands. His empty gaze and blank expression made him the perfect tool.
Sang Duo leaned against his shoulder, idly toying with his belt as she lamented, "Now I’m stuck hiding in this wilderness, living like a vagrant. How pitiful."
But soon, her spirits lifted. "Still, this is perfect for growing herbs. Frostblooms thrive in wind and cold—they must’ve bloomed by now. Tomorrow, I’ll gather them to brew new poisons!"
Suddenly, a woman’s scream pierced the air.
Cang Yan’s eyes snapped open.
Sang Duo felt a hand steady her waist, sitting her upright—then, in the next instant, the space beside her was empty. Her puppet was gone!
Li Furong had just plucked the white flower when her foot slipped. With a shriek, she plummeted, only to strike a protruding branch mid-fall. Darkness swallowed her consciousness.
A shadowy figure darted forth, catching the falling girl just in time. As they landed smoothly, a jingling sound approached.
Sang Duo arrived, panting and furious. She jabbed a finger at Cang Yan, who held the unconscious beauty, and stormed closer. "You! At fourteen, you peeked under my skirt, and even as a puppet, you’re still a lecher!"
She stamped her foot. "I’ll kill you!"
Cang Yan extended his hand, offering the roasted chicken. Its aroma wafted between them.
Sang Duo’s nose twitched. Her anger wavered. "Fine. After I eat, then we’ll settle this."
One of Cang Yan’s finest traits as a puppet was his culinary skill—even the simplest ingredients became delicacies in his hands.
Just as Sang Duo reached for the chicken, a shocked voice rang out.
"Miss!" A burly man carrying firewood gaped at the scene: Li Furong unconscious in a stranger’s arms, with the infamous Miaojiang woman nearby. His face darkened with suspicion.
Dropping the firewood, he drew a hatchet and charged. "Let her go!"
The roasted chicken was knocked to the ground.
Sang Duo wailed, "My dinner!"
Cang Yan shoved Li Furong into Sang Duo’s arms. Drawing his sheathed Miao blade, he blocked the wild swings of the hatchet before kicking the man square in the chest, sending him sprawling.
Blue spirit moths glowed faintly as they spiraled up the mountain path, their light weaving a starry trail that delighted the girl who loved them most.
Chu'he clung to Ninth’s back, reaching out to touch one of the moths. It quivered, then alighted on her fingertip.
She laughed. "Ninth, look! It likes me!"
Ninth glanced up, voice soft. "Fun?"
"Very!"
"There’s more."
At some unseen command, the moths clustered together, forming the shape of a girl with a ribbon in her hair.
Chu'he gasped. "Wow!"
More moths joined, assembling into a ponytailed boy.
Chu'he clapped. "Wow!"
Ninth’s eyes crinkled with quiet pride.
The two glowing figures leaned closer… until their lips met.
Chu'he covered her eyes. "Wow!"
Though feigning shyness, she peeked through her fingers, unable to resist the blush-inducing sight.
Fang Songhe trailed behind, his teeth inexplicably on edge.
Nearby, a few green fireflies cowered in the bushes.
The blue moths chased them out, bullying the fireflies until they vanished entirely before lazily returning.
This had been the fireflies’ domain, but the invasive moths cared little for such things.
Perhaps the saying held truth: Pets mirrored their masters.
Fang Songhe watched the affectionate pair ahead and felt a surge of relief.
At least Chu'he and Ninth were mutual in their affections.
A simple moth display, and Chu'he’s exaggerated amazement fed the young man’s vanity.
Ninth murmured, "They can do other tricks too."
Chu'he rested her chin on his shoulder, eager. "Show me!"
He nuzzled her cheek, chuckling.
Under the night sky, the moths reshaped once more—this time into a long-haired woman, her face half-turned, lips parted as if to speak.
Ninth said, "That’s Widow Li."
Chu'he blinked, bewildered.
The swarm of dark insects swirled and gradually coalesced into the figure of a swordsman, majestic and extraordinary, wielding a long blade—his demeanor striking, vaguely familiar.
Chu'he couldn’t help but glance back at Fang Songhe.
Ninth whispered again, "That’s the Dashing Swordsman. He knocked on Widow Li’s door at midnight, and then… mmm!"
Chu'he clamped a hand over Ninth’s mouth.
Fang Songhe frowned. "What swordsman are you talking about?"
"Nothing!" Chu'he quickly waved her hand, dispersing the insect-formed figure, then pinched Ninth’s ear and hissed through gritted teeth, "Reading that Three-Character Classic isn’t exactly honorable!"
Ninth muttered, "If it’s not honorable, why do you practice its techniques with me every night?"
Chu'he slapped both hands over his mouth. "Enough out of you!"
Suddenly, Fang Songhe tightened his grip on his sword. "There’s fighting ahead. I’ll check."
In the blink of an eye, he vanished.
A burly man in coarse linen lay on the ground, clutching a firewood axe despite knowing he was outmatched. Struggling to rise, he gasped in despair, "We fled all the way to Yangcheng! Why won’t the Miaojiang people let us go?"
Sang Duo’s brow furrowed. "What do you mean by that?"
"Witch! Kill me if you must, but the young lady knows nothing—spare her!"
Rage flared in Sang Duo’s chest. She seized Li Furong’s throat. "Since you call me a witch, shouldn’t I act the part? I won’t let her go. In fact, I’ll turn her into a puppet. What will you do about it?"
The word "puppet" struck a nerve. The man’s eyes reddened, and with a roar, he charged recklessly again.
Cang Yan’s sheathed Miao blade twisted mid-air, its tip inches from the man’s chest when a gleaming sword shot forth, deflecting it slightly before returning to the young man’s hand.
The man clung to hope. "Hero Fang! They’re after the young lady’s life—save her!"
Fang Songhe had no time to wonder how this stranger knew him. One look at the man confirmed he was his target, and seeing Sang Duo choking a girl—coincidentally, a familiar face—his expression darkened.
His sword hummed, its edge glinting coldly as his robes billowed. "Harming the innocent is unforgivable."
Cang Yan stepped forward, unsheathing his Miao blade, its chill rivaling winter frost.
Sang Duo smirked. "Comparing murderous skill? You Central Plains folk are no match. A few threats won’t scare me, Sang Duo."
"Ninth, hurry! What if Brother Fang needs help?"
A girl dragged the lethargic boy forward, urgency in her voice, only to receive a sluggish, "Mm."
Sang Duo’s bravado vanished instantly. She grabbed Cang Yan’s arm. "Run!"
Fang Songhe shouted, "Don’t escape!"
In a flash, they were gone again.
Chu'he clutched her head in frustration. "I just dragged myself up here, and they’re already gone?!"
Ninth yawned behind his hand, then folded his arms, admiring the serene night with detached amusement.
"It’s you… it’s you!"
The trembling man pointed at the red-robed, white-haired boy. When those blood-hued eyes turned his way, his face paled, his body shook, and he collapsed in terror.
"Chi… Chi…"
Deep-rooted fear paralyzed him. He dared not utter the full name, lips quivering, his mind drowning in dread—too petrified even to flee.
Then, the wind stirred.
Silver ornaments chimed. Crimson robes fluttered. White hair danced like ghostly tendrils as the figure closed the distance in an instant.
The boy’s crimson eyes curved, his smile a veneer over stormy malice. Though his lips lifted in mock warmth, the chill he exuded seeped into bones.
Yet paradoxically, he shielded the girl completely behind him, enveloping her in his shadow—a gesture both protective and possessive.
Behind him lay tenderness. Before him, those he gazed upon knew only icy terror.
"If I’m this captivating, yet you still mistake me for another, then those eyes of yours serve no purpose. Let me relieve you of them."
