"Someone told you there's a cure-all herb on the mountain, and you believed them just like that." Li Huaijin sighed. "Shuangshuang, you're too trusting."
His tone carried reproach, yet his hands moved gently as he applied ointment to Li Furong's wounds, careful not to cause her even the slightest pain.
Li Furong spoke haltingly, holding back more than she revealed. Several times, she lifted her eyes to steal glances at Li Huaijin, her mind brimming with unspoken questions she couldn’t quite voice.
In a whisper, she said, "I know that person’s words can’t be fully trusted... but I still wanted to try. What if the herb he mentioned really works?"
When left with no other options, people will grasp at even the faintest hope—no matter how illusory. In the end, it’s the sheer intensity of that hope that drives them to seek any means to fulfill their wishes.
Li Huaijin, having suffered from illness for so long that he’d practically become a physician himself, dressed her wounds with practiced ease. Cradling her injured hand, he carefully wrapped it in gauze, his gaze lowered. "Did it ever occur to you that you might not make it back?"
Li Furong nodded.
"And yet you still took the risk?"
"I just..." She pressed her lips together, her voice barely audible. "I wanted my brother to get better sooner."
Li Huaijin’s expression remained unreadable as he kept his head slightly bowed, though his voice softened. "I’m fine as I am. Don’t do anything dangerous again."
Li Furong gave a quiet "Mm."
Then, as if casually, Li Huaijin added, "That young man who brought you back today—is he a friend of yours?"
"Young man?" Li Furong blinked in confusion. "Someone brought me back?"
Li Huaijin lifted his eyes and smiled. "Perhaps I was mistaken. Shuangshuang, you should rest now."
Li Furong nodded and rose to leave. But as she reached the door, she hesitated and turned back. "Brother..."
Li Huaijin reclined against the headboard, the candlelight casting his figure in an ethereal glow. For a fleeting moment, it seemed as though a gust of night wind might extinguish the flame—and with it, the illusion of his presence in this world would vanish entirely.
His smile remained tender. "What is it?"
She had so many questions, yet now, none would come. Forcing a smile, she shook her head. "Nothing. You should rest early too."
With that, Li Furong quickly left the room, closing the door behind her.
She had never been good at hiding her thoughts—her troubled expression betrayed everything.
Li Huaijin slowly wiped his hands with a cloth, then glanced at the small white flower placed nearby, his thoughts drifting.
For years, he had been a living apothecary’s cabinet. His father, Li Furong, had spared no expense in gathering rare and precious medicines for his condition.
There was no such thing as a "Tidal Spirit Flower" in this world—only a fool like her would believe such tales.
Still, this sister of his wasn’t as loud and brash as she used to be. He wasn’t quite used to it.
The clouds parted, revealing the moon in full splendor—a perfect nightscape.
Perched on the windowsill, Chu'he rested her chin in her hands, gazing at the moon. Her mind wandered through the chain of events since meeting Ninth, and a peculiar sensation settled over her.
It was as though an invisible thread connected everything—and somehow, that thread had woven her and Ninth into its design.
The deaths of Song Tingxue and Ying Suifeng, Yi Moli’s demise, Chongyang’s end, and now the mention of the Cang family—even Li Furong had been dragged into it.
The Lin family’s physician in Canghaizhou, Wu Erlang from Wutong Village—was there yet another unknown presence lurking around them?
A sudden chill ran down Chu'he’s spine. The next moment, Ninth’s damp body enveloped her from behind, pulling her into his freshly washed embrace. His arms locked around her, leaving her no room to struggle.
His pale fingers tilted her chin up, and his heated kiss descended.
"Ah’he, it’s late," Ninth murmured against her ear, his voice honeyed and clingy. "Let’s sleep."
Chu'he gently pushed his face away. "Business first."
Ninth blinked. "What business?"
"Hunter Ma is staying with us for now, but what about your fellow villager, Sang Duo, and that Cang Yan with her? They haven’t run off again, have they?"
Ninth rested his chin atop her head, one hand lazily slipping beneath her collar. "My bugs are watching them. They’re nearby—they wouldn’t dare go far."
Chu'he turned to face him. "Ninth... is the person who slaughtered the entire Cang family really that terrifying?"
His fingers stilled just below her collarbone. Then, with a faint smile, he lowered his gaze. "Just a madman. Nothing to fear."
Chu'he reached up, tracing his pallid cheek. He leaned into her touch, his crimson eyes crinkling with quiet contentment.
Yet the memory of Hunter Ma’s terror-stricken face upon seeing Ninth resurfaced in her mind.
There were still so many mysteries—and the answers likely all revolved around the words "Miaojiang people."
She could ask. If she did, he wouldn’t lie to her.
But as she met those gem-like eyes, shimmering with hidden depths, the urge to question faded.
With a smile, she looped her arms around his neck and buried her face against his chest. "Let’s go to bed!"
Ninth’s eyes brightened. In one swift motion, he scooped her up, carried her to the bed, and pinned her beneath him, his larger frame swallowing hers whole.
The lingering summer heat from days prior had baked the air dry, but now, intermittent downpours had begun.
Many in the city had fallen ill with chills and fever. Fortunately, Doctor Wu and his colleagues had set up a free clinic, distributing medicine to those too poor to afford treatment.
As the city’s wealthiest man, Chu Sheng donated a sum to the medical hall, further burnishing his reputation.
Amidst this, the merchant guild’s gathering proceeded as scheduled at the Thousand Gold Pavilion.
Chu'he had never cared for such events before, but now, with Ninth—who’d never seen the world—by her side, she decided to bring him along. Thanks to her status, they secured a prime private room on the second floor.
Ninth held a plate of pastries, taking a bite of an extra-sweet red date cake. His eyes sparkled with delight, and he offered a piece to Chu'he, only for her to push it away with a firm refusal. Undeterred, he took another bite himself.
Leaning against him, Chu'he said, "Merchants from all over have come to trade their goods. If you see anything you like, we’ll buy it."
Ninth’s voice was feather-light. "Is there anything tasty?"
Chu'he tugged at a lock of his white hair. "Must you always think about food?"
Lately, Ninth’s appetite had been insatiable—snacks between meals, treats at every turn. He pursed his lips slightly. "If it’s not edible, I’m not interested."
