People always fear the unknown.
Chu'he was no exception.
As Fang Songhe had said, Yangcheng had seen an influx of people recently, its undercurrents turbulent, a storm brewing. Truthfully, she wasn’t sure where she and Ninth should go—but as long as it wasn’t Xiaocheng, Canghaizhou, or Wutong Village… in such a vast world, surely there was a place untouched by Miaojiang.
Chu'he pondered how to broach the subject with her father.
Unexpectedly, Chu Sheng wasn’t asleep even in the dead of night. He sat in the courtyard, as if already certain that Chu'he and Ninth would be leaving for a while.
By now, Chu Sheng had little fondness left for this outsider son-in-law. But children grew up and had their own paths to walk.
Chu Sheng turned his face away, his tone cold and stiff. "Remember to send letters often to let us know you’re safe."
That was all he said before retreating into his room. Farewell scenes weren’t for him, and he had no desire to face one.
But before shutting the door, Chu Sheng shot Ninth a sour look and added, "They say the wicked live a thousand years. Don’t you dare die early. If you leave my daughter a widow in her youth, I’ll dig up your grave and make sure you never rest in peace!"
His voice dripped with undisguised disdain, as if nothing had changed since the day he first met Ninth.
Ninth blinked, serene and obedient. "We practice tree burials. You won’t find my grave to dig."
Chu Sheng’s eyes bulged.
Chu'he quickly tugged at Ninth’s sleeve, whispering, "Why are you being so literal about this? Say goodbye to my father properly!"
Ninth obliged. "Father—"
"Who’s your father? I don’t want you calling me that!"
With a slam of the door, Chu Sheng’s irritable voice drifted from inside. "Just go already! Stop cluttering my sight!"
Chu'he grabbed Ninth’s hand and hurried away. At the gate, they spotted two familiar figures.
Fang Songhe said, "Safe travels."
Song Chunming, his health much improved and color returned to his face, glanced between Chu'he and Ninth before adding, "Till we meet again."
Ninth, hand in hand with Chu'he, didn’t pause as they passed by. With a faint smile, he replied, "We share no such fate with you."
Song Chunming watched their retreating figures, fingers brushing the jade pendant hidden in his sleeve, silent.
The dead of night had emptied the once-bustling streets, leaving only moonlight and a gentle breeze to ward off the chill.
Chu'he walked with light steps, gazing around. "I’ve rarely been out so late. There’s something quite charming about this scenery."
Ninth found little of interest in the so-called "scenery." But when his lowered eyes caught her reflection, his lips curled. "Beautiful," he agreed.
Chu'he looked up just as his focused gaze met hers. In that instant, she knew his praise wasn’t for the view but for her. Heart swelling, she cupped his face and studied him intently before smiling.
"Ninth is beautiful too."
White hair, crimson eyes—his otherworldly appearance drew scorn from most. Yet she never tired of calling him "beautiful," day and night.
The world deemed Ninth the oddity, but sometimes, he wondered if Chu'he wasn’t the truly extraordinary one.
Hand in hand, Chu'he chattered as they strolled. "I’ve thought it all through. We could go beyond the frontier to see the desert sands, or head north for the snowy plains. If we tire, we’ll rent a little courtyard to rest—I’ll grow flowers, you’ll tend your bugs. Day by day, time will fly."
"But if we go north…" She reached up to stroke the little green snake coiled on her shoulder, frowning. "I wonder if Xiaoqing and the others would hibernate."
The snake tilted its head, nuzzling her fingers.
Chu'he laughed. "Then let’s pick the desert! We can visit our friend Dao Laosan while we’re at it!"
After rambling on, she turned to her beloved. "What do you think?"
The boy’s crimson eyes shimmered, rippling like starlight. His lashes lowered as he murmured, "Whatever A’he says is good."
Long ago, his world had been confined to the tiny realm of the Miaojiang’s poison pits—fighting others, fighting himself, until nothing remained.
Now, he’d witnessed countless sights he’d never imagined and met people who sought his company without bloodshed. For the first time, he understood how vast the world truly was.
Chu'he often thanked fate for grabbing him in that pit.
But she didn’t know—he was the lucky one.
Three steps from the city gate, Ninth halted. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind Chu'he’s ear.
The night wind whipped his scarlet robes, outlining his slender frame. His pale face and crimson eyes, fixed on his beloved, gleamed with flecks of starlight.
"Desert or tundra, I’ll love anywhere A’he chooses. We’ll have our chance to see it all."
Crows cawed from the branches. Hidden eyes in the darkness finally lost patience.
Ninth suddenly pulled Chu'he into his arms. "Close your eyes," he whispered.
The moment her lashes shut, blades flashed, venomous insects and snakes swarmed—a net of death meant to ensnare the boy.
A flute’s melody rose, cold as frost. Shadows of men and beasts twisted grotesquely. Though her eyes were closed, Chu'he heard the symphony of rending flesh and dying shrieks, a nightmare unfolding in her ears.
The stench of blood thickened.
Ninth shielded Chu'he with one arm, ensuring not a drop stained her clothes. Lowering the flute, he eyed the fresh wave of attackers and called lightly, "How long do you plan to hide?"
On cue, the hum of a sword pierced the night—Suixinjian’s aura sharp and unyielding.
Figures lunged from the dark, their blades cutting through the air. Several black-clad men fell, unable to evade.
Fang Songhe materialized behind Ninth, his sword gleaming. Surveying the endless tide of enemies, he remarked, "I thought you’d want more time with your wife. Came out a bit late."
Chu'he peeked from Ninth’s embrace. "Brother Fang, must you tease us now?"
Ninth pushed her head back against his chest, twirling his flute. "These are just small fry."
Fang Songhe’s expression hardened. "Seems the big fish are elsewhere."
The Li Mansion was eerily quiet tonight, its residents sleeping unnaturally soundly.
Perched on Cang Yan’s back, Sang Duo listened to the howling wind and muttered, "Let’s hope their leader’s with the young master. I’d hate to run into him!"
Cang Yan's toes skimmed across the rooftop, sensing the disturbances in the air. As Sang Duo's puppet, he lacked human perception but was acutely attuned to the whispers of gu sorcery.
