Murong Meifei was famously known as the wooden beauty who loved only her sword. Yet now, as she watched Chu'he—who was no martial artist—and Ninth, who was not from the Central Plains, with their awkward yet endearing dynamic, she couldn’t help but feel a touch of chivalric charm in the air. The corner of her lips curled into a faint smile.
Murong Meifei clasped her fists in salute. "We’ll meet again if fate allows."
Murong Meixin had already brought over two horses. He mounted alongside Murong Meifei but couldn’t resist glancing back at the inseparable young couple.
Ninth was from Miaojiang, with an eerie, almost ghostly beauty—sinister and dangerous.
Chu'he, on the other hand, was from the Central Plains—bright, radiant, and brimming with boundless energy.
By all logic, they should have clashed, yet no one could honestly claim they weren’t a perfect match.
Murong Meixin withdrew his gaze, remaining silent for a long while.
Normally talkative, his sudden quietness made Murong Meifei glance at him. "What’s wrong with you?"
Murong Meixin fiddled with the reins, picking at his nails. "Junior Sister… are you unhappy?"
"Why would I be unhappy?"
"Once you become the Manor Head, you’ll have to marry me."
The day Murong Meifei’s talent was revealed, her master and the elders were both overjoyed and sorrowful.
Joyful, because the Murong Manor would soon have another prodigy.
Sorrowful, because the Murong family’s younger generation was growing weaker with each passing generation. If the position of Manor Head were handed to them, the future of Murong Manor beyond the next century was uncertain.
Later, the Manor Head crouched down, his gaze complex as he looked at the girl before him.
She held a sword taller than herself, her expression indifferent.
The Manor Head said, "You were an orphan I brought from the foot of the mountain. Yet, your swordsmanship talent is unparalleled—perhaps the greatest our Murong Manor has ever seen. I want you to be the next Manor Head. But this position has always been reserved for those of Murong blood."
In essence, Murong Manor was a family enterprise. The Manor Head alone couldn’t overturn centuries of tradition.
Back then, the girl replied bluntly, "Then I’ll become Manor Head and marry a Murong man. Our child would carry Murong blood, wouldn’t they? I’m a prodigy, so my child will be too. When I grow old, I’ll pass the position to them. Your Murong family would profit."
The Manor Head’s eyes lit up. "You’re right! That’s the solution!"
That very night, he gathered all the young Murong boys and lined them up for the sword-wielding girl to choose from.
Ten years had passed in the blink of an eye.
Now, seated atop her horse, Murong Meifei had no patience for Murong Meixin’s sentimental worries. "Stop overthinking nonsense. It’s boring."
When she first arrived at Murong Manor, she had been a scrawny little thing, bullied by older children who stole her food. Starving, she rummaged through the kitchen and stumbled upon him—a foolish young master who swaggered in without a care.
He was simple-minded but kind-hearted, sharing half his roasted chicken with her.
Murong Meixin had long forgotten that moment. All he remembered was being called useless his whole life—until, suddenly, he stood out among the other boys, chosen by the prodigious girl. The thought still made his heart race.
"If I were unhappy, I wouldn’t have picked you out of all those pretty boys back then."
With that, Murong Meifei spurred her horse forward, leaving Murong Meixin behind in a cloud of dust.
It took him a moment to process her words before joy surged through him. He kicked his horse into a gallop, chasing after her. "Junior Sister, wait for me!"
The forest path was blanketed with golden ginkgo leaves from the night before. As hooves thundered past, the leaves fluttered up like gilded butterflies, adding a shimmering, rustling rhythm to their hurried journey home.
"So beautiful," Chu'he murmured, sitting atop the carriage and stretching her hand out to catch the breeze. Occasionally, a leaf would brush against her fingertips—soft, delicate, ticklish.
Late autumn had passed, and winter was settling in. Soon, the trees lining the road would be bare.
She sneezed, and in an instant, someone pulled her fluffy cloak tighter around her before bundling her into a familiar embrace, shielding her from the cold wind.
Ninth nuzzled her cheek. "Little Qing can handle the carriage. A’he should rest inside."
"No." Chu'he buried half her face in the fur, her eyes sparkling. "I want to see every bit of scenery on the road we travel together."
Ninth’s gaze softened. Cupping her face, he pressed several quick kisses to her soft cheeks before pulling the cloak up to cover her again.
"Ahem!"
An awkward cough interrupted them, making Chu'he flinch and push Ninth away. Ninth lifted his head, his expression dark.
Fang Songhe, mounted on his horse, pretended to be very busy inspecting the sky and ground. "I heard bandits often ambush travelers on this road. I’ll scout ahead."
With that, he galloped off and vanished in moments.
Ninth immediately pulled Chu'he back into his arms, holding her tightly. He kissed the corner of her lips repeatedly—each one a loud, satisfied "mwah"—before tucking her back into the warmth of her cloak.
White Dove was newly pregnant, and Black Goose refused to let her travel in her condition. They stayed behind in Miaojiang for the time being, waiting until things stabilized.
With Sang Duo and Cang Yan there, there was no need to worry.
When Chu'he announced she was taking Ninth back to the Central Plains, the elder of the Witchcraft and Gu Sorcery Sect wailed in protest.
"The sect cannot be without a leader! With the former Sect Master gone, the Young Master must ascend to the position at once! Do not be bewitched into becoming a live-in son-in-law in the Central Plains!"
The elder, old and tearful, played the part of a loyal subordinate perfectly.
"Young Master, the sect cannot be left without a helm!"
Ninth pondered for a moment. "The elder makes a fair point. But I have no interest in being Sect Master. Let’s follow the Central Plains’ example instead."
The elder blinked. "Example?"
Chu'he cleared her throat and whispered, "Abdication. It’s called abdication!"
Ninth, holding her hand, suddenly glared at the elder. "I was merely testing your knowledge of Central Plains customs by saying 'example' instead of 'abdication.' Yet you failed to correct me! Elder, your incompetence is concerning. The Sect Master position must go to someone truly capable—clearly, not you."
The elder was thunderstruck. "Who in Miaojiang is more revered than me, aside from the Young Master?!"
Ninth pointed casually. "Her. She’ll be Sect Master."
Sang Duo, who had been squatting on the ground directing Cang Yan to dig up earthworms for her gu worms, looked up blankly. "Huh?"
Cang Yan also lifted his head. Silent and expressionless, he somehow still managed to mirror his master’s confusion.
The elder shrieked, "Young Master, Sang Duo is unfit! She knows nothing but refining puppets! Young Mast—"
"Get lost."
"Right away!"
The elder rolled on the ground before scrambling back to his feet, only to see a horse and carriage vanishing in a cloud of dust. Gnashing his teeth, he turned around and roared, "Sang Duo, the young master was merely joking—don’t you dare entertain any delusions—"
The cold glint of Cang Yan’s Miao blade flashed as it was partially unsheathed, blinding the elder momentarily.
Sang Duo stood up, crossing her arms. "Delusions about what? I haven’t even settled accounts with you yet—forcing me to brew aphrodisiacs to sell under the pretense of your elder’s authority, withholding my pay, or sending me to tail the young master on a suicide mission!"
The elder swallowed nervously.
How could he have forgotten? Sang Duo herself wasn’t fearsome, but that puppet of hers was a terrifying existence!
"I wonder if Sang Duo can handle Miaojiang’s affairs properly. Ninth, maybe we should come back and check on things later."
Chu'he nestled in the young man’s arms, covering a yawn with her hand.
Ninth gently stroked her long hair and murmured, "If Chu'he wishes to return, we’ll come back."
Unlike many, he felt no deep attachment to his homeland. In truth, the concept of "home" only took shape in his heart because of Chu'he.
Wherever Chu'he was, that was where he belonged.
Chu'he tilted her head up, smiling at him. "Do you think Father will be angry with us when we return?"
Ninth brimmed with inexplicable confidence. "No."
"Why not?"
"That old—"
Chu'he arched a delicate brow. "Hmm?"
Ninth coughed. "Chu'he’s father once said he regards me as his own son. He won’t blame us."
Chu'he eyed him skeptically.
While in Miaojiang, after sending a letter home to reassure her family, Chu'he soon received two replies. One was from Chu Sheng, urging them to return quickly.
The other was from Li Furong, who asked after Chu'he’s well-being, Cang Yan’s condition, and how everyone else was faring. She also mentioned the Zhao Sisters.
Whether in the Central Plains or Miaojiang, there were always those who cared for them.
Chu'he tightened her embrace around Ninth, pressing her cheek against his chest and listening to his steady heartbeat—a melody more soothing and reassuring than any in the world.
The last time they traveled from Miaojiang back to the Central Plains, the trees were lush and vibrant, teeming with life.
Yet between them lay lies spun for survival and curiosity-fueled pretenses.
This time, as they journeyed again, the world around them was bleak—withered leaves swirling in the wind, all things fading into decay.
But now, the two were inseparable. Even the slightest brush of their fingertips carried warmth and unshakable comfort.
Having witnessed too many regrets, their embrace amid the biting wind felt all the more precious.
"Ninth."
"I’m here."
Chu'he raised a hand, playfully poking his cheek. Unfazed, he grinned and let her mischief run wild.
She giggled.
Ninth’s eyes sparkled with hope, expecting her to shower him with sweet words again. But she only laughed, saying nothing.
Tilting his head, a lock of his white hair slipped over his chest, only to be twirled around her finger. "Chu'he."
"Yes, I’m here."
"Why do you only smile at me without speaking?"
His transparent pouting was impossible to miss.
Chu'he teased him deliberately. "Hmm, how strange. I wonder why?"
He bent down, resting his forehead against hers and mimicking her tone. "Why, indeed?"
Chu'he blinked. "Who knows? Maybe if I wait a little longer, the answer will come to me."
Undeterred, he caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingertips. "How much longer?"
"Well, let me think…" Chu'he closed her eyes, feigning deep contemplation before opening them with a bright smile. "Perhaps by the time we get home, I’ll have figured it out!"
The fire in Ninth’s eyes reignited instantly. He turned and called out, "Little Qing, faster! We’re going home!"
The horse pulling the carriage plodded forward, its head adorned by a coiled Little Qing, atop whom perched the pitiful, wide-eyed Big-Eyes.
The trio had been whispering among themselves until their master’s command cut in. Little Qing fought the urge to roll its eyes.
It was just a snake—why was it burdened with tasks meant for humans?
But a glance at Big-Eyes’ still-bare patches of fur softened its resentment. With a flick of its tiny tail, Little Qing smacked the horse’s head—
"Move, Second Steed! Take them home!"
