Chu'he and Ninth ate and drank their way home, only to find that Fang Songhe and his companions had already left. She felt a faint sense of melancholy.
Ninth leaned in close with a warm smile. "If you miss that stubborn ox, we can go find him to play together."
Chu'he shivered slightly and rubbed her hands. "No rush for now, no rush."
When Chu Sheng returned from checking the accounts, he launched into a long lecture at Chu'he and Ninth, giving Chu'he a headache.
Ninth blinked innocently. "Father, Chu'he and I are both tired."
Chu Sheng's voice abruptly stopped.
After the long journey, the young couple did look somewhat weary.
Chu Sheng snorted. "Fine, go rest!"
Chu'he grabbed Ninth's hand, and the two dashed out of the hall, disappearing in no time. Their energetic sprint hardly made them seem tired at all.
Back in their room, Chu'he spotted a letter on the desk. She picked it up, unfolded it, and raised an eyebrow in surprise.
The letter was from Song Chunming and Lan Yingying. She skimmed through the apologies and expressions of guilt, feeling little reaction.
A small silver bell fell out of the envelope. Chu'he picked it up and examined it, puzzled that it made no sound.
"Ninth!"
She turned around, her expression slightly flustered.
The young man had somehow already seated himself on the bed, his robes loose and slipping off his shoulders, revealing glimpses of pale skin.
His fingers lightly held the half-open collar, his lowered lashes casting faint shadows under his eyes, as if contemplating just how much to undress.
Hearing her call his name, he quickly looked up, his lazy gaze tinged with excitement. His throat bobbed slightly as he spoke in a husky voice, "Chu'he, I'm ready—"
"Ninth, what is this?"
Chu'he threw herself into his arms—not for affection, but to perch on his lap, pressing against his chest as she dangled the little bell before his eyes.
Ninth's gaze darkened, a hint of grievance in his tone. "The Death-Permit Bell."
"Death-Permit Bell? What a strange name." Chu'he nestled in his embrace, swinging her legs idly. "What does it do?"
"If you throw it into fire, the gu worm inside will scream in agony before dying, sounding like 'permit death.' When the mother gu is tormented, anyone infected with its offspring will feel as though they're burning alive, withering into a shriveled husk before dying."
Chu'he sat up straight in shock. "So someone with the offspring gu gave me the mother gu that controls life and death?"
Ninth stroked the soft hair at the nape of her neck, the familiar touch soothing. He smiled. "Exactly."
After a moment of thought, Chu'he said, "Lan Yingying left this."
Ninth mimicked her pensive pose, rubbing his chin. "Using something like this to manipulate life and death… very much like that puppet master's style."
On their way home, Chu'he had received a carrier pigeon message from Fang Songhe, revealing Lan Yingying's past.
As a curious five-year-old, she never imagined her actions would attract the attention of a madman who despised human happiness, setting off a storm of bloodshed.
Just as "Chi Yan" had massacred everyone in Wutong Village sixty years ago, fifteen years ago, he wiped out the Cang Family with a mere flick of his hand. To him, human lives were nothing more than playthings.
"Chi Yan," the true culprit behind the slaughter, bore the blame—not a five-year-old girl.
Still, Chu'he couldn't shake her resentment toward Lan Yingying for throwing her into the freezing pool.
She relaxed back into Ninth's arms, staring at the bell. "What does Lan Yingying mean by this?"
Ninth said, "It's an eyesore. I'll burn it."
Chu'he lowered her hand and suddenly murmured, "I was thinking of Song Tingxue and Yi Moli."
Ninth tilted his head, blinking.
"Song Tingxue killed countless innocent women for selfish desires. Yi Moli schemed to ruin the marriage between Miss Shangguan and Wenren Buxiao, then used the power of Yunhuang's Immortal City to stir chaos in Canghaizhou."
"Whether it was Song Tingxue or Yi Moli, when they wanted to turn back, their sins were too heavy to start anew."
"And Little Chongyang… he wanted to live, but couldn't."
Chu'he's voice grew quieter. "If they and Lan Yingying hadn't crossed paths with that madman, maybe their lives would have been different."
Ninth whispered, "Chu'he, what's wrong?"
She lifted her face, her dark eyes reflecting his image.
If she hadn't met him—if they had missed each other by just a little—would Ninth have walked a path of no return too?
Truthfully, Ninth wasn't exactly a good person. Before her, human lives meant little to him.
He and "Chi Yan" were so alike, yet so different.
Chu'he wrapped her arms around his lean waist, holding him tightly before burying her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his comforting scent like an addict.
"Being with you is wonderful, Ninth."
Ninth chuckled softly as her nuzzling tickled him. "Chu'he, you're like a little puppy."
Wasn't she?
She was always sniffing and nibbling at him as if he were a delicious pastry, irresistible from head to toe. Addicted—that wasn't far off.
Later, the letter and the bell were tossed into storage, never to be seen again.
Winter passed, spring arrived, and another year began.
Zhao Rongyue sent joyful news—she had given birth to a son. Zhao Shuxing scribbled a long letter inviting Chu'he and Ninth to the baby's full-moon celebration.
Unfortunately, unforeseen circumstances kept them from attending.
By early summer, they received another letter—this time from Black Goose and White Dove, announcing the birth of their chubby baby girl.
Rumors spread through the martial world of a red-clad maiden wielding a long sword, dismantling one den of evil after another.
Wherever she appeared, a man and a child would follow, always a step too late, never even catching a glimpse of her robes.
News also came from Murong Manor—Murong Meifei had surpassed Master Murong in swordsmanship, becoming unrivaled in the art.
The day she inherited the title of Manor Master was also the day she married Murong Meixin.
Chu'he received the wedding invitation and set off with Ninth to celebrate.
