Chu'he wore a smoke-green ruqun today, the collar embroidered with delicate orchid patterns, and the hem similarly adorned with orchid motifs, the stitches as fine as butterfly wings. As she walked, the skirt brushed against the ground, as if fireflies were darting through the fabric.
Her dark hair was pinned up with a gold hairpin adorned with shimmering gemstones, its tassels swaying gently with every turn, exuding an air of nobility.
No wonder the desperate woman, among the crowd of onlookers, immediately sought Chu'he's help.
After all, she clearly looked like a wealthy young lady.
The woman's face was etched with sorrow. "Miss, please, I beg you, save me!"
A man rushed over, grabbing the woman's arm and pulling her away forcefully. "Just accept your fate! Going to Chunxiang Tower isn’t so bad. With your looks, you’ll easily become a top courtesan. Men will spend fortunes just for you—fine food, fine wine, what more could you want?"
"No! I don’t want to go to Chunxiang Tower!" The woman pleaded, her eyes fixed on Chu'he. "Miss, please, I’m begging you!"
Though dressed plainly, the woman was undeniably beautiful—willow-leaf brows, almond eyes, a face like peach blossoms, radiant and captivating. When she cried, she resembled a fragile willow swaying in the wind, evoking sympathy from all who saw her.
If not for their lack of money and fear of their own wives' wrath, many men in the crowd might have stepped forward to play the hero.
Finally, Chu'he moved.
The woman watched with hope as Chu'he drew closer—only for her to turn away, clutching her stick of candied hawthorns, and dash off.
Moments later, she disappeared into an inn without a trace.
The crowd fell silent.
Even the man dragging the woman paused, the two exchanging bewildered glances before frowning in unison.
"So, you just ran back?"
Ninth sat slouched in a chair, one hand propping up his chin while the other brought a candied hawthorn to his mouth. He chewed slowly, his cheeks puffing out first on one side, then the other.
He liked to savor each hawthorn berry, letting the sugar coating melt away before finally crushing the fruit between his teeth.
Chu'he took a sip of water and sighed. "Of course! I was afraid they’d try to swindle me."
She lifted her teacup, and the little green snake coiled on her shoulder peeked out, lowering its head to drink a few sips as well.
Ninth’s eyes gleamed with mischief. "You love meddling in others' business. Why not this time?"
Chu'he shot him a glare. "I like watching drama, but that doesn’t mean I’m stupid."
Ninth leaned in, his face inches from hers, intrigued. "Oh?"
"They looked poor, but their shoes were spotless, and the fabric wasn’t ordinary. And that woman’s hands—soft and delicate, not at all like someone who’s suffered hardship."
Chu'he mirrored his posture, resting her chin on her hands and grinning. "Besides, feeding you is already enough trouble. Taking on another person? No thanks."
The corners of Ninth’s lips curled upward as he offered her the candied hawthorn.
Chu'he wrinkled her nose at the sickly-sweet treat and turned away, refusing.
But Ninth, ever rebellious, pressed his hand against the back of her head and pulled her into a deep kiss, melting the sugar between them until their breaths were thick with sweetness.
When he finally pulled away, his tongue flicked over his glistening lips.
Chu'he stared at him blankly, then chewed the hawthorn berry and spat out the pit.
The sugar was sweet, but the fruit was tart.
She had to down another cup of water to wash away the sour aftertaste.
Ninth looked as smug as if he’d won a battle, his eyes half-lidded, his head swaying playfully as he watched her. He deliberately jingled the silver ornaments on his clothes, the noise grating on her nerves.
Chu'he snapped, "Hurry up and finish. We still need to fix your hair. I’ve bought a carriage—we have to leave early if we want to reach the next town before dark."
Ninth mumbled around another hawthorn berry, "Can’t rush."
"Ninth!"
Unfazed by her irritation, he gathered his long, moonlit-white hair and draped it over her hands.
Then he blinked, his lashes fluttering like a butterfly’s wings, his gaze so tender it seemed to settle right in Chu'he’s heart.
"Chu'he, help me with my hair."
"I’m not your maid."
"What’s a maid?"
"I mean, I’m not your servant!"
"Of course you’re not." He smiled, his voice soft. "You’re the person I love."
After a pause, he added, mimicking her words from the day before, "The person I love the most."
Chu'he clutched her chest.
Coming from anyone else, those words would have been nauseating. But Ninth was so guileless, so unabashedly sincere—it was oddly endearing.
Defeated, and to save time, Chu'he grumbled under her breath as she stood behind him, gathering his silken strands.
"Just this once. If you’re this slow again and we’re late, I won’t help you next time."
Ninth said, "Then I won’t tie it."
"No! If you go out with your hair loose, people will laugh at you."
"Doesn’t matter." Ninth picked up a bronze mirror, studying his reflection and the reluctant girl behind him. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he slowly said, savoring the tartness of the hawthorn, "I’m too pretty anyway."
Chu'he regretted ever complimenting his looks.
Meanwhile, in an alley outside the inn, two figures were utterly baffled.
"Isn’t this how it always goes in Central Plains stories? When an innocent woman is about to be sold to a brothel, someone steps in to save her. So why did that Central Plains girl just run away?"
"It doesn’t make sense!"
"Was my acting not convincing enough?"
The woman perched on a pile of crates, legs crossed, rubbing her cheek in frustration. She couldn’t figure out where her flawless plan had gone wrong.
After a long silence, she glared at her companion. "Hey, say something!"
The man stood like a statue, his posture rigid, his expression blank—a far cry from the detestable scoundrel he’d played earlier. Now, he was as lifeless as a puppet, his voice flat and cold.
"You’re right, Master."
The woman’s face still stung. Angry, she kicked him. "I told you to act, not hit me for real!"
He remained silent. Even if she stabbed him, he wouldn’t react.
After venting her frustration, she slumped back onto the crates, muttering, "Ugh, why am I wasting my breath on a puppet?"
She crossed her left leg over her right, her foot swaying restlessly. Finally, she clasped her hands behind her head and groaned in distress, "What should I do? The young master is so terrifying—almost all the fellow disciples who came looking for him along the way have died. The elders handed this mission to me... are they trying to get me killed?"
