The youth in the yellow robe slowly nodded, though his head seemed weighed down by an indescribable heaviness.
Obediently, Xue Lao Gen set aside the flag in his hands and turned to retrieve the oar resting by the riverside. Another job meant he could earn a little more, which in turn meant that tonight’s dinner would have thicker buns and richer soup on the table.
When he turned back, he saw that the youth in the yellow robe had already seated himself in the boat.
But the youth’s hand was now slightly raised, holding the pearl he had taken from his collar.
The pearl’s pure, dazzling light caused Xue Lao Gen’s chest to tighten. His lips trembled. He couldn’t figure out what this peculiar youth intended to do.
Noticing Xue Lao Gen’s bewildered expression, the youth in the boat spoke slowly. His voice, to Xue Lao Gen’s ears, was hoarse and suppressed, as though weighed down by untold pain.
“If you tell me what happened here today, this pearl will be yours.”
Xue Lao Gen involuntarily took a step back. His legs had already gone weak. He couldn’t tell if he was dreaming.
To tell the youth everything would mean reliving today’s nightmare. No matter what, he didn’t want to recall it. Yet, refusing to tell him meant letting go of this windfall—a fortune that could relieve him of all his worries for the rest of his life.
The rippling water reflected faint yet piercing flashes of light under the sun, which was already leaning westward.
The dreamlike moment seemed to teeter between reality and illusion, but the youth was undeniably real.
Xue Lao Gen’s lips began to quiver.
The youth in the yellow robe, however, seemed completely indifferent, unhurried.
His hand was steady, and the pearl in his fingers seemed brighter than his eyes.
It was as though he wasn’t even looking at Xue Lao Gen. His gaze was fixed on the sky, where the drifting white clouds swirled with the wind.
White clouds departed, only for more to follow. And people—what of them?
* * *
When the wind began to blow again, the sky had already darkened. It was hard to tell whether rain was imminent or if night was simply approaching.
Shao Ji Zu’s black cloak was mercilessly swept up by the wind. His handsome face, however, was as expressionless as the ominous storm clouds, cold and stony.
On either side, sheer cliffs slanted inward as if they might collapse at any moment.
A fine mist of rain finally began to drift down from the oppressive clouds hanging low above the cliffs.
Yet Shao Ji Zu seemed entirely unaware of his surroundings.
At that moment, his attention was fixed on something he had discovered on the ground.
Standing beside him, Deng Che silently held a bamboo umbrella over him. Behind him, the Imperial Guard moved cautiously, their footsteps light, making no sound. Deng Che was the only one who dared to speak in Shao Ji Zu’s presence.
Deng Che lowered the umbrella slightly. His voice, though subdued, still sounded deep and resonant due to his rough throat.
“Mo Zhen Ren and the others went after Zhan Zhao’s companion. If they succeeded, they should have sent word by carrier pigeon long ago. From afternoon until now, how has there not been a single message?”
Shao Ji Zu straightened up without replying, but his eyes were filled with deep contemplation.
Deng Che carefully observed his expression before continuing: “This matter has been dragging on for so long; it’s no way to proceed. Since Chief Zhong and the others have already captured Zhan Zhao, we should be able to extract some information about the Prince’s alliance document from him.”
Shao Ji Zu finally shook his head and said, “Expecting Zhan Zhao to talk is nothing short of wishful thinking. Even if his life weren’t already hanging by a thread in the hands of the King of Hell, even if he had fallen into their hands without a scratch, Chief Zhong and Mo Zhen Ren would still have little hope of getting him to reveal his companion’s whereabouts.”
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