Ji Yuwei smiled, his fingertip brushing over her lightly trembling lashes as he gently comforted her: “Don’t worry. Wei holds the position of White Robe Commandant. He committed murder in the street, which alone is enough to convict him. And merely tattooing his face is better than imprisonment and losing his life.”
Upon hearing this, Wu Ping’an looked toward the man being restrained not far away. It wasn’t that she pitied his life, but rather that she thought of those poor souls whose lives he had treated as worthless just moments before.
Ji Yuwei asked her: “What is Ping’an thinking about? You can tell Wei.”
Wu Ping’an told him about using his identity today.
After listening, Ji Yuwei calmly explained: “The person Ping’an encountered is a member of the Ming Clan, Ming Ziyao. He is extremely fond of training demon beasts, but unfortunately lacks the talent. He often lets the beasts escape, harming many people. Using the Ji Clan’s identity was the right move.”
Having said that, he gazed at her with sparkling eyes, “Was Ping’an injured?”
Wu Ping’an shook her head: “I’m fine.”
“That’s good then.” He seemed relieved, looking at those people with compassionate words: “Later, Wei will have someone repair the damaged houses and send some money. Those people were already living poorly. Fortunately, the harshest winter has passed, otherwise who knows how many more would have died.”
Hearing these words, Wu Ping’an couldn’t help but meet his gaze.
His eyes were full of sincerity, the red vermilion mark on his forehead making him resemble a merciful Guanyin saving the world. Noticing her sudden look, he tilted his head slightly and smiled, asking: “What is it?”
Wu Ping’an: “Nothing.”
She just wondered how such a kind-hearted young man could become the vicious antagonist who would later stir up storms and clouds.
Ji Yuwei lowered the silk curtain, saying: “The sheep-drawn carriage blocking the road inconveniences others. Come back with Wei first. I just picked out suitable servants on the way—let Ping’an take a look.”
Seeing the path behind him obstructed, Wu Ping’an nodded.
As the sheep-drawn carriage passed by, her gaze swept over the bustling scene before her, moving from the chaotic area back into another side of prosperity.
The carriage stopped. She lifted the silk gauze to peek outside and saw two or three beautiful, youthful men and women standing there, as vibrant as fresh flowers.
“These are chosen for Ping’an.”
Ji Yuwei’s voice came from behind. Wu Ping’an glanced sideways: “For me?”
Ji Yuwei nodded: “Ping’an has no one by her side. If you were to find yourself in a situation like today’s again, it would be fine if Wei could arrive in time, but I fear that might not always be possible. So these servants are for you.”
Wu Ping’an quickly waved her hand: “No need, I’m not used to…” The last syllable hadn’t even left her mouth when it suddenly vanished.
Ji Yuwei leaned past her, following her slightly trembling, dark, bright pupils.
Not far away was also a slave market, but not for beautiful slaves—rather, for sallow and emaciated two-legged sheep.
Wu Ping’an saw it. Inside was a girl similar to Ade, a rope around her neck, her body huddled within a pen, waiting with numb expression to be chosen.
Beside her, Ji Yuwei stared for a few moments, a delicate smile appearing on his fair face: “If Ping’an doesn’t want those people, what about the ones over there?”
She looked too much like Ade. Wu Ping’an bit her tongue hard to confirm it was real.
Among the slaves was a girl who resembled Ade. Unable to refuse Ji Yuwei’s kindness, in the end, no new servants were chosen for Ji Yuwei. Instead, she brought back a girl named Dai’er.
Returning to Ji Manor, she followed Ji Yuwei out of the sheep-drawn carriage.
The young man’s brows and eyes looked weary, clearly having been tainted by the scent of blood outside today. He couldn’t wait to return and bathe, so after exchanging a few words with her, they parted ways.
Wu Ping’an led Dai’er toward her quarters.
Dai’er grew up among the slaves, never having been held by a noble’s hand. She followed stiffly behind, not even daring to lift her head.
It wasn’t until she was gently led into a beautiful, exquisite courtyard that the woman who had rescued her from suffering suddenly embraced her.
Dai’er trembled all over, nearly falling to her knees, when she heard the woman call out with tearful joy, “Ade.”
Dai’er didn’t know who the noble was calling for, but as a slave, the first thing she had learned was to read expressions. So, responding to the noble’s reaction, she boldly hugged her back.
Wu Ping’an personally took Dai’er to the bathhouse to wash.
Dai’er was very obedient, allowing herself to be handled no matter what was done to her. When Wu Ping’an saw the old whip scars, large and small, covering her body, she couldn’t help but think of Ade.
Ade also had many scars, though not from whips—they were marks left by years of labor.
Ade was not only her first friend in this other world but also her savior, someone she regarded as ‘family.’
In truth, Wu Ping’an knew that no matter how much Dai’er resembled Ade in appearance, she was not her. But at least it gave her something to hold onto.
Ade couldn’t speak; her voice had been ruined during her time as a slave. That was why she couldn’t be sold and was placed among the ‘two-legged sheep.’ Otherwise, with her skill in reading expressions, she would have long become a servant of the aristocracy.
Ade’s ashes were buried by Wu Ping’an in a place with beautiful scenery. That day, Ji Yuwei was also there.
Ji Yuwei could chant the sutra for universal salvation of souls. He performed rites for the dead for Ade beside Wu Ping’an. The time she had spent with Ji Yuwei wasn’t exactly short, and each time, he gave her a fresh impression.
It seemed there was nothing he couldn’t do.
As the slender bamboo leaves swayed gently, Wu Ping’an couldn’t help but glance at the young man not far away.
His tall, slender yet not frail figure was cast in the dappled shadows of the bamboo leaves. The faint, cool spring light filtering through fell upon his pale green robe, like a pale lotus growing from stone.
Perhaps her gaze was too blatant, for Ji Yuwei lifted his lashes and looked toward her, a smile on his lips. “Let Wei guess what Ping’an is thinking.”
“Are you wondering how Wei knows how to perform rites for the dead?” he asked decisively.
Wu Ping’an had only been looking casually and hadn’t expected to be caught. She immediately shook her head in denial.
He frowned in disappointment, thought for a moment, and asked again, “Are you thinking about where Ade will go in her next life?”
Wu Ping’an: “No, I just happened to see you.”
Ji Yuwei didn’t believe her. Putting down his zither, he sat beside her, his penetrating gaze fixed on her, unusually stubborn. “At that moment, Ping’an must have been thinking something. If not these, then was it that Wei is different from others?”
Perhaps because he saw her as a confidant and an older woman, without the ripples of affection between peers, he always liked to draw close to her and stare directly at her.
Wu Ping’an was always struck by his beauty, but her admiration was purely appreciative. Now, smiling, she pushed his cheek away, propped herself up with her hands behind her, lifted her face, and gazed with rare ease at the distant azure sky, speaking honestly.
“Actually, I was just thinking about something.”
Ji Yuwei tilted his head, his gaze following her face, lingering as her long hair slipped from her shoulders when she leaned back on her palms, revealing a stretch of fair skin beneath her loose collar.
Wu Ping’an didn’t notice his lingering gaze and said with emotion, “Actually, I always thought you were born into an aristocratic clan—not only talented and good-looking but also raised on jade grains and golden water shield. I expected you to have many of the common flaws, but after spending time with you, I realized I was wrong.”
Ji Yuwei’s gaze didn’t waver. Instead, he smiled and asked her, “What common flaws?”
After some thought, Wu Ping’an said, “Hmm, it means being utterly arrogant, taking lives on a whim, acting willfully and recklessly according to one’s own desires, stopping at nothing to achieve one’s goals, and not valuing human life even if countless heads are trampled underfoot—a noble in the truest sense.”
She was describing her feelings when she first read the novel. In the book, Ji Yuwei was a pure black villain—calling him Black Mud might even be an understatement. He was an outright psychopath who couldn’t bear to see others doing well, wishing everyone in the world would kneel and grovel at his feet. When he was happy, he’d kill someone on a whim; when he was unhappy, he’d slaughter a whole crowd. He was a pitch-black, rotten person through and through.
She said these words in a joking tone, and as expected, they made Ji Yuwei laugh.
The young man laughed so hard he leaned sideways, his green robe and plain white gauze garments trembling unrestrainedly. The bright vermilion mark on his fair forehead glowed vividly, like that of a seductive ghost.
“So this is how Ping’an used to see me.”
Wu Ping’an glanced sideways at him.
He leaned against her shoulder, his long hair trembling with laughter and brushing against the back of her hand, tickling her so much she wanted to scratch it.
She said awkwardly, “It was just my wild imagination.”
Ji Yuwei smiled, lifting his dark lashes, which were clumped together by tears. He exhaled softly, like a snake about to flick its tongue, and whispered playfully, “So Ping’an understands Wei after all.”
He was indeed someone who would stop at nothing to achieve his goals. He wanted Wu Ping’an to trust him completely, to confide in him about everything, no matter how trivial, and to think of him first when she found her way home. He wanted to control every aspect of Wu Ping’an’s life.
Seeing him laugh until tears streamed down his face, looking even more beautiful than usual, Wu Ping’an forgot about his overly intimate gesture of leaning against her shoulder and covering the back of her hand with his sleeve.
By the time she realized it, Ji Yuwei was already right in front of her, his watery gaze focused and his voice soft: “Ping’an.”
The medicinal bitterness, masked by the scent of flowers, brushed against her ear, making her impulsively cover it in a rush of warmth. “What is it?”
“It suddenly occurred to me that I’ve never told Ping’an this: Wei finds Ping’an’s appearance unique, different from anyone I’ve seen before. Yet I can’t quite pinpoint how. It always makes Wei unable to resist watching you.”
His gaze was earnest, as if he had discovered beauty in her plainness. His eyes were calm, but his tone was uplifted with gentle delight.
This innocent joy made Wu Ping’an feel extremely awkward.
Even if she hadn’t known that Ji Yuwei was a looks-obsessed person, she could tell from their time together that he was drawn to superficial beauty. He even favored exaggerated, extravagant, and occasionally extreme elegance—but all of it was the kind of beauty that was immediately apparent, never ordinary.
Now, he suddenly claimed to have found beauty in her plain face. Far from making her think he had an eye for beauty, it made her feel as if her limbs were being pinned down by the hairy legs of a spider from behind—uncomfortable all over.
Her ordinariness had become clear to her long ago, after graduating and being shaped by society. It wasn’t just her appearance that was ordinary; her personality was too.
Still, she accepted this ordinariness with equanimity and even enjoyed the anonymity it brought. Beauty, to her, was something to appreciate if she had it, but she felt no regret if she didn’t. It was merely a visual indulgence, not a necessity for survival.
Wu Ping’an raised her other hand, intending to roll up her sleeve and push his face away. She let out a light laugh and said, “Is that so? Maybe it’s just the lighting today. In such a beautiful place, everyone looks beautiful. I think you’re beautiful too.”
Ji Yuwei avoided her hand, tilting his head, eyes looking upward, red lips also smiling: “Ping’an is right, today’s light is beautiful.”
Hearing these words, Wu Ping’an could finally relax, glancing toward the distance, about to say it was getting late and time to go back, when suddenly soft strands of hair brushed past her chin, followed by a moist kiss imprinted on her collarbone.
Soft and sticky, as if a tongue were licking.
When she stiffly lowered her eyes, it was no exaggeration—it felt as if all the hair on her head stood on end at that moment.
The young man buried his face in her chest, breathing heavily, his damp, soft lips almost touching as he spoke, his voice as light as the gentle breeze brushing her face.
“But only today, the scenery is so beautiful that Wei wants to kiss Ping’an. Why is that?”
Author’s note:
Mountain Ghost’s dog-like nature kicks in, sprinting full speed down the path of self-destruction.