Wang Yulan's little maneuvers naturally could not escape Pei Yunheng's eyes.
Although the silver hairpin had been wiped clean and shone like new, the faint scent of blood drifting from her body could not be faked.
His eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze sweeping over her obviously guilty expression, Pei Yunheng strode toward the cave.
When Daya and Erya saw him walk in, they immediately stood up, yet did not dare look at him.
Reaching the spot where Zhang Da was bound, Pei Yunheng crouched down to examine.
The traces had already been cleaned up, but clearly the person who dealt with the scene had been too flustered, for a few scattered spots of blood remained on the stone wall, overlooked.
From the splatter patterns of the blood and the scratch marks on the stone wall, Pei Yunheng immediately understood part of what had happened. He turned his gaze to Wang Yulan: "Where did you stab Zhang Da, was it a vital area?"
Wang Yulan's heart trembled.
Lady Jiang had actually guessed right!
Even though she had cleaned up the cave, with just one glance her husband could detect something was amiss.
No longer daring to conceal anything, Wang Yulan's face streamed with tears as she told the truth: "I didn't mean to, I just wanted to vent the resentment in my heart…"
Daya stepped forward to explain on her behalf: "The wound is on the neck, five or six stabs. When I went to stop her, the silver hairpin was picked up by Zhang Da. He wanted to hurt me but had lost too much blood. Perhaps fearing you would return, he staggered away. We didn't dare chase him."
She paused, then said in a low voice: "The injury is quite serious, but it should not be fatal."
Pei Yunheng asked in a deep voice: "Which direction did he flee?"
Daya pointed east: "I remember he ran this way."
Erya carefully nodded along: "It was this way."
Pei Yunheng said no more and immediately gave chase along the path.
With such a serious injury, the man could not have gotten far—there was still a chance to catch up.
Watching Pei Yunheng's figure disappear into the distance, and once she was certain he could not return anytime soon, Jiang Weiyao's worried expression faded. She slowly turned around to look at Wang Yulan.
Wang Yulan's face was full of unease: "I said everything just as you instructed."
Hearing this, Daya furrowed her brows, her gaze shifting back and forth between the two of them, clearly unable to understand what riddles they were exchanging.
Jiang Weiyao paid Wang Yulan no mind. She found a smooth stone and sat down, then said to Daya: "I think the two of us should have a talk."
Daya was puzzled: "Talk about what?"
"Talk about what exactly you want to do. Talk about the fragrant stone hidden in the wardrobe at home. Talk about what contingency you've prepared, and how you plan to punish the villains stirring up trouble in the village."
Her willow brows arched slightly as Jiang Weiyao asked unhurriedly: "Well then, are you interested in having a chat with me?"
She had become very different.
She was clearly the same person, yet her expression and bearing were entirely different. Though she smiled, it was inexplicably chilling.
Even Erya, who had breathed a sigh of relief after seeing Pei Yunheng leave, could not help but tremble, and stopped her chattering to herself.
Daya's breath caught: "I don't know what you're talking about."
Jiang Weiyao sighed: "Lying to my face is pointless."
Wang Yulan watched with a pounding heart.
Daya might not know, but she had followed Zhang Da in pursuit, and with her own eyes had seen that when Zhang Da hurled the silver hairpin at Jiang Weiyao, she too had sighed in that same helpless way—then waved her hand and killed Zhang Da without the slightest effort.
"Quick, quick, tell us!" Wang Yulan hurried forward a step, pressing down on Daya's hand and shooting her a look. "No matter what Lady Jiang asks, you tell the truth!"
Daya looked at her in confusion.
Feeling the gaze of the person behind her, Wang Yulan felt as if thorns were pricking her back. She could only plead with Daya: "Just tell her. Don't hide anything."
Jiang Weiyao gave a slight shrug.
Well, it seemed this disciple of hers was still of some use after all.
Though Daya didn't understand what was going on, she knew Wang Yulan well. Seeing her words so earnest, she pondered for a moment before finally speaking: "This matter goes back three years."
Three years ago—that truly was a long story.
Jiang Weiyao listened attentively.
Following the trail of dripping blood all the way down, Pei Yunheng finally stopped at the edge of a cliff.
The cliff was very high. Through the branches and vegetation growing sideways from the rock face, the faint outline of a body—already shattered beyond recognition from the fall—could be seen at the bottom.
Judging by the clothing, it should be Zhang Da.
Everything seemed perfectly natural, as if Zhang Da had been fleeing in panic, failed to watch his step, and plummeted to his death.
Of course, that was assuming one overlooked the two sets of tracks nearby—where the surrounding grass had been trampled down by footprints, only to be desperately covered up again—as well as…
Pei Yunheng's gaze fell on a spot not far away.
A few hundred meters further ahead lay Hedong Village.
Perhaps because today was the day for ancestral worship, the sky had not yet fully brightened when the village lit up with clusters of firelight. Through the thin morning glow, a bustling crowd could be seen.
The heavy darkness of night slowly receded. The wind at the cusp of dawn carried no warmth at all—it was the most piercing cold.
The west wind whipped Pei Yunheng's robes, making them snap loudly. Faint light fell upon his deep-set brows and eyes, yet could not penetrate them with even a thread of brightness.
Pei Yunheng clenched his palm. The object in his hand was ice-cold.
He looked down.
It was a broken wooden hairpin.
He was very familiar with it.
It was one that Jiang Weiyao had spent a few copper coins to have the village carpenter carve. The carpenter's craftsmanship was good—the crabapple flower on the hairpin was lifelike. She had a sweet tongue and coaxed the carpenter into carving a butterfly as well, dangling upon the petals, so that one could faintly make out the graceful swaying of the crabapple in the wind.
She loved this hairpin and had been wearing it these past two days.
But now, its broken end had appeared near where Zhang Da had fallen off the cliff.
"I was naturally worried about you. How could I really run off and leave you alone in danger?"
The woman's coquettish voice echoed once more in his mind.
His thin lips curved slightly. Pei Yunheng let out a scoff, his dark eyes—deep and shadowy as a pool—holding not a trace of mirth.
Tucking the object in his palm away, he turned and walked toward the cave.
Behind him, the red sun—still half-budded—finally leaped above the mountain peak, and ten thousand rays of morning light poured down.
The long night had finally passed.
The vegetation was deep; he walked alone on a secluded path.
The rising sun stretched his shadow long, and unexpectedly revealed a touch of loneliness.
When he was only a few meters from the cave, Pei Yunheng's steps suddenly halted once more.
The morning sun had just risen, clouds and rosy light spreading across the sky.
Jiang Weiyao stood beneath the green treetops, her brows and eyes steeped in the morning glow, her dress and skirts gently stirred by the dawn breeze.
Her expression was worried. As always, she paced alone, waiting for him to return—who knew how long she had been waiting at the cave entrance.
"My husband, you're finally back!"
When she caught sight of the familiar figure, the tight furrow between Jiang Weiyao's brows smoothed out. A smile appeared on her face, and she hurried over to meet him.
This place was a wind tunnel. Her body was covered in chill and the dampness of early morning. The moment her hands clasped his, he felt only a bone-piercing cold.
Pei Yunheng did not dodge, letting her hands take hold of his: "Aren't you cold?"
"Cold, but I'm more worried about you." Jiang Weiyao climbed up along the pole. "Husband, help me warm up?"
Pei Yunheng seemed to let out a short laugh. "My hands are cold too."
Hearing this, Jiang Weiyao paused, genuinely shocked. "…Husband, what's wrong with you…"
Pei Yunheng raised her eyes to look at her.
Jiang Weiyao was so startled that she proactively let go of her hand. "Why are you like this…"
"What's wrong?" Pei Yunheng asked.
"You shouldn't be like this. You should immediately shake off my hand, tell me not to talk nonsense, and then quickly walk away." Jiang Weiyao was still shaken. "But you just said your hands are cold too—does that mean if your hands weren't cold, you'd help me warm up?"
"Since you know I'd treat you this way, why do you still throw yourself at me every time?" Pei Yunheng avoided answering.
Jiang Weiyao said with perfect justification, "This is how it is between husband and wife. If you're cold to me, I naturally have to be warmer. Otherwise, if you're cold and I'm cold too, how can we go on living like this? It's just that, husband, there's something I don't know if I should say."
Pei Yunheng: "Say it."
"Your hands really are very cold." Jiang Weiyao said with a grin.
Pei Yunheng lowered her eyes, looking at the hand that had grabbed on again. "Then why are you still holding on?"
"Cold hands can still warm me." Jiang Weiyao said with a straight face. "As long as I'm holding my husband's hand, my heart feels warm and cozy."
With half-lowered eyelids, Pei Yunheng's lips curved into an ambiguous smile. "Then you'd better hold on tight."
Jiang Weiyao seemed not to catch the undertone in Pei Yunheng's words, her chin held high. "Naturally."
She had just taken a step while holding Pei Yunheng's hand when she heard the person behind her ask unhurriedly, "Wife, why is there blood on your dress?"