Wuming County and Wufeng County shared a border, separated by tall mountains. Traveling by horse along the main road, one could reach the other in a day or two.
Imperial law decreed that if a criminal resisted arrest and escaped, neighboring counties were required to post reward notices on the bulletin boards outside the county offices and announce the matter to the public with gongs.
Since Jiang Weiyao dared to say it, he naturally wasn't afraid of Pei Yunheng going to the county office to verify.
But Pei Yunheng didn't go.
Even though he was in the county town, he didn't go.
Either he believed last night's explanation without question and saw no need to verify.
Or he scoffed at last night's explanation and couldn't be bothered to check.
Which possibility was more likely? So hard to guess.
Wang Mingke's leg wouldn't stop trembling.
Ever since Jiang Weiyao asked that question—"Do you think Pei Yunheng really lost his memory or not?"—he had been shaking his leg nonstop, as if he'd fallen ill.
He looked so pitiful that Jiang Weiyao felt sorry for him and poured him a bowl of hot water.
Wang Mingke took it with trembling hands, took a trembling sip, and was scalded into a grimace.
The pain sobered him up, though. After thinking it over carefully, he gave Jiang Weiyao a definitive answer: "No."
Jiang Weiyao looked at him.
He said, "Words and expressions can lie, but a person's complexion and pulse absolutely cannot be faked. From my examination of his face and pulse, it is undoubtedly a case of soul-loss syndrome."
Wang Mingke had studied medicine since childhood and was the sole disciple of the legendary divine physician Ninth Pavilion Elder, who was said to be able to "revive the dead and heal the bones of the departed." He had treated countless patients and had never once made a misdiagnosis.
If not for that, he wouldn't have been targeted by A Touch of Red as a child and entrusted with important tasks all these years.
"Moreover," Wang Mingke continued, "to be absolutely safe, that day while he was unconscious, I administered Soul-Loss Powder—a full ten doses' worth. Even a pig would lose its memory and start crowing like a rooster after that."
"…"
Jiang Weiyao was impressed: "You really think of everything."
"Of course." Wang Mingke let out a light breath. He had come under the pretext of a follow-up visit, so he couldn't stay long with the patient absent.
It wasn't until he reached the village entrance and was about to board his donkey cart that Wang Mingke lowered his voice again and said, "If you're still worried, I'll ask my master to make another batch of Soul-Loss Powder. Put it in his food and drink—I guarantee it'll be foolproof."
Watching him ride off into the distance, Jiang Weiyao didn't rush back. He chatted briefly with a few of the older women nearby and borrowed a bamboo basket from one of them: "Those wild fruits Aunt Zhou brought last time tasted quite good. I thought I'd go pick some too."
"Go on, go on. The back mountain is full of them. If you don't pick them, the birds will just peck them to pieces anyway." The woman cheerfully pointed Jiang Weiyao in the right direction, then went back to gossiping with the others about Erya from the Zhou family.
"No idea what's going on with her. Isn't it the same every year?"
"I think she offended the mountain god and lost her mind."
"What?"
"You didn't know? Last time Erya went into the mountains and didn't come back until midnight. Apparently she saw something unclean near Dragon Spring. After she came back, she fell ill…"
Jiang Weiyao headed up the mountain.
Hedong Village was nestled against a vast range of mountains. The back mountain the villagers spoke of was called Dragon Spring Mountain, named for a spring creek that resembled a dragon or serpent.
The mountain was steep and rugged, with dense, deep vegetation. The farther one went in, the more towering ancient trees blocked out the sky, like an impenetrable net cast over everything.
The wild fruit forest lay at the mountain pass, yet Jiang Weiyao walked deeper and deeper, farther and farther, until fallen leaves carpeted the ground, no birds lingered, and no trace of human presence remained.
The footsteps behind her grew increasingly frantic.
"Losing your nerve already?"
Jiang Weiyao turned around, a faint smile curling at the corner of her lips.
"So you did notice me." Seeing there was no escape, the burly man behind her emerged from behind a tree.
He was powerfully built, with knotted muscles, and a ferocious scar ran across his entire face, taking half of his left ear with it.
Jiang Weiyao recognized him—he was the village butcher, whom Aunt Zhou called Zhang Da.
Her gaze swept over the two cleavers tucked into Zhang Da's waist, and she asked, "Who sent you?"
A pair of murky, yellowed beady eyes watched her warily. Zhang Da gripped the handles of his cleavers with both hands but said nothing.
"Li Anbo?"
Jiang Weiyao asked without the slightest hurry.
Zhang Da narrowed his eyes, his brow furrowing into a deep crease, his wariness growing even more pronounced.
Jiang Weiyao gave a soft laugh. "Seems it's him, then."
Zhang Da hesitated no longer. A murderous gleam flashed in his eyes as he gripped both cleavers, let out a thunderous roar, and charged straight at her!
His roar echoed through the forest like a tiger descending the mountain, as if he wished to tear her to shreds.
Birds rose in layers from the trees, scattering in panicked flight.
"Stay still!"
Zhang Da glared with bulging eyes, struggling to break free, only to be slapped viciously across the face by Jiang Weiyao.
He was bound hand and foot, his dark, round face flushed red with fury. He wanted to curse, but a large stone had been stuffed into his mouth.
He could not fathom it—one move, just one move, and this seemingly frail woman before him had knocked him flat.
He hadn't even had a chance to fight back.
Wang Mingke returned after having left, clicking his tongue in amazement. "And here I thought he'd be a tough one."
Ever since they had first entered the village, he and Jiang Weiyao had noticed Zhang Da skulking suspiciously in the shadows. It was just that they couldn't make a move within the village, so they had to lure him up the mountain.
At these words, Zhang Da was consumed with shame and rage.
Jiang Weiyao crouched down. Those apricot-shaped eyes, usually so delicate and pitiable, now held a smile—yet it carried an inexplicable chill. "I ask, you answer. Understood?"
Zhang Da let out two furious "mmphs" and turned his face away.
Seeing this, Wang Mingke took two steps back.
Jiang Weiyao let out a slow sigh, picked up the fallen cleaver, and—amid Zhang Da's stunned gaze—thrust the blade into his shoulder.
Blood splattered.
"Mmph! Mmph!"
Zhang Da broke out in cold sweat from the pain. Had he not been tied to the tree, he would have leaped clean off the ground by now.
Flesh slid along the blade's tip as Jiang Weiyao smiled and repeated, "I ask, you answer. Do you understand now?"
Zhang Da nodded frantically.
Once the stone was removed from his mouth, Zhang Da gasped and wailed, "It was Li Anbo, it was him! The village is about to hold the Flower Maiden ceremony. Li Anbo was afraid you two would ruin things, so he wanted to deal with you before the wedding."
"You… two?"
Jiang Weiyao raised a delicate eyebrow.
"You and your man," Zhang Da said. "Li Anbo sent me to deal with you, and sent Li Hou to kill your husband."
At that, Jiang Weiyao and Wang Mingke exchanged glances. After a long moment, the two of them couldn't help but burst out laughing.
Jiang Weiyao marveled, "Wow, he's coming to kill my husband."
Wang Mingke remarked with admiration, "Different trades are worlds apart. I wish him all the best."
Zhang Da, utterly baffled, kept shouting, "Li Hou's skills are far better than mine! Your husband looks like nothing but a frail scholar—I suggest you let me go right now, and I'll take you to save him…"
"Don't kill me, don't kill me, I was wrong… Ah!"
Li Hou couldn't dodge in time and was viciously struck to the ground. His vision went black, and it took him a long while to recover his breath: "It was my dad, it was my dad who told me to kill you, it has nothing to do with me…"
"Let me go, let me go! I really know I was wrong. If there's anything, go find my dad…"
Daylight pierced through the gaps, turning the new leaves on the branches a vivid green.
Pei Yunheng stood against the sunlight. He lowered his eyes, his thin eyelids lightly closed, looking down at Li Hou from above with an indifferent, contemptuous expression.
Shrinking back as he crawled away, Li Hou didn't dare look at him even once—
This man clearly had the look of a scholar, yet unexpectedly struck with such ruthlessness, like a jade-faced King of Hell.
Looking at the blood-dripping dagger in his hand, Li Hou was even more terrified, crying until tears and snot streamed down his face.
—So ugly.
—Crying so ugly.
When people are in desperate straits, they always cry until they are unrecognizable.
Pei Yunheng frowned slightly, but his mind couldn't help conjuring up Jiang Weiyao's face—tears that seemed they would never stop flowing, crying like pear blossoms in the rain.
……She cried beautifully.
Though Pei Yunheng detested tears, he had to admit it.
"Stop crying."
Hearing Pei Yunheng speak, Li Hou was stunned for a moment, thinking Pei Yunheng had been moved by his crying. He immediately looked at him with hope, and even deliberately howled a couple more times: "Brother Pei, let me go. Whatever you want, I'll give it to you. I'm still young, I don't want to die…"
"Pfft."
The sound of a blade sinking into flesh suddenly rang out.
Li Hou's round head fell to the ground.
In death, his small eyes were wide open, tears not yet having had time to spill from their sockets.
Pei Yunheng sighed: "Really so ugly."
After thinking for a moment, he kicked the long sword on the ground up into his hand. With a flash of cold light, the tip of the blade slashed across Li Hou's eyes.
Blood flowed down in place of tears.
This way it looked much more pleasing.
With his thin eyelids half-lowered, Pei Yunheng looked at his fingertip.
The sensation of the woman's delicate, warm skin seemed to still linger on his fingertips, impossible to dispel.
His Adam's apple rolled gently, and Pei Yunheng's fingertip couldn't help but rub lightly.
Wind passed over the treetops, the sunlight slanting.
Green leaves drifted down silently. The forest was very quiet—so quiet that Pei Yunheng could clearly hear his own heartbeat.
—Wife?
Pei Yunheng inexplicably thought of Jiang Weiyao's nonsense.
Wife, scholar, mutual affection, and that perfectly replicated jade pendant…
Leisurely wiping the blood from his finger, his finger bones—white as cold jade—trembled slightly. Pei Yunheng's thin lips curved into a pleased smile.
He wondered when this posturing fox would reveal her true colors.
When the blade was laid across her neck, would she be afraid and shed tears?
Would she……cry very ugly?
He was already looking forward to that day.
When the time came, he would certainly gently cut off her head.