Lian cut himself off coldly and turned to leave. Sensing things were about to go sideways, I lunged after him like an eager lackey.

  “L—Lian, wait! Just now, when I was looking through the ledgers, I saw something called Monthly Crimson. What exactly is that herb?”

  He halted, but did not turn around. He only angled his face slightly to the side. His thin lips parted, his voice measured and unhurried.

  “Monthly Crimson… is a drug of extreme yin. Once it enters the body, it clings to the bloodline like a parasitic curse, gnawing its way through flesh and marrow. There is no cure in this world—only suppression. Unless, that is, one finds its natural counter.”

  My heart clenched. I held my breath. “And that counter is…?”

  Lian finally turned to face me. His gaze was cold as a winter star.

  “One must find the gu-creature known as Daily Evergreen. It carries the purest, most extreme yang force, capable of restraining Monthly Crimson. But the gu alone is useless. It must be combined with peach blossom, pear blossom, and apricot blossom petals, steeped in wine for nine days and nine nights—two cycles of the utmost yang. Only then does it become a true remedy.”

  He spoke evenly, as if recounting a legend that had nothing to do with him. Yet with every word, my heart sank lower.

  I darted my eyes and pressed urgently, “Then… where can Daily Evergreen be found?”

  Lian pressed his lips together in silence. His fingers tapped the edge of the table once, twice. After a long moment, he shook his head.

  At that very moment, Hua appeared from nowhere, abacus still in hand. He rattled it noisily, a grin of unmistakable schadenfreude plastered across his face.

  “You’ve stumbled onto a real problem there. In our sect, Monthly Crimson is plentiful—used on others more often than you’d think. But Daily Evergreen? Sorry. No one’s ever seen it. Let alone used it to cure poison.”

  My face went gray. I nearly collapsed on the spot.

  Then, unexpectedly, Lian spoke again, his tone faint and distant.

  “When I was young, I once read a fragmentary manuscript. No author, no origin. Only a few lines remained. It mentioned that Daily Evergreen grows only in a place of absolute yin and absolute yang—where heaven and earth collide. Only there can such a rare bloom be born.”

  I snapped my head up. “Absolute yin and yang… then where is that?”

  Lian lowered his gaze slightly, brows drawn together, as if speaking to himself.

  “The world is vast. Where could one even begin to search?”

  Hua’s eyes flicked sideways, sharp as a fox. He leaned closer and chuckled under his breath.

  “Enough, Little Gong. Don’t waste your breath obsessing over Monthly Crimson. Unless you are the one poisoned, our sect leader wouldn’t spare the effort. Otherwise—why would it ever be your business?”

  My heart skipped violently. I nearly lost my balance.

  This old fox—has he already figured out I was tricked by the Eighth Prince into swallowing Monthly Crimson? Cold sweat broke out across my back.

  I was just about to scramble for an explanation when Hua abruptly changed tack, cutting my panic off mid-thought.

  “Besides,” he added lightly, “we’re setting out soon.”

  “Setting out?” I froze. For a moment, I thought I’d misheard.

  Seeing my blank stare, Hua rolled his eyes and snapped his folding fan against my forehead with a crisp pia.

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  “Of course we’re heading north! Have you had water sloshing around in that head of yours? Our sect leader is still poisoned—don’t tell me you’ve forgotten that already?”

  I rubbed my forehead and muttered, “But usually… he really doesn’t look like someone who’s poisoned…”

  The moment the words left my mouth, the surroundings fell silent.

  Lian stood not far away, packing his things. His expression was calm as ever—but his complexion carried a faint, unmistakable pallor.

  His features were still sharp and composed, yet the movements of his hands were just half a beat slower than usual.

  My chest tightened.

  So it wasn’t my imagination. He’s just been forcing himself to hold on…

  Hua didn’t respond directly. He merely shook his fan and coughed casually.

  “Some things can be hidden from the face, but not from the body. If you’ve got even a shred of conscience, talk less nonsense and keep your eyes open.”

  Chastened, I swallowed the words on my tongue and nodded awkwardly.

  Early the next morning, the mist outside Luoyan City had yet to lift. From afar came the calls of porters and travelers setting out.

  I rose with the others, packed my belongings, and prepared to take our leave of the Western Altar.

  Shangguan Fengliu and Madam Shangguan personally escorted us to the ward gate. Though they had only just stabilized the Western Altar the day before, standing side by side now, the tension between them had softened noticeably.

  Shangguan Fengliu stroked his beard and said in a clear voice, “Sect Leader, rest assured. With my wife and me here, the Western Altar will not fall into chaos again. The road north to the Northern Ridges is long—take care of yourselves.”

  Lian inclined his head. His expression remained cool, but he accepted the sentiment with due gravity.

  Watching from the side, I scratched my head. Just days ago, these two had been cold as ice—now they stood together easily, even exchanging the occasional glance.

  I couldn’t help thinking: These two made up faster than I can finish a fried pancake…

  As we were about to depart, Madam Shangguan suddenly pressed a small bundle of dried rations into my arms.

  “Talk less. Think more,” she said curtly.

  I blinked, unsure how to respond, when Hua burst into laughter and shoved me aside.

  “She’s giving you advice. Hurry up and thank her.”

  I hastily clasped my hands. “Th-thank you, Madam!”

  Her eyes flickered slightly. She gave a small nod and said nothing more.

  The mist thinned. Hoofbeats rose. The few of us set out together, leaving Luoyan City behind.

  In the direction of the Northern Ridges, mountains loomed faintly beneath layers of cloud and fog—like a great dragon coiled along the horizon.

  I shivered and muttered to myself: This road ahead… it’s not going to be an easy one.

  That night, mountain winds howled through the forest. The trees stood dense and shadowed.

  The three of us didn’t enter a city. Instead, we built a fire where we were. The flames leapt and flickered, casting long, wavering shadows that painted my face red and pale in turns.

  Wrapped in a blanket, I leaned against a tree, clutching a slip of paper in my hand—the note my elder brother had sent the night before we left.

  Only a few words were written:

  No progress yet on Monthly Crimson. Travel without worry. I’ll be watching from the shadows.

  I stared at it for a long time, the firelight making the characters dance. No matter how I looked at it, I couldn’t feel reassured.

  This counts as “don’t worry”? If it weren’t written so seriously, I’d suspect he was deliberately setting his little brother up.

  I couldn’t help asking, “We’re… not entering a city tonight?”

  Lian sat across the fire, expression as cool as ever. He answered with rare patience.

  “If we detour into a city, it’ll add two or three more days. We’ve already lost time in Luoyan City. We’ll endure a few nights like this—cross these mountain ridges first. We’ll rest properly once we reach Crane Ridge City.”

  My heart lurched. I quickly added, “The mountain wind gets cold at night. I’m worried your body won’t hold up…”

  Lian lifted his gaze, calm and penetrating, as if trying to see straight through me.

  I hurriedly pushed the blanket toward him. “…I mean it. Truly.”

  Hua raised a brow, clearly suppressing a laugh, and hid his expression behind his fan.

  The fire crackled softly. The flames gradually died down, leaving only glowing embers.

  Wrapped in my blanket, I still couldn’t settle. My brother’s note pressed against my chest.

  Is he really watching from somewhere? Or was that just empty reassurance?

  “The fire’s dying. I’ll gather some dry branches,” I said, getting up and dusting myself off.

  I sounded casual, but in truth I wanted to look around—just in case my brother really was nearby.

  The mountain wind carried a chill. Shadows stretched long between the trees.

  I’d only gone a few steps when I heard a faint whimper ahead.

  The sound was soft, almost infantile—like a kitten’s cry, or wind blowing across hollow bamboo. It sent a chill down my spine.

  Heart pounding, I carefully parted the branches and looked ahead—and nearly jumped out of my skin.

  A litter of tiger cubs lay curled together in a clearing not far away. The little creatures were sprawled awkwardly, completely motionless, as if fast asleep.

  I held my breath and instinctively backed away, ducking into a bush.

  Running into this at night—there’s no way the mother isn’t nearby…

  As my thoughts raced, a deep, thunderous roar echoed from the distance.

  The ground itself seemed to tremble.

  —The tigress had returned.