Chapter Ninety-Nine: This Journey to Miao Territory May Be Fraught with Peril; The Roads of the Jianghu Are Long—May Fate Bring Us Together Again

At dawn, the sky was pale and mist settled by the riverbank. Song Mo opened the door of the seventh mortuary room. Outside stood a cart driver, surprisingly with a donkey cart.

“Take it away yourself,” Song Mo said, then headed toward the old street. Xia Yu was still asleep from his hangover, so there was no need to wake him.

“Alright,” the cart driver responded in a muffled voice. Perhaps to ward off bad luck, he wore an old, hole-ridden hemp garment tied at the waist with a half-length hemp rope.

The late autumn chill cut through to the bone, and the driver smacked his lips as he entered the mortuary room.

Song Mo walked on without worry—he had no fear the driver would steal anything. For one, people generally avoided the mortuary out of superstition; even the boldest wouldn’t dare pilfer there. For another, there was nothing valuable stored in the seventh mortuary room.

He arrived at Old Lin’s breakfast stall, where Granny Wang busily poured freshly made soy milk into a basin for sale. The newly fried youtiao emitted a tempting aroma, making Song Mo involuntarily lick his lips.

“Two youtiao and a bowl of plain porridge,” Song Mo said with a smile to Old Lin.

“All right, go sit inside; it’s cold out here today!” Old Lin greeted warmly, which made Song Mo feel quite comforted.

He found a seat near the back of the shop. Soon, Yan Zi came over carrying the porridge. Today she wore a floral short jacket, her raven hair pinned up with a peachwood hairpin, looking utterly languid.

“It’s going to turn cold these days; you should wear more,” Yan Zi said softly as she set down the porridge. Her voice was so quiet it was almost inaudible, yet Song Mo smiled and nodded.

Glancing down at his worn, thin long gown, he admitted it was time to get some new clothes.

Just then, he noticed Yan Zi holding a small dish and two youtiao, hesitating before placing them on the table, her eyes fixed on his feet.

“Yan Zi? What are you thinking?” Song Mo asked with a smile.

Yan Zi blushed, lightly setting the tray on the table. “Mind your own business and eat your meal!”

After speaking, she quickly trotted over to Granny Wang. The two whispered and laughed, sharing some secret.

Song Mo was puzzled, but the porridge was delicious, the side dishes appetizing, and the youtiao glistened with oil—eating them was a pure pleasure.

After finishing, Song Mo paid and stepped out of the shop. Glancing back, he saw Yan Zi still sneaking glances at him, which left him perplexed.

“Could this girl be up to something?” Song Mo muttered, shaking his head as he left the old street behind.

...

The light shimmered over the fields, and the plants awaited another autumn.

In the West Market, at Huangmian Lane.

Song Mo picked two pieces of fashionable Jiangnan fabric from a cloth stall. Though it was not yet the New Year, adding two new garments for Yan Zi was a fine idea. After all, he often received kindness from others, and it pleased him to see her dressed well.

His long gown was truly shabby, so he bought a new set from a tailor’s shop: a white linen robe with a black cloak over it.

While waiting for the tailor to take his measurements, Song Mo sat inside the shop.

Besides him, there were nine others: a woman in red with her elderly father getting clothes made, a green-clad woman accompanying a man shopping for clothes, a well-off woman with two maids also having garments made, and finally, a blind old man with a boy of about eleven or twelve. The last two simply sat without the intention to shop.

The red-clad woman, seeing the shop grow crowded, was unhurried—her father’s measurements were done. Bored, she began boasting about her husband, who ran a big business in the south and always returned with many precious goods.

The man having clothes made glanced awkwardly at the green-clad woman, adjusting his attire to appear more proper.

The well-off woman curled her lip, disdain flashing in her eyes.

The blind old man showed no expression, while the boy was intrigued by the fine clothes on display.

Finding no one paying attention, the red-clad woman turned her gaze toward Song Mo.

What better way to show superiority than to compare oneself to a pauper?

Unluckily, Song Mo became the target of such snobbery.

Fortunately, the tailor soon brought out Song Mo’s finished clothes, allowing him to smile and leave the shop.

Carrying his new garments and fabric, he headed home. Suddenly, a woman dressed in Miao attire appeared before him.

“Come with me. I’ll treat you to tea,” Long Jingshu said calmly.

“Can I refuse?” Song Mo smiled wryly but obediently followed her.

...

At the West Market, inside Chunfeng Ruyi Tower.

On the third floor, in room Number One of the Heaven suite.

Song Mo pushed the tea cup forward on the table. He had seen Long Jingshu’s methods before; her poisonous insects were invisible and intangible, making them extremely hard to defend against. He had no intention of being caught unawares.

Long Jingshu seemed to sense his thoughts and smiled gently—like a peach blossom blooming amid the harsh winter snow.

Song Mo had to admit, this icy beauty’s smile rivaled even Jiang Wanyi’s or Zhao Yueshu’s.

“Are you afraid I’ve cast a spell on you?” Long Jingshu asked directly.

Her clear eyes stared right at him, as if she could see through his very soul.

“Of course not,” Song Mo quickly denied.

“If you do no wrong, there is no need to fear me,” Long Jingshu said, taking a sip from her tea.

Song Mo nodded and drank from his own cup.

Long Jingshu smiled again, a smile so warm it could melt three feet of winter snow.

“I put a spell in your cup.”

“*Ahem,*” Song Mo coughed.

Long Jingshu laughed louder.

...

“Who exactly was that corpse?” Song Mo frowned, feeling embarrassed at being toyed with by Long Jingshu’s teasing.

Her expression darkened. “I hope this secret eats away at you until it reaches your core. Maybe next time we meet, I’ll tell you.”

She spoke seriously, and Song Mo didn’t press further.

“By the way, I don’t even know your name,” Song Mo asked.

“Bah, you scoundrel! Don’t think I didn’t recognize you as the broad-faced man that day,” Long Jingshu scolded, then softened her voice. “My name is Long Jingshu.”

Song Mo smiled awkwardly and replied simply, “I’m Song Mo.”

Long Jingshu pressed her lips into a smile, then slowly finished her tea.

“I should return to Miao territory now,” she said, standing.

Song Mo nodded. “The world is chaotic there. Be careful.”

Long Jingshu said calmly, “The roads of the martial world are long. If fate allows, we shall meet again. Thank you, Song Mo.”

With that, she left.

Song Mo sat in the Heaven suite’s Number One room for a long while, until the warm tea cooled and the hoarse voice of a storyteller began outside.

“Traveling the world, crossing all lands, how can one’s heart flow as endlessly as water? Sweet at first acquaintance, but over time affection fades to sorrow. Words whispered behind backs, kindness unwittingly turns to enmity…”

...

Afternoon sun lingering, wind rising atop the tower.

Outside the Xuanle Gate, on a lonely path.

Long Jingshu, veiled in thin gauze, urged her horse-drawn carriage onward. Her thoughts wandered, haunted by that rogue scoundrel.

Suddenly, a voice came from inside.

“In truth, he and I are the same kind of person.”

Long Jingshu paused, then whispered, “Who is he, really?”

“A pitiable soul.”