Yu Lingxi searched the back courtyard thoroughly but found no sign of Ning Yin, so she turned and headed straight for the side gate and stables.
Guard Qing Xiao was leading a horse, seemingly preparing to go out on business.
With no time for greetings, Yu Lingxi snatched the reins from Qing Xiao’s hand, stepped on the stone stairs, swung herself onto the horse, slapped its rump, and commanded: “Go!”
“Young Miss, this horse…”
Qing Xiao was horrified: the horse hadn’t even been saddled yet!
There was no time to chase after her as the fine steed had already carried the white-clothed, loose-haired young lady into the thick darkness of the street corner.
Yu Lingxi searched the streets around the mansion but still didn’t see Ning Yin.
In such darkness, and with his injuries, where could he have gone?
A flash of insight struck Yu Lingxi. She remembered one place and immediately turned her horse toward Shengping Street.
At the hour of Hai (9-11 PM), the marketplace was closed, with only a few scattered lights on the street, empty of people.
The collapsed buildings of Yujie Xiandu stood like jagged black bones at the end of the darkness. And sure enough, Ning Yin’s solitary figure was leaning against the charred, ruined district gate.
He heard the hoofbeats and stood straight, his shadow casting a long and lonely silhouette beneath his feet.
But his eyes were calm, showing no surprise whatsoever.
In that moment as the dust settled, Yu Lingxi failed to notice the shadow of a gray falcon swooping across the eaves.
After her initial relief came a spreading sense of sadness.
Or perhaps he had deliberately hidden here, in a place where she could find him.
Whether intentional or not, Yu Lingxi had to bring him back.
Whether he was a divine spirit or an evil demon, she would make him the future protector of the Yu family.
“Yu—”
Ning Yin tilted his head slightly upward, his eyes reflecting the small figure of Yu Lingxi abruptly reining in her horse.
The steed raised its hooves high, while the young lady on its back gripped the reins tightly. Her loose black hair flew like clouds, rising and falling, drawing a dazzling golden light behind her.
She hadn’t even taken time to tidy herself or change clothes but had rushed out wearing only a plain white underdress. The fluttering hem revealed a glimpse of her jade-white ankles and dainty embroidered shoes.
The horse’s back was completely bare, without even a saddle.
Yu Lingxi controlled the horse to pace in small steps, her clear, beautiful almond eyes looking down at him.
“Young Miss.”
Their eyes met, and Ning Yin conspicuously hid his heavily bandaged left arm behind his back.
Yu Lingxi still spotted the red seeping through the bandages. She pressed her lips together, and the taste of that warm, sweet metallic flavor seemed to rise again between her lips and teeth.
She suddenly spoke: “You said you have no name, so I’ll give you one.”
Ning Yin gazed at her, listening quietly.
“Your original designation ‘Twenty-seven’ is too awkward, so I’ll take the last character ‘seven,’ and use the state name ‘Wei’ as your surname.”
Yu Lingxi’s chest rose and fell slightly. Her gaze seemed to penetrate the young man before her, reaching into the distant past as she pronounced word by word, “Until we recover your true name, you shall be called ‘Wei Qi’.”
Among the many princes, Ning Yin ranked seventh. “Wei Qi” was the alias Yu Lingxi had given him in her previous life when they left the capital for the palace retreat to treat his illness.
It was a name only she knew.
Ning Yin’s eyes widened slightly, a trace of peculiarity passing through his otherwise dead-pond eyes.
He had never heard this name before, yet somehow, it gave him an inexplicable sense of familiarity.
“Wei… Qi?” he repeated.
His low, husky, and slightly puzzled youthful voice drifted with the gentle wind.
Yu Lingxi nodded.
Her hand gripping the reins tightened and then relaxed. She slowly bent forward on horseback, extending her hand to Ning Yin for the first time of her initiative.
“Come home with me, Wei Qi,” she said, her red lips parting slightly as she breathed.
The word “home” is perhaps the most laughable in the world, yet coming from her lips, it somehow carried a convincing tranquility.
Ning Yin’s Adam’s apple bobbed, and he froze momentarily before slowly raising his clean right hand, gently placing his knuckles in her palm.
He said: “All right.”
That small hand was slender and delicate, yet warm and soft. With just a light pull, she brought Ning Yin up onto the horse’s back.
The destitute young man and the privileged young lady, in this moment and night, each began their own high-stakes gamble with an unknown path ahead.
“Your left hand is injured and you’re unsteady. You’d better hold onto me—if you fall off, I won’t be responsible for picking you up,” the young lady’s lowered voice came from in front.
Ning Yin lowered his gaze, hesitantly reached out, and encircled her waist which could be encompassed by his hands.
Slender, soft, as if his two palms could pinch it completely.
For the first time in his life, he felt curious about a woman’s body.
Just as he was wondering what kind of soft jade his palms were touching, an elbow jabbed back, and the young lady’s delicate warning came: “Hold onto my clothes, don’t touch me inappropriately.”