The rest of Ding Weixiang’s sentence cut off abruptly. The man who had spoken his name bore no visible anger on his face — but Ding Weixiang needed only one glance at those eyes to understand the warning contained within them.
Xiao Nanhui stared at the scene that had gone suddenly cold, bewildered. She closed the fingers of one hand in a slight motion — and the imposing silver spear, standing a full head taller than herself, immediately contracted back to less than three feet in length. When she slid it onto her back, it was no longer than a short sword. Whatever ingenious mechanism lay inside it was truly astonishing.
“There are less than two hours before dawn. If we stay here much longer, things could go wrong — but now we have no carriage to carry the luggage.”
“There is a carriage, actually.” Zhongli Jing drifted past Xiao Nanhui and walked straight to a concealed thicket of trees.
Xiao Nanhui was puzzled at first, then looked more carefully — and saw that behind those trees, there was a carriage, prepared in advance and waiting.
Ding Weixiang was already leading the horses over to hitch them up and repack the luggage. As he passed Xiao Nanhui, he gave a quiet snort: “Difficult roads call for preparation. If we hadn’t accounted for this from the beginning, we would never have chosen this route.”
Xiao Nanhui had a breath of anger that could go neither up nor down. Feeling entirely outmaneuvered by this pair, she simply gave up, flicked her sleeve, and got in the carriage first.
By the time Zhongli Jing entered the carriage, Xiao Nanhui was already wiping down the spear’s tip — having lodged it in the cliff face earlier, there was now a fair amount of mud on it. She was extremely fond of this spear that had accompanied her through life and death, and tonight it had saved her life once more.
Zhongli Jing lowered his gaze and sat down across from Xiao Nanhui, smoothing his robe as he settled.
“Brother Yao saved my life just now, and I was very moved.”
Xiao Nanhui’s hand paused in its movement.
His tone sounded entirely sincere — yet for some reason, every time Xiao Nanhui saw those pitch-black eyes, she felt an instinctive, slight unease. She had been about to reply with a casual “think nothing of it,” but the words reached her lips and went back down again.
Zhongli Jing seemed untroubled. His gaze slid to the silver spear.
“This spear is called Ping Xian, if I am correct?”
At those words, Xiao Nanhui looked up at him sharply.
There were many famous weapons in the world, but a spear that could extend and retract was singular. Everyone who had ever witnessed Ping Xian could not forget that quality — but the few who actually knew its name were something else entirely. Xiao Zhun had also once told her not to reveal this spear’s name to anyone. That was the only request made by the person who had forged it.
She had never expected that this man, who had no apparent connection whatsoever to the martial world, could speak that name aloud.
“How would I know what you’re thinking about that?” His voice was even, as though he were simply stating an unremarkable truth. “Some things are not known only to the Qinghuai Marquis. Besides — this spear was something he obtained from someone else in the first place.”
Zhongli Jing’s hand suddenly reached toward her. Xiao Nanhui was startled, then realized — he had only placed his hand on Ping Xian.
Where he rested his hand, the surface was somewhat uneven — carved with decorative patterns meant to conceal the positions of the mechanisms beneath. Those fair, slender fingertips that had clearly never touched anything rough passed lightly over the shaft of Ping Xian, as though beneath them lay not a length of cold, hard steel, but the warm, smooth skin of a beautiful woman.
“Xiao Nanhui — do you know the story behind this spear?”
Xiao Nanhui shivered almost reflexively.
Whenever this man spoke her name, she felt a twinge of unease. What exactly was she flinching from? He probably couldn’t even defeat a single one of her fingers.
At that thought, Xiao Nanhui’s expression hardened again.
“People like to compare husband and wife to the strings of a qin and a se — marital devotion, likened to the strings of an instrument. This spear is made for a woman. The name Ping Xian carries a metaphor — it proclaims to the world that women, too, may take up arms and go to battle, equal to men in every way.”
For a brief instant, a strange expression crossed Zhongli Jing’s face. His elegant mouth curved into a slight arc. Then the hand withdrew, and his face returned to its habitual composure.
“It seems you know only half the story. Whoever gave you this spear did not tell you very much.”
With that, he closed his eyes.
Outside, Bolao and Ding Weixiang were still arguing over which road to take. Xiao Nanhui found herself unable to take any of it in.
Even now, she still believed that when Xiao Zhun gave Ping Xian to her, it was out of hope that she would train in the martial arts and stand second to no man. Nothing more. No other interpretation.
She lowered her gaze to the silver spear that had accompanied her through every ordeal, and gripped it tight in her hands — as though only by holding it this firmly could the inexplicable unease in her heart be stilled.