It rained for seven straight days.
And Qin Ren lingered in the southern town just as long. Under his meticulous care, Qiu Ruomei's injuries gradually healed. By the time the skies cleared, she was almost fully recovered—she could not only walk but was perfectly capable of throwing a punch or two.
But she never did raise her hand against him. It wasn't fear of his martial prowess—it was simply that, after being tended like a fragile flower by this unusually attentive man for a week, she couldn't bring herself to beat him up.
The imperial suite had three bedrooms. Qin Ren's was right next to hers.
That morning, the young master rose early. After grooming himself, he strolled up to her door and, without knocking, quietly slipped inside. Over the past few days, the once-cold-as-ice girl seemed to have softened toward him—his patience was melting even her frosty pride.
Of course, Qin Ren was up early not out of virtue. He'd been abstinent for seven long days, which, for someone who'd just romped with five peerless beauties in succession, was pure agony.
He tiptoed into the room, circled past the screen, and looked toward the bed—only to find it neatly made and empty.
Turning his head, he saw her.
By the vanity near the window, she sat, brushing her hair. Silky strands like black satin flowed down her pale shoulders, gleaming in the morning light.
She wore only a sheer white gown. A faint pink bandeau peeked through, teasing the eye. Her waist was slim, her curves captivating. From beneath the chair, her legs—long and pale—peeked out like jade columns, her delicate feet resting lightly on the velvet carpet.
He gazed, entranced.
In the bronze mirror, her unadorned face was reflected—pure, elegant, like a plum blossom blooming in the snow.
Qin Ren couldn't help himself. His voice, dreamy and soft, whispered:
"Fame and fortune, scattered like smoke.Heroes are tender, beauties are fair.Of all the ancient tales—A laugh, and they vanish into air."
Her hand paused. She looked into the mirror, seeing his figure behind her. For a moment, even her heart wavered.
She silently repeated his words.
"Fame and fortune, scattered like smoke..."
This was the first man in her life. But had he taken her purity… or had she given it freely?
Without Qin Ren's involvement, her wretched adoptive father might never have sold her for four hundred taels. Yet that night, it was she who had taken the lead… while he, ironically, had resisted.
Who violated whom? Even heaven might find the question too murky to judge.
Worse yet, the man who took her innocence was three years younger than her. Her dream prince had always been tall, broad-shouldered, a bit weathered but still graceful—a man old enough to be reliable, wise, maybe five years her senior.
And Qin Ren? A fifteen-year-old brat whose peach-fuzz barely shaded his lip. Tall, yes, but not strong. His eyes shone, sure—but often with lascivious intent. His smile was sometimes warm, sometimes wicked.
Still, there were two things she couldn't dismiss: his attentiveness, and the fleeting sorrow that occasionally appeared in his gaze.
What use was money? She could find rich men in droves if she wanted. She had beauty, skill, pride—if she'd been greedy, she wouldn't have lived so poor, sewing patches into her own clothes.
And so she made her choice.
She would leave. Quietly. Alone. She would roam the martial world and forget this man.
Ruomei was a decisive woman. She didn't get to beat Qin Ren up like she'd hoped, which annoyed her a little—but she gave him credit for recognizing his faults. The beating could wait.
"Ah-Ren," she called gently. "Come here."
Qin Ren blinked out of his daze, flashing a cheeky grin as he sauntered over. "What's up, Sister Mei?"
He called her sister only because he truly liked her. Though just fifteen, Qin Ren's soul carried thirty-eight years of life. His tastes were refined—whether maiden or mature, as long as she was a proper 'bloom,' her age was no obstacle.
He had no shame in being a womanizer—he was a flower-thief, not a moralist.
If this life wasn't lived with passion and indulgence, what use was a second chance? He might as well have stayed buried underground.
And even a rogue, even a pervert, even a monster… can carry a shred of sincerity.
He truly liked her. Maybe even loved her.
He stepped closer, gently placed his hands on her shoulders, brushing the smooth curve of her cheek—no further. That was her boundary now. Though he'd touched every inch of her once, back then she had no choice. Now she did.
"Ah-Ren," she said, looking up into his eyes, "I'm leaving."
He smiled, leaned down, kissed her lips gently. "Leaving me already? You'll miss your little brother?"
"I…" She bit her lip. "If I stay… and let you treat me like this every day… I might…"
"Might what?" he teased. "Fall for me?"
She was silent for a moment. Then said softly, "I'm a woman of the Jianghu. You're the young master of a noble house. We're not the same. You won't love me, and I won't love you."
"Roaming the world for what?" he sneered. "Fame? Fortune? Justice? All illusions. And justice? Just a pretty excuse for killing. If everyone starts 'upholding justice,' who's left to kill when the unjust are gone?"
"Always with your twisted logic," she chuckled.
"Twisted or not, it's still logic," he grinned, kneeling in front of her and placing his hands gently on her thighs. "How about you stop wandering the world? It's pointless."
"Life has to have meaning," she replied seriously. "If I let my skills go to waste, I'll be ashamed even in the afterlife. You and I aren't of the same path—we can't walk it together. Don't try to stop me. To me, you're still just a child."
She stroked his cheek and murmured, "Ah-Ren, go get me some breakfast. One last meal together… before goodbye."
Qin Ren sighed and nodded. "Alright. Sister Mei, you really are something."
He kissed her again, smiled, and walked out. She stared at his back, whispering to herself:
"And you… are no less."
When he returned with a tray of pastries, the room was empty.
On the bed lay a stack of neatly folded clothes—the ones he had bought for her. From the looks of it, she'd only taken one outfit with her. The rest she left behind.
If her old clothes weren't so torn, she probably wouldn't have taken even that.
Qin Ren chuckled bitterly, shoved a cake into his mouth, and walked to the open window. In the distance, at the edge of town, a white figure slowly vanished into the mist.
"You're gone," he muttered. "I guess it's time I hit the road too. If Poison-Hand Bauhinia's still hunting me, she's probably almost caught up by now."
Somewhere far ahead, a girl in green riding at full gallop suddenly sneezed.
"Achoo!"
"Huh? Why'd I sneeze? It's not even cold anymore."
Beside her, a girl in white, with a face cold enough to freeze fire, muttered, "Maybe someone's thinking about you."
The girl in green giggled, a smile that made flowers wilt and moons hide. "Oh please, cousin. If anyone's thinking of me, it's probably that guy thinking of you."
The white-clad cousin snorted. "Cut it out. In a hundred and fifty miles, we'll reach Yan Province. If that bastard's holed up in Ironblood Howling Fortress, you really think you can drag him out?"
The green girl's smile turned icy—deadly.
"Even if he hid in the Yellow Springs, I'd still drag him out. Hyah!"
Her heels kicked the horse, and the beast charged forward.
Dust rose in the plains as the two girls galloped north—toward the fortress, and toward fate.