Taking advantage of the masked man's frozen state, Dongyan and Dongpo moved in unison, pressing their blades firmly against his throat.
Hanyue stepped forward, his gaze sweeping across the scene: Zhouyan still kneeling on one knee, Bairan half-held in his arms.
He turned toward the masked man and ordered coldly, "Tie him up."
Dongpo struck the masked man's stomach with the hilt of his sword, bringing him to his knees and twisting his arms behind his back.
Around them, the remaining Yasha assassins faltered. Some dropped their weapons immediately; others collapsed to the ground, their bodies failing under the poison's effects. Hanyue's men moved in quickly, restraining them one by one.
Hearing Hanyue's voice, Bairan finally came back to her senses. She shifted slightly and whispered to Zhouyan in a low voice, "Let me go."
But Zhouyan's arm did not loosen.
For a moment, Bairan wondered if he hadn't heard her—or if he had, and simply couldn't move.
The masked man suddenly let out a harsh laugh, his eyes burning with hatred as he looked toward Zhouyan. He mocked, "So, His Highness isn't as dead as people say. You still have enough strength to flirt on the battlefield. Are you here to avenge an old love—or find a new one?"
Zhouyan's fingertips trembled. Slowly, his grip on Bairan's waist loosened.
Bairan caught her breath. His Highness...
So that was who he truly was. It should have shocked her more, but the masked man's last words lingered in her mind.
Avenge an old love?
She had no more time to think. When she felt Zhouyan's hold weaken, she broke free completely and stood up, taking a step away from him.
Zhouyan glanced briefly at his now-empty hand. Then, with the help of his sword, he forced himself to stand, his expression turning cold as ice. He ordered in a harsh voice, "Remove his mask."
Dongyan reached forward and tore the fabric away.
He was none other than a young escaped prisoner.
Dongpo's eyes widened. "... It's him. Gangwe."
Gangwe's brows tightened. He gritted his teeth and sneered.
Hanyue stepped forward, disbelief flashing across his face.
"You pretended to be weak when we arrested you. Yet you're actually a skilled martial artist?"
Gangwe spat on the ground and glanced sideways at Zhouyan. "Unfortunately, I wasn't skilled enough to please my master by killing your disgraced prince."
Dongpo struck him again. "How dare you!" he shouted.
Gangwe let out a groan, his lips curling into a mocking laugh. "And why wouldn't I dare?"
Zhouyan approached him slowly, his presence heavy and oppressive. He asked coldly, "Your master?"
Gangwe straightened, a flicker of disdain crossing his face. "My master is Shen Yueran," he answered with a mocking tilt of his head. "I believe you are all quite familiar with his reputation, are you not?"
Zhouyan stared straight into his eyes.
"You're the Second Death."
Hanyue's eyes widened in shock.
"The Second Death? Shen Yueran's only disciple—the one who found him in the abandoned village and raised him just to turn him into a weapon."
Gangwe froze for a split second, then sneered again.
"So you finally recognize me. Took you long enough—"
Hanyue clenched his fist and cut in sharply.
"Where is Shen Yueran?"
A jagged laugh broke from Gangwe's throat. "You want my master?" He glared at Zhouyan, his smile turning venomous. "You'll never find him—except, perhaps, in your dreams."
Zhouyan's gaze swept over him with cold indifference. Without sparing Gangwe another glance, he turned to Hanyue. "Deal with it quickly. Prepare to leave."
Gangwe's expression darkened; his mockery had landed without leaving a single scratch.
Bairan watched Gangwe's every twitch. Her breath hitched as his hand blurred behind his back.
The dagger's edge gleamed.
"Your Highness!" she cried.
Zhouyan turned just as Gangwe broke free. He threw Dongpo aside with a violent shove and charged, the dagger aimed at Zhouyan's chest.
Steel flashed. Gangwe lunged with a desperate frenzy, but Zhouyan moved like a shadow, his retreats precise and minimal.
A sharp gasp cut through the struggle.
Gangwe froze, blood welling in his throat and spilling over his lips. Zhouyan's blade had already buried deep in his stomach.
Zhouyan leaned in, his voice low and emotionless, "Everything he taught you... I had already mastered by the age of thirteen."
The dagger slipped from Gangwe's fingers. His lips parted, but his voice was gone, replaced by a hollow rattle. With cold efficiency, Zhouyan withdrew his blade, watching the blood drip—bead by bead—into the dust.
Gangwe fell hard, his body folding like a broken puppet. Even in death, his eyes remained fixed in a wide, glassy stare.
Hanyue stepped forward urgently.
"Master—he was our only lead to Shen Yueran."
Zhouyan looked down at the corpse. His tone remained composed. "A pawn. Nothing more."
His mind flickered briefly to another figure.
The First Death was the man who had once stood at his side as his right-hand lieutenant, the one he had trusted. The same man who had betrayed him and become the one who murdered his Xinyi and Hanzhou.
It didn't matter how many "Deaths" Shen Yueran created.
He would end them one by one.
Zhouyan turned away, his voice returning to its frigid edge. "Clear the field."
Hanyue bowed his head respectfully. "Yes, Master."
Only then was Zhouyan's attention drawn to Bairan again. The wind stirred, brushing a stray lock of hair from her pale face. She stood there, clutching her bandaged hand, watching him quietly—Zhouyan didn't find fear in her almond eyes, but more like thoughtful curiosity.
Bairan was considering what kind of man this H truly was when Zhouyan approached, shed his outer robe, and draped the heavy fabric over her shoulders.
"It's cold. You should return."
Caught off guard, she raised her head, but as soon as their eyes locked, she snapped her gaze toward the ground. The robe felt heavy and warm on her shoulders, yet she forgot to thank him for it.
She uttered a tiny, non-committal hum. Then, with a furrowed brow, she began looking around, pretending to search for a horse.
Zhouyan let out a sharp whistle.
Soon, the rhythmic thunder of hoofbeats echoed through the blood-soaked forest. Bái Guāng surged through the shadows, slowing to a graceful halt directly in front of his master.
A small, genuine smile touched Bairan's lips as she watched; her eyes shone with admiration. She thought, What a smart horse.
In one smooth motion, Zhouyan mounted, then reached down and held out his hand to her.
Bairan's gaze shifted, her brow furrowed. Is he genuinely offering his robe and hand without ulterior motives, or is he now attempting to test her, now that she knows his true identity? How should she respond?
Her gaze fell to his arm.
Blood was still dripping from Zhouyan's wound—more visible now that he wore only his inner garments.
Finally, she raised her hand and took his.
With a single pull, Zhouyan lifted her onto the horse, settling her in front of him.
He reached around her to grasp the reins, his movements so precise that he didn't touch her at all. Bairan sat rigid, staring straight ahead; she didn't turn around, and he didn't move any closer.
Hanyue stood watching as they disappeared.
Bái Guāng moved with a silent, steady gait along the forest path, his hooves muffled by the damp earth. The shadows consumed their figures one by one, until only the faint, defiant flutter of red ribbon remained—and then, even that vanished into the enveloping fog.
In all his years of service, he had never seen His Highness behave this way—not with anyone, and certainly not with a woman. He was cold toward everyone. But this woman shielded him with her body without knowing his identity, and when she learned who he was, she did not kneel. She did not panic. She neither clung to him in desperation nor fled in terror.
Hanyue let out a slow, considered breath.
Perhaps that was why His Highness acted toward her differently. She didn't seem to care about his title at all.
The forest wind sharpened as they cleared the treeline, biting through the stillness.
Bairan felt the chill seep deep into her bones. Instinctively, she pulled Zhouyan's robe tighter, burying her face slightly into the collar. The scent of sandalwood clung to the fabric—clean, steady, and far warmer than the spring night.
His scent wrapped around her. Slowly, without her noticing, the lines on her forehead smoothed out.
Zhouyan's voice drifted over her shoulder, low and steady
"Why did you shield me?"
Bairan's fingers tightened for a brief moment.
She wondered, was all this for this question? If she said she didn't even know why she had done it, would he believe her?
The night wind brushed against her lashes. She spoke softly, as if her words were meant for the road ahead rather than the man behind her.
"Because my family was the reason you were there."
Zhouyan fell silent.
Bairan continued, her voice remaining calm, "If anything had happened to you, it wouldn't have ended with my father alone. The entire Lin family would have been buried with him."
She did not speak out the rest—that Master Lin was foolish, cowardly, an unworthy father. Even so, she did not believe the Lin family deserved such an end.
Zhouyan's grip on the reins tightened.
For a long while, neither of them spoke.
Bái Guāng maintained a rhythmic pace; its deliberate steps lengthened the tension between them.
At last, Zhouyan spoke again; his voice was lower than the before. "...Is that the only reason?"
Bairan thought what other reason did he need?
After a pause, she said, "Perhaps I just wanted to settle the debt. Tonight, Master Pei helped me a lot."
Zhouyan looked at her profile under the moonlight—at the slender shoulders wrapped in his robe.
Only then did he realize he had been waiting for a different answer.
The road fell into a deep silence once more.
Bairan's eyelids grew heavy, the rhythmic sway of the horse, the solid warmth at her back, and the comforting scent of sandalwood lulled her into a daze. Her lashes fluttered one last time before she leaned back—softly, against his chest.
Zhouyan instinctively raised his hand to maintain the distance between them, but upon hearing her slow, regular breathing, he quietly lowered it.
He turned his phoenix eyes back to the darkness of the road. In the silence of the night, the weight of his hidden grief finally surfaced; his eyes reflected a sadness so deep that even the radiant moonlight could not penetrate it.