Chapter 29: Weren’t You Going to Sleep with Me?

The wind whistled past, the air rushing through the gaps in his clothes with a sharp, rustling sound. Because it was the Ghost Festival, there was no curfew tonight, and Wang Lu kept himself tucked deep within the shadows.

"Mmph! Mmph!"

Wang Lu had stuffed the clothes he’d stripped off into Guo Zhen’s mouth, tying them tightly behind his head so that only a pair of small, panicked eyes remained visible. The stench of old blood and rot from the fabric made Guo Zhen gag, his constant whimpering a desperate plea for release. He could promise not to scream!

But Wang Lu didn't trust him in the slightest. Once they were well clear of the Ming-Shi Quarter, the noise became an irritation. Wang Lu settled the matter with a single, decisive blow to the back of Guo Zhen’s head.

"Ugh—"

Guo Zhen slumped, promptly and cleanly unconscious.

Wang Lu was wearing only his under-tunic. The night air was heavy with dew and biting cold—a testament to the harshness of this "Little Ice Age." Fortunately, the physical exertion of running while hauling Guo Zhen kept his blood pumping; his skeletal muscles generated enough heat to bead fine droplets of sweat on his forehead.

Outside the Ming-Shi Quarter, the streets were mostly deserted. The inner canal was quiet, save for the colorful paper lotus lanterns drifting downstream. Each one sat upon a base of eggplant, watermelon, or pumpkin, with a lit candle flickering in the center. In the spirit of the Ghost Festival, these offerings were meant to ferry the spirits of the dead. Along the roadside, scattered piles of black ash marked where people had performed ancestral rites because they could not reach their family graves. Traditional Chinese festivals held a profound, solemn weight; from the highest nobility to the humblest commoner, the reverence for one's ancestors was universal.

Wang Lu slowed his pace as he passed, a flicker of doubt crossing his eyes before he shook it off. He hadn't been the one to kill the attendants and waiters at Jinling House, but his "hypocritical" moral compass was beginning to prickle again. He consoled himself with the reminder that this was merely a movie world, promising that once this business was concluded, he would do what he could to make amends.

In truth, if Ding Baiying had killed Guo Zhen at the very beginning, Wang Lu might have acted sooner. But for the sake of his subsequent plans, he needed Guo Zhen to truly feel the cold blade of death. Otherwise, the Prince of Xin—that master of histrionics—would likely have sweet-talked Guo Zhen back into his fold with lines like, "I had no choice; I would have died in your place if I could," followed by the inevitable scene of weeping monarch and subject.

Only when life is truly threatened—to the point where, were it not for Wang Lu’s intervention, everything would vanish into the void—would Guo Zhen find the rage and courage to turn against the Prince.

Wang Lu remained silent, pressing southward toward Huanghua Quarter. He bypassed two night patrols by slipping through pitch-black alleys before continuing his swift, silent flight.

In the southwest courtyard of the Warm Fragrance Pavilion, Zhou Miaotong trimmed the candle wick, brightening the room. Once she set the scissors down, she sat on the edge of the bed and waited quietly. She pulled a letter from beneath her pillow, stroking it gently, her eyes filled with a longing she had never known before.

"Master Wang... Sister..." she murmured. "Ever since I first met him, I felt as if my life had changed forever. Is it truly fate?"

*Thump. Thump-thump.*

The heavy sound at the door startled her, but she immediately realized it was Wang Lu. She tucked the letter back under the pillow and rose to unlatch the door.

"It’s me," Wang Lu said, entering and scanning the room.

Zhou Miaotong, understanding that Wang Lu did not want his presence known, dutifully re-latched the door.

"Should I blow out the lamps?" she asked cautiously.

"No, keep them as they are. It would look suspicious otherwise," Wang Lu replied, looking around for a place to hide their guest. "Your room is quite fragrant."

He walked toward a wardrobe, smiling. The room held a unique floral scent, like orchids and peach blossoms, a far more intoxicating atmosphere than the other rooms in the pavilion.

Zhou Miaotong lowered her head. "It is the scent of the powder I wear; it naturally lingers in the room."

No sooner had she spoken than Wang Lu reached out and wiped a finger across her cheek. He held it up, smiling. "I don't see any."

"Master, the pavilion had few guests tonight, so I washed the makeup off long ago," she said, feeling flustered.

Wang Lu laughed. "I think you look better this way. Others use rouge to hide their flaws, but you don't have any. Using it would be gilding the lily."

Zhou Miaotong felt a stir in her heart, watching him in a daze.

*Thump, thump!*

Wang Lu tapped the wardrobe. "Open this. It’s the perfect place to stash him. Leaving him out in the room is too frightening, and he’ll be discovered."

The strange, budding emotion in Zhou Miaotong’s heart was abruptly crushed by Wang Lu’s bluntness. One moment it felt like the flirtatious banter of lovers, and the next, he had fast-forwarded them straight into the life of a criminal duo. Fortunately, she had already steeled herself; she quickly fetched the key from the drawer and handed it to him.

Wang Lu stuffed the unconscious Guo Zhen into the wardrobe, not bothering to wake him for questioning just yet. He turned and opened his travel pack, pulling out his embroidered Flying Fish uniform.

Zhou Miaotong stepped forward to help him dress. As her slender fingers brushed his waist to tie his sash, Wang Lu glanced at her. She kept her head down, her long hair falling forward as she focused on the task, before looking up to straighten his collar.

"Heh."

Zhou Miaotong tilted her head. "What are you laughing at, Master?"

"I didn't realize you were so domestic," Wang Lu said with a smile.

Zhou Miaotong’s lips curled slightly, but her expression quickly returned to its usual stoic mask. "A fallen flower, a broken willow—you must be amused by me, Master."

Wang Lu knew the words stung, so he gripped her shoulders. "Don't worry. You will be free of this place soon. I will fulfill every promise I made to you. I am not one to speak idly."

Zhou Miaotong bowed slightly. "I trust you, Master. And even if you had malicious intentions, I have no power to resist. So, whatever you need me to do, just command it—as long as my sister is not harmed, I will do anything."

"Anything at all?" Wang Lu’s eyes twinkled as he squeezed her shoulders.

Zhou Miaotong understood exactly what he meant. She bit her lip and nodded. "Anything."

"Haha, very well." Wang Lu walked toward the bed.

Zhou Miaotong followed immediately, her hands reaching for his clothes. "Master, you shouldn't have put your clothes back on. Let me take them off for you."

"No need," Wang Lu said, holding her hands. "Do you know how to give a massage?"

"A massage?" Zhou Miaotong looked confused. *Isn't he going to sleep with me?*