He must know exactly what was going on because he understood very well that the one most deeply hurt by this mystery was not someone else—it was Hai Ling herself.

  She was such a simple woman, content with an ordinary life. To suddenly discover that she was a mysterious and unfamiliar martial arts master, someone even she didn't understand, was something she simply could not accept.

  As expected, Ze Ning stopped his attack. Hai Ling regained her senses and stared bnkly at the sword in her hand. With a cng, the long sword fell to the ground. She dropped to her knees with a loud thud, bowing low before Ze Ning, silently sobbing.

  Ze Ning let her kneel. He understood that she needed to vent, to be reprimanded, to be reassured—reassured that she was not a monster, that she was still herself.

  For as long as Hai Ling cried, Ze Ning stood by her side. She was just a simple woman. She needed someone to stay with her.

  Eventually, she cried herself into unconsciousness.

  When she woke up, Ze Ning was sitting by her bed.

  It was already deep into the night. The candlelight in her room flickered, casting shifting shadows. Ze Ning sat beside her bed, and when he saw her wake, he gave a slight smile.

  "Young Master?" For a moment, Hai Ling couldn't recall what had happened.

  Confused, she asked, "Why are you here? It's so te—shouldn't you rest? You have court in the morning—"

  Her voice suddenly stopped. The memories came flooding back, and she let out a sharp scream. She grabbed the brocade quilt and covered her head.

  She was a monster of unknown origins!

  Horrified, Hai Ling recalled that she had actually fought with Ze Ning. Because he had tried to take her sword, she had wanted them both to perish together? She had knowledge of strange things, things she had never even imagined—swords, bdes? How did she know these things?

  She hid under the quilt. She should be in a pce of total darkness. Seeing light would only terrify her.

  Someone scooped her up, quilt and all, gently patting her, soothing her like one would a frightened child.

  Though the person holding her did not speak, his silent comfort and unspoken tenderness were unmistakably conveyed in each soft, reassuring pat.

  “Young Master—”

  Hai Ling was startled by his actions. She pulled down the quilt and immediately saw Ze Ning's face—and the concern written all over it.

  He wanted to comfort her. He wanted to tell her that everything was fine. But he couldn't speak. All he could do was hold her like this, gently patting her back.

  “Young Master,” Hai Ling struggled slightly. “It’s my fault. I shouldn't have troubled you. I was being foolish. You don't have to—you don't have to treat me this way.”

  Her voice grew weaker and weaker because Ze Ning refused to let go. What started as a forced pretense of composure gradually turned into a voice tinged with sobs.

  “Young Master, don't be so kind to me—”

  Ze Ning continued patting her gently. Then, with his free hand, he touched her forehead, then his own, drawing an invisible line between them. Subsequently, he shook his hand.

  Hai Ling's voice trembled. “Young Master, are you saying that you and I… together… won't be separated?”

  She dared to follow her heart and make this one-sided assumption. Even if Ze Ning reacted with shock and denial, at least she would have spoken the words.

  Even if she might be someone who would bring him trouble.

  Even if she was utterly unworthy!

  But in this moment, in this scene, she said it. Even if it was a reckless guess, she acknowledged it.

  And then—Ze Ning nodded.

  He actually nodded!

  Hai Ling stared at him, dumbfounded. Was Ze Ning just too kind, or had he not understood what she meant?

  Her mind went bnk for a moment, and she heard her hollow voice speaking:

  “You… and I… together, never apart. Even if I'm a murderer or a monster… you wouldn't—wouldn't mind?”

  Ze Ning abruptly pushed her away, his sharp gaze locking onto hers, as if trying to discern how much of her words were truly from the heart.

  Hai Ling was suddenly pushed away, tumbling to the other side of the bed. She felt the abrupt chill in the air and stared bnkly at Ze Ning's eyes, which seemed to hold too many words left unsaid.

  She wasn't heartbroken.

  If she truly was a murderer, then as the Commander of the Pace Guards, Ze Ning naturally could not stay by her side. If he were willing to abandon his principles for sentiment, then he would not be Ze Ning.

  A person's life was bound by more than just emotions—principles, responsibilities, the trust others pced in them, and the hopes they carried. All these things were intertwined. If one were to forsake any of them for the sake of love alone, they would no longer be able to live with a clear conscience, for they would have betrayed their duty.

  But this very concept of "duty"—was it ever truly possible to fulfill it perfectly?

  Did living mean that one must sacrifice oneself entirely for the weight of responsibilities, losing sight of what they desired most?

  Would they trade a seemingly unshaken life for a lifetime of regret?

  She had always known—demanding that he never leave a murderer was an impossible request. He would uphold his duty, never turning a blind eye to those who should be punished by the w. Asking him to do so would be unfair—too selfish.

  Then why—why did she still feel disappointed?

  Because… she really might be a murderer.

  Seeing her own deadly skills, her familiarity with the sword—wasn't the sword a weapon meant to kill? Why had she trained with it? It was either to take lives or to inflict harm. Even she couldn't convince herself that she was innocent!

  “I—what am I even saying?”

  Hai Ling let out a bitter, self-mocking smile.

  “What am I trying to force?”

  Ze Ning stood up and turned around.

  "Young Master, can you forget what I said tonight?" Hai Ling knew he did not want to hear her pushing her limits, asking for things beyond her means.

  "Young Master, today Hai Ling was out of line. I was in a rough mood and spoke nonsense. You—you should just forget it." She put on her clothes, stood up, and bowed deeply to Ze Ning, her robes fluttering. "Thank you for your concern, Young Master. Hai Ling—"

  Before she could finish speaking, she saw Ze Ning pick up a sheet of white paper from the nearby tea table. It was filled with words.

  Seeing how he flipped the paper over with a sharp motion, she knew Ze Ning was eager to express something. But the passage was so long—she could only recognize a few characters: "I," "you," "not," and "cannot." She had no idea what Ze Ning was trying to say.

  Noticing her bewildered expression, Ze Ning furrowed his brow for the first time. With a loud flick of his sleeve, he pushed the door open and strode out.

  "Young Master!" Hai Ling was stunned. She hadn't expected him to be so angry. Had she said something she shouldn't have? Had he really left in a huff? She shouldn't have asked for something as impossible as being with him forever! That wasn't Ze Ning's way of handling things. That wasn't an outcome he could accept, even if—just now, he had nodded.

  He—he must have nodded by mistake, misunderstood her words. Otherwise, why was everything completely different when she repeated herself?

  "Young Master!" She stood there in a daze for a moment, then ran after him.

  The room was instantly empty. The candlelight flickered unsteadily, casting dim shadows. Only the paper Ze Ning had just written on rustled in the night breeze.

  Suddenly, a dark figure slipped in from outside, swift and silent. Picking up the paper, their eyes and teeth gleamed in the darkness.

  The paper read, "You are not the murderer. For the past ten years, all major national cases have been reported to the Supreme Court, the Ministry of Justice, and the Imperial Envoy's Office. Rong Yin and Yu Xiu have close ties. If you were the murderer, Yu Xiu would know, and Rong Yin would not spare you. As a judge, I have heard about cases involving human lives, and none of them bear wounds as skillfully inflicted by a sword. You definitely did not kill anyone. Even if you had once killed, I believe it was not your intention. As for—as for—never parting..." The handwriting clearly stopped for a moment, the flowing script interrupted, before continuing, "If you cannot make me believe your nature is good, I will never treat you this way. You are a good girl."

  This passage clearly was left unfinished, yet despite not being completed, the writer did their best to avoid revealing too much emotion. However, the intent to protect was undeniable, even though the writer had made careful efforts to revise the words.

  The shadow read it, then returned the paper to the table before silently slipping out again, as swiftly as before.