The chirping of insects had become denser again, carrying the sticky heat unique to late summer, lingering in the dim yellow light of the lamp under the eaves.
Xu Zhuohua unconsciously stroked the armrest of the bamboo chair with her fingertips. The worries that Cheng Muyun had just diverted her attention from now on, like cotton wool soaked in water, rose up again, heavy and heavy.
She looked up at the man by the pillar. The moonlight fell on half of his face, making his jawline appear even thinner and sharper.
"Cheng Muyun," she finally spoke, her voice softened by the night breeze, "Are you really prepared for all the people from Nanjing?"
Cheng Muyun continued to fan himself with the palm-leaf fan at a leisurely pace, the bamboo ribs brushing against his palm and making a soft rustling sound.
He didn't look at her, his gaze fixed on the deep night outside the courtyard gate, his voice as calm as a still pool: "Everything that needs to be prepared has been prepared."
Xu Zhuohua stood up and walked up to him.
The light from the corridor slanted in, shining directly into her eyes, clearly imprinting his figure fanning himself and his slightly furrowed brows in her pupils.
"What exactly is your plan?" she pressed, her fingertips curling slightly, her voice carrying a barely perceptible tension.
Cheng Muyun then stopped fanning himself and looked up at her.
He took out a neatly folded piece of paper from his pocket and slowly unfolded it under the light. On it was a map of several streets and alleys marked with red dots.
His voice wasn't loud, but every word was clear. From how to set up defenses to how to lure the opponent into the trap, and finally to the final closure, his explanation was so organized that it sounded like he was talking about something extremely ordinary.
Xu Zhuohua stood to the side, listening intently, her fingernails almost digging into her palms—she sensed the danger involved; those seemingly safe steps concealed too many desperate, all-or-nothing decisions.
When he heard him say, "We will set up an ambush outside the West Gate and fight head-on," Xu Zhuohua's heart felt like it was being gripped tightly by something, and he suddenly clenched his fist with a muffled "thump," even his breath caught in his throat.
She could no longer resist and reached out to grab his wrist, which was still holding a palm-leaf fan. His wrist had distinct knuckles, yet it was burning hot.
“Cheng Muyun,” her voice trembled, “do you understand that fighting... will mean death?”
Cheng Muyun looked down, his gaze falling on her tightly clenched hand, where her knuckles had turned white from the force.
He gently patted the back of her hand, and when he looked up, his dark eyes held a firmness she had never seen before, like a solitary lamp burning in the cold night, scorching brightly: "Zhuohua, I, Cheng Muyun, will never be a deserter in my life."
Xu Zhuohua looked at the undeniable pride in his eyes, and her heart ached again.
How could she not know? A person like Cheng Muyun has an unyielding spirit in his bones; even with a knife to his throat, he would never cower and live a life of ignominy.
But it is precisely because of this that he will step into that already written ending step by step—the wheels of history roll forward, she can clearly see the blood stained on the track, and Cheng Muyun is walking towards that bloody color.
She bit her lower lip, hesitated for a long time, and finally spoke tentatively, her voice so low it was almost a whisper: "Then... can we think of another way? Like faking death? Find a substitute with a similar build, or use some trickery to make them think you're gone, when in fact you're alive and well..."
Upon hearing this, Cheng Muyun suddenly chuckled softly, a warm sound that dispelled some of the night's chill.
He raised his hand and gently touched her cheek with the handle of his fan, his gesture very tender: "Zhuohua, I know what you're afraid of."
He paused, his gaze returning to her face, his tone solemn as if making a vow, "Don't worry, I won't risk my life for a moment. I can't bear to waste a single second of the life we have now, so why would I want to destroy it?"
Xu Zhuohua looked at her reflection in his eyes, which held no pretense, only unwavering certainty and tenderness.
The huge weight in my heart seemed to have been lifted a little, and my eyes felt slightly warm, as if tiny glimmers of light were swirling inside.
She nodded gently, said nothing more, and simply let the hand holding the palm-leaf fan grasp hers in return.
The next day, just as dawn was breaking and the morning mist had not yet dissipated, the bluestone path in front of the Chamber of Commerce was already damp from the footsteps of passersby.
The Xu family's steward, accompanied by two employees, carried a black lacquered and gold-painted wooden plaque. Before the Chamber of Commerce members could open the door, they went straight to the notice board under the lintel.
The wooden sign bore several lines of calligraphy in Yan style, the ink still dripping, conveying an undeniable solemnity: "Xu's Trading Company is now seeking new allies for its eastward and northward routes to jointly manage the trade routes. Those interested may enter after 7:00 AM today for a face-to-face meeting."
In less than half an hour, the news spread like wildfire through the teahouses and taverns of the streets and alleys.
The area around the Chamber of Commerce, which usually only starts to get lively around 9 AM, was already crowded with people. There were peddlers carrying their wares, accountants in long gowns, and many shopkeepers peeking around. The murmurs and whispers made the air feel restless.
"Have you heard? The Xu family is looking for a new partner for their eastward and southward journey!"
"This means... she's completely broken up with Cheng Muyun?"
"That's right! Cheng Muyun caused all that trouble recently, intercepting goods from Nanjing, clashing with people in the concession, committing murder and arson—he's brought trouble to his own doorstep. The Xu family's withdrawal at this time clearly shows they want to distance themselves."
The discussions in the crowd were like boiling water, mixed with all sorts of speculations.
Someone spat on the ground, their tone laced with schadenfreude: "Cheng Muyun is courting death! How glorious he was before? When the eastern and southern routes were opened up, how many people fawned over him? Now look what's happened, the people from Nanjing are said to be on their way. If the Xu family follows him, aren't they just waiting to be wiped out?"
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