“I’m not afraid! I’m strong; I can protect myself. Now I practice the boxing you taught me every day—ordinary three or four people can’t get close to me.”
“That’s not ordinary jianghu people. Real experts, you could practice boxing for a lifetime and still not beat them.”
These words were cruel, but they were the truth.
Huang Muzhi’s face paled a bit, her lips moved as if she wanted to say something, but in the end, she swallowed it back.
She lowered her head, her fingers unconsciously digging into the soil on the ground, digging out a small pit.
Nanxi looked at her like this, feeling a bit sorry in his heart.
He put down the bamboo strips in his hand and said softly.
“Miss Huang, you saved me; I won’t forget this kindness. Once I find my master and settle down, I will definitely repay you. If you want to leave the fishing village and live in the county town, I can help you.”
“I don’t want repayment; I just want… the young master to be well.”
These words were said very simply and truthfully, but for the youth, they were too heavy.
Nanxi fell silent.
He knew Huang Muzhi didn’t want gold or silver, not luxurious clothes or food, but what she wanted, he couldn’t give.
His heart had long been given to another person; he couldn’t split it in half again.
“I’m going to the beach to check; the tide is low today, so I should be able to pick up a lot of things. Young master, you rest in the house; don’t wander around.”
Huang Muzhi stood up and patted the dirt off her body.
She said this and walked out quickly; she was escaping.
As long as the words from the youth’s mouth weren’t spoken, she never had to face the established fact.
“Sigh.”
Nanxi watched her disappear outside the door, sighed, and picked up the bamboo strips again.
The basket was already half woven, round-bellied with a narrow mouth, a very standard fishing village style.
He continued weaving, but his fingers’ movements slowed down, that unease in his heart surging again, like tides, wave after wave, battering his defenses.
She’s coming.
The voice in his heart suddenly sounded; this time, without teasing.
Nanxi’s hand stopped completely; he lifted his head and looked outside the door.
The sunlight was just right, spilling on the mud ground in front of the door, bright and clear.
In the distance came Huang Muzhi’s and other village women’s voices, fragmented and not clear. Everything looked normal, so normal it made one panic.
“When?”
The youth asked in his mind.
I don’t know, but soon. I can feel it—that disgusting aura, getting closer.
“Is it that woman?”
Who else but her? Oh, right, that black loach might too, but it’s that woman.
Nanxi gripped the bamboo strips in his hand tightly; the edges cut his hand again, but the youth didn’t feel it. All his attention was focused on that name.
Madam Xuanji—she really had chased after him.
What to do?
Run? His leg wasn’t fully healed; he couldn’t outrun. Fight?
Even at full strength, he wasn’t an opponent, let alone now. Hide?
The fishing village was only so big; where could he hide?
One idea after another flashed quickly in his mind, denied one by one.
Nanxi felt a familiar powerlessness, just like that night in the peach grove, watching Ao Xian abduct him, watching his master unable to catch up—that kind of powerlessness where he could do nothing.
No, he couldn’t be like this again.
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down.
Madam Xuanji was looking for him; as long as he wasn’t here, Huang Muzhi would be safe. So he had to leave, immediately—the farther from the fishing village, the better.
But the leg…
Nanxi lowered his head to look at his left leg; the swelling had mostly subsided, walking was fine, but running and jumping weren’t possible yet, let alone using lightness skill.
In this state, how far could he go?
Don’t think about running; I can’t run away. That woman’s cultivation—even with intact legs, I couldn’t outrun her.
And I can feel it; she got someone’s help. She’s become stronger than that dragon, much stronger.
Then what do you say to do?
Nanxi asked in his mind, his tone inevitably irritated.
Wait.
“Wait to die?”
No, wait for her to come, then see our luck. If lucky, she just wants to capture you—probably won’t kill; then I can escape.
But if unlucky, then we have to fight desperately.
“Can we win?”
I don’t know.
Nanxi didn’t speak; I don’t know meant probably not.
He put down the bamboo strips, supported himself with the crutch, and stood up, walking to the door. The sunlight was glaring; he squinted his eyes, looking at the distant beach.
Huang Muzhi was bending over on the mudflat picking things; too far to see her expression, he could only see her wheat-colored back, appearing especially sturdy in the morning light.
This girl knew nothing—not his origins, not the secrets on him, not the impending danger.
She had just simply saved him, simply been good to him, simply… liked him.
If he left, and that woman chased after him and couldn’t find anyone, would she take it out on her? Would she kill her to vent?
This thought tightened Nanxi’s heart; he couldn’t implicate her.
But if he didn’t leave, when Madam Xuanji came, Huang Muzhi would still be involved.
To that woman, killing a fisherwoman was like stepping on an ant—no difference.
A dilemma.
Nanxi leaned on the doorframe, feeling a wave of dizziness.
The accumulated fatigue, anxiety, and fear from these days surged like tides, almost swallowing him.
He closed his eyes and took deep breaths—once, twice, three times—but the stone in his heart was still heavy, pressing him until he couldn’t breathe.
He didn’t know how long had passed when Huang Muzhi returned.
She carried a fish basket, filled with clams and conches, and some small crabs. Her pant legs were rolled to her knees, her calves covered in mud, but her face carried a smile.
“Young master, look—I picked so many!”
She lifted the basket to show him, her eyes bright, unlike the youth’s dead-like gaze.
“Tonight, we’ll boil soup; have to add some ginger to dispel the cold—good for your leg, young master.”
Nanxi looked at her, at her smile, at those clean eyes, but his throat felt blocked by something; he couldn’t speak.
He could only nod and force out a smile.
Huang Muzhi didn’t notice his abnormality and happily went to process those seafood items.
She squatted by the water vat, brushing the clams one by one, humming that tuneless folk song. The sunlight shone on her, plating her with a layer of gold; even her flying hair strands were shining.
Nanxi just watched like this, watched for a long time, then turned back into the house and continued weaving the basket.
His fingers moved fast; the bamboo strips almost danced into afterimages between his fingers.
He had to finish weaving this basket; before leaving, at least leave her something decent.
Lunch was seafood soup and mixed grain pancakes; the soup was very fresh.
Huang Muzhi had added ginger and a bit of coarse salt, boiling it until it was milky white.
She served Nanxi a full bowl, all shellfish and shrimp meat inside, but she herself only drank the soup and gnawed on the pancake.
“Why aren’t you eating?”
“I already ate; earlier on the beach, I ate a conch—very fresh.”
Huang Muzhi said with a smile, but Nanxi saw her secretly swallow her saliva.
He didn’t speak, just transferred half the clam meat from his bowl to hers.
Huang Muzhi was stunned, looked up at him, and her eyes suddenly reddened.
“Young master…”
“Eat; you need to nourish yourself too. You’re so tired every day.”
Huang Muzhi didn’t speak, lowered her head, and ate in small bites.
She ate very slowly, chewing each bite for a long time, like tasting some rare delicacy.
Nanxi, watching her like this, felt that discomfort surge up again in his heart.
He quickly lowered his head and gulped down the soup, using the soup’s freshness to suppress the sourness in his throat.
After the meal, Huang Muzhi went to wash the dishes; Nanxi continued weaving the basket.
The afternoon sunlight shone in from the west window, warm and cozy, illuminating the dust in the room clearly.
The air had the lingering smell of seafood, the smoke of firewood, the saltiness of the sea wind—mixed together, unpleasant, but with the flavor of life.
While weaving, Nanxi suddenly remembered his time at the Zhang family.
Back then, he lived in the Listening Bamboo Pavilion; the room was always clean, with a faint sandalwood incense.
Zhang Lianwei often came to find him to play, chattering nonstop.
Zhang Yiwei would also come, with that half-smile expression, saying things that were hard to understand.
Those days, thinking back now, seemed somewhat distant—like something from a previous life, even though only a few months had passed.
The basket was finally finished—round-bellied with a narrow mouth, the handle woven very sturdy; it could hold quite a lot.
Nanxi placed it on the table, examined it for a while, then picked it up again and wove a small pattern at the bottom.
It was a simplified lotus flower.
That was the Daoist sect’s symbol; his master had taught him.
Consider it a memento.
He thought, then the youth put down the basket, supported himself with the crutch, and walked to the door.
The sun was already starting to set in the west; the light had become soft, draping the entire fishing village in a layer of golden gauze.
The distant sea surface sparkled with waves, like countless scattered gold fragments.
The tide was starting to rise again, wave after wave, unhurriedly surging onto the beach.
Huang Muzhi, having finished washing the dishes, also came over and stood beside him.
She didn’t speak, just quietly watched the sea with him.
Her shoulder touched his, her body heat transmitting through the clothes; paired with the sunlight, it was very warm.
“Young master, if… I mean if, you don’t leave, and we just live here always, okay?”
Nanxi didn’t answer immediately.
He watched the sea, that boundless blue, watched for a long time, then said.
“This place is good, but it’s not where I should stay.”
“Why not?”
Huang Muzhi turned her head to look at him, her eyes shining with stubborn light.
“Where is it written where the young master should stay? People live to find a place where they can stay peacefully, right? This place can let the young master be at ease; why can’t you stay?”
These words left Nanxi speechless.
Yes, why not? If he could let go of everything—let go of his master, let go of those grudges and entanglements—and just live here, fishing for a living, plainly passing a lifetime, what was bad about that?
But he couldn’t let go.
His master was still waiting for him; Madam Xuanji was still chasing him.
He carried secrets on his body, carried those unknown, perhaps very heavy pasts.
“I have things I must do.”
He finally said.
Huang Muzhi’s eyes dimmed a bit. She lowered her head, her fingers twisting her hem tightly; her knuckles turned white.
After a long while, she spoke in a muffled voice..
“I know; I just… just can’t bear it.”
These words were said straightforwardly, straightforward to the point of heartbreaking.
Nanxi reached out his hand, wanting to pat her shoulder; his hand stretched halfway and stopped.
He couldn’t give her hope—not even a bit.
In the end, the youth just withdrew his hand.
“I’ll rest in the house for a bit.”
He turned into the house, lay on the bed; the grass mat was hard, poking his bones, but he didn’t mind. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to rest.
He might need to travel at night; he needed to conserve energy.
He couldn’t sleep; the youth’s heart was very heavy. He couldn’t force himself to think of nothing.
Just then, the voice sounded again.
Closer.
Even closer.
She’s nearby.
Nanxi suddenly opened his eyes. The light in the room had already dimmed; the sun was about to set.
He sat up and looked out the window; the horizon was burning with sunset clouds, many colors blended together, like a painting.
Very beautiful—beautifully breathtaking.
But in this beauty, killing intent was hidden.
The youth supported himself with the crutch, got off the bed, and walked to the door. Huang Muzhi wasn’t there; probably went to the beach again.
Nanxi stood at the threshold, watching that brilliant sunset; the unease in his heart grew stronger and stronger, strong enough that he almost couldn’t breathe.
She’s coming; she’s coming.
He could feel it, like a beast feeling its natural enemy, like prey feeling the hunter. It was from the heart—an instinctual fear.
Nanxi gripped the crutch tightly; his knuckles turned white.
He should leave—now, immediately.
But the leg… He tried his left leg’s strength; it was still weak, couldn’t run far.
While he was hesitating, on the distant small path, a figure appeared.
That figure walked not fast, very leisurely, like strolling.
The setting sun was behind her, outlining a golden edge; he couldn’t see the face clearly, only that it was a woman, tall and slender, wearing light-colored clothes that fluttered gently in the evening wind.
Nanxi’s heartbeat stopped for half a beat.
That person walked closer and closer.
It was a beautiful, bewitching face—skin white as snow, lips red as blood, eyes curved with a smile, but that smile had no warmth, only cold calculation.
Madam Xuanji.
She walked to the front of the thatched hut, stopped her steps, lifted her head, and slightly smiled at Nanxi standing at the threshold.
“Found you.”
The voice was very soft, very pleasant—like jade beads rolling over a silver plate.
But falling into Nanxi’s ears, it was harsh noise.
He stood there, gripping the crutch, looking at the bewitching woman under the setting sun, feeling his whole body’s blood cool down.
She’s here.