The night passed without incident.
Wang Xian returned to his room and fell onto the bed fully clothed. Until the faint light of dawn filtered through the window paper, Du Yulin, asleep like the dead, never stirred.
For a time, she slept deeply and soundly, her breathing even, the furrow between her brows relaxed, utterly unaware of what had happened outside the window the previous night.
Sure enough, relying on others was worse than relying on oneself.
In his dream, he pillowed his head on his arms as though staring at the dark ceiling beams overhead, yet the ghostly figure from midnight kept flashing through his mind.
That woman had appeared too suddenly and vanished too quickly—so quickly that he had not even seen her face clearly.
All he remembered was that drifting streak of white beneath the moonlight, like a lonely soul wandering the deep mountains, or ghost fire burning atop a desolate grave.
She probably had not been one of those assassins.
Wang Xian silently weighed it over in his heart.
If she had been from Wind and Rain Tower, they would never have sent only one person when such an opportunity had presented itself last night.
Besides, when the two had devoured each other at the end, no earth-shattering aura had erupted—it had been more like the hungry demons and monsters of the wild, following a scent to his door.
At that thought, Wang Xian could not help but smile bitterly.
That scent was the medicinal fragrance from the Carefree Pills he had refined.
Who could have imagined that, on such an autumn night, he had refined a batch of the most wicked pills in heaven and earth?
After all, though Du Yulin had said nothing these past few days, he could see the exhaustion in her