It was well into the second half of the night, and the lights in town had grown sparse.
The inn had fallen silent. Only a woman and a bird remained on the roof ridge, keeping watch.
Niao Niao crouched on the tiles, perhaps bored with no one to talk to. Gazing at the moonlit, windswept mountains, the bird chirped to itself, "Chirp, chirp, chirp..." Its meaning was probably-kill a man every ten paces, leave no trace for a thousand miles. Once the deed is done, brush off your wings and depart, hiding both yourself and your name...
Fan Qinghe sat nearby, in no mood to pay Niao Niao any attention. Propping her cheek on one hand, her eyes slightly unfocused, she still had not recovered from what had just happened.
Fan Qinghe had been born on Dongming Mountain. Just as her earliest memories began, the Northwestern Royal Court had suffered defeat at Liaoyuan. Afterward, the circumstances of the tribes had plummeted, and oppression and suffering were all she could see.
As a descendant of Zhu Zong, Fan Qinghe could not live as carefree as ordinary girls. While girls her age were first awakening to love, she had been diligently practicing various skills. By the time they married, she had shouldered the burden of the entire Dongming Tribe's survival.
As the tribe's chief, she had no mind to consider her own marriage. Her romantic experience was a blank slate, and she did not think she had any special feelings for Ye Jingtang.
But while their previous intimate contact could be explained away as misunderstandings, just now Ye Jingtang had outright kissed her head-on. He had even slipped his tongue in...
Why hadn't she dodged...
She hadn't even been particularly averse to it...
Fan Qinghe lightly bit her red lip, not knowing