Sir, that is Afei's bed.

Gu Fei’s disappearance did not stir much of a ripple in the Gu household. Ku Ma returned to Qingmo Courtyard immediately, her expression as calm as ever. Luckily, ever since Danqing had been sold off by Madam Cui, no new servants had been assigned to the courtyard. While this had allowed Gu Fei great freedom in the past, it now made things easier for Ku Ma.

First, Ku Ma made a round of the courtyard, then headed to the main house to find Master Gu Zhong, claiming that Gu Fei required a large quantity of nanmu wood for carving ink molds—this time so many that she needed his prior consent. Gu Zhong, delighted, agreed without hesitation, and with a flourish of his brush wrote her a note, allowing her to collect the wood from the storeroom herself.

With the note in hand, Ku Ma indeed went to the storeroom for the nanmu wood. She needed no one’s help; gathering it in her arms, she returned to Qingmo Courtyard and stacked it all in the small workshop. At the end, she deliberately called out in a loud voice, “Miss, the nanmu you asked for has arrived,” and from time to time added reminders, “Miss, mind your health. The master says there’s no rush—don’t tire yourself out…”

Three quarters of an hour later, Ku Ma emerged from the workshop sighing, as if Gu Fei herself were inside laboring over the ink molds. She then cleaned the courtyard thoroughly as usual, and only around noon did she leave, basket in hand. Along the way, whenever she met familiar servants, she greeted them with a smile and a nod, revealing not a trace of anything amiss.

But as soon as she turned a corner and found herself unobserved, Ku Ma quickened her pace, slipped into the shadows, and after a furtive glance around, set her basket in a corner. Gathering her breath, she stamped her foot and leapt into a deep, narrow alley, vanishing from sight.

As for Gu Fei, her days in the Huang household, though lacking in freedom and shadowed wherever she went, were otherwise comfortable. All her needs were meticulously attended to, and she did not trouble herself with unnecessary worries. She ate when she should, slept when she wished, and even her complexion had improved.

Since the day she had prepared the medicinal ink, she had not mentioned it again in front of Huang Pinyuan. Judging by the time, and especially noticing Huang Pinyuan’s recent frowns and thoughtful expression, she was certain he was pondering how to deliver the ink to the Ninth Master at Linlang Pavilion.

Gu Fei understood Huang Pinyuan’s mind well enough: he feared others might discover he was holding her under house arrest, yet also dreaded offending Linlang Pavilion and the Ninth Master. Further, if he could use her to establish a connection to Linlang Pavilion, the Huang family would secure a powerful and wealthy ally, and the little Mo family would be no threat.

She kept silent, offering not a word of reminder. What needed saying had been said clearly that day; to speak further would only arouse suspicion in Huang Pinyuan’s cunning, merchant’s heart.

That day, with nothing to occupy her, Gu Fei set up a chessboard and recalled the fragments of instruction the Ninth Master had once given her, arranging a tangled endgame and finding amusement in it.

Huang Pinyuan visited daily to check on her. Today, as soon as he entered, Gu Fei saw the faint smile and the clear brightness in his gaze. Calmly, she deduced that the medicinal ink had most likely been sent out.

“Master Huang, you seem radiant today—some good fortune must have come your way,” she said, idly spinning a black piece between her fingers, not lifting her eyes from the board.

“Oh?” Huang Pinyuan’s voice rose playfully as he stroked his beard, his eyes crinkling with mirth. “My dear niece is quite the diviner.”

Gu Fei smiled softly, the smoothness of the chess piece warming her fingertip. She looked up, and a shifting haze seemed to drift in her dark eyes. “I wonder, Master Huang, how long you intend to keep me as a guest in your household?”

Huang Pinyuan coughed lightly, seating himself across from her. “Are you not comfortable here, niece? If anyone has mistreated you, name them—I’ll see they’re properly disciplined.”

At these words, Gu Fei’s hand, about to drop a piece, paused in midair. Her gaze turned cold as she looked at Huang Pinyuan, her words dropping like icy beads: “What exactly do you intend, Master Huang?”

“You misunderstand, niece,” Huang Pinyuan quickly replied, forcing a smile. His face, somewhat swollen and deeply creased, showed fading bruises at the corners of his eyes. He looked like a piece of deadwood that had never seen the sun, devoid of any vitality. “When the time comes, you’ll naturally return home. For now, though, I must trouble you to remain with us a while longer…”

“Bang!”

Before Huang Pinyuan could finish, Gu Fei swept her sleeve across the table, sending the board, bowls, and countless black and white pieces crashing to the floor. The clatter of the scattered pieces echoed through the room.

Such a breach of decorum would have infuriated even a more patient man. Though Huang Pinyuan had wished to avoid angering Gu Fei, he could not help but bristle. He sprang up, his sleeve snapping sharply. “Miss Gu, you’d do well to curb your temper. Under another’s roof, one must bow their head.”

With that, he clasped his hands behind his back and strode away.

Gu Fei’s eyes flickered. Her fingers, half-hidden in her sleeve, curled inward. After a deep breath, she gripped the armrest of her wheelchair, her knuckles paling with tension.

That night, the moon shone clear and bright.

The entire Huang household was eerily quiet. Only a few lanterns glimmered faintly, swaying in the wind and casting heavy, skewed shadows. The lanternlight crept along the ground like butterflies at dusk.

Suddenly, the sound of fabric slicing through the air broke the silence. Shadows flitted along the white walls and blue tiles, moving as swift and silent as spirit cats under the moon.

Gu Fei, her dress immaculate, sat by the wooden window in her wheelchair. The wide-open window offered an unobstructed view, and the spacious room was left unlit, her eyes glimmering quietly in the darkness.

Time passed—perhaps only a quarter of an hour—before a low, chilly laugh sounded abruptly, like a trickle of cold spring water.

Gu Fei blinked, holding her breath for a moment. She did not move, only gazed out the window, trying to discern the source of the laughter. Yet after a while, aside from the rustling of wind in the courtyard branches, there was nothing—she began to wonder if she had imagined it all, or if Huang Pinyuan had never delivered the medicinal ink to Linlang Pavilion at all.

Her hand unconsciously clenched the fabric of her dress, lips drawn tight. She even started to doubt her own assumptions.

“Heh…”

Just as her thoughts wavered, laughter rang out again, clear and close. This time she heard it distinctly—it came from right behind her. She spun around and saw, in the darkness, a man lounging nonchalantly on her bed, his robes gleaming like fresh snow, half his face masked in silver.

Propped on one arm, black hair spilling to the ground, he struck an image of indolent, boneless grace.

Gu Fei felt her heart skip. She averted her gaze, eyes landing on the screen, and said, “Sir, that is my bed.”

The Ninth Master answered with a hum through his nose, his phoenix eyes half-lidded, drifting between sleep and wakefulness. He offered no further reply.

Shrugging off her discomfort, Gu Fei wheeled herself over to the table, intending to light the lamp.

“Don’t,” the Ninth Master called sharply, then, shifting his tone to something playful, added, “Isn’t it said that beauty is best admired by moonlight? Without a lamp, with only the two of us gazing at each other in the dark—what could be more delightful?”