Chapter 072: Is She Deliberately Opposing Him?

“The business with the Liu household was nothing more than a matter of taking payment to rid someone of trouble. If it hadn’t been me, someone else would have done it. As for two years ago, you were simply too stubborn. For a cold-blooded, heartless assassin who calls the world his home, even to give you a morsel of food was already an act against his nature—how could you possibly expect him to take you in out of pity?” Having spoken with icy detachment, Liuyue gave her a deep, inscrutable glance and turned to leave.

Did he need to explain himself? He was nothing more than a ruthless bounty hunter—one who killed without blinking an eye, who valued only money, not people. So why, before this little girl, did he repeatedly act in ways so unlike himself? Why had he just now spoken at such length, pouring out words that seemed to linger on the air...

This loss of self-control left him inexplicably anxious and uneasy, and more than a little vexed.

Outside, snowflakes drifted thick as goose feathers, blanketing the world in dazzling white, a beauty that struck the heart. Liuyue’s thoughts fluttered like the snow, swirling endlessly, unable to settle.

Inside the room, Jin’er remained motionless in her earlier pose, silently weeping as she mulled over his words. Though her bare shoulders and back were exposed, and the cold had raised a rash of goosebumps across her skin, she paid it no mind.

After venting her feelings, she felt lighter, as though a weight had been lifted. In truth, she knew well that her hopes back then were nothing but wishful thinking—she believed that if she persisted, he would soften and take her in. Yet, in reality, he had given her food and saved her once; she ought to have regarded him as her benefactor.

But the bitterness in her heart was too much to bear. She could not fathom why she suffered ordeal after ordeal, why all those terrible things kept happening to her. It was unrealistic to hate Heaven and Earth, so she needed someone living to direct her hatred toward—and who else but him?

Now, having finally vented her long-suppressed grievances against him, she felt as though some of the bitterness had been transferred, and her heart was much relieved.

She had seen clearly the fleeting look of pity and regret in his eyes—surprising, given his usual coldness. Yet to see that unfeeling man show such discomfort brought her a strange sense of satisfaction.

She could forgive him for what happened two years ago, but the vengeance for Granny and Ying’er—she would never forget!

With that thought, Jin’er wiped her tears away with a careless hand, picked up her clothes, and began to dress.

Her sixth sense told her—perhaps the chance for revenge was drawing near...

Once she was fully dressed, Jin’er tidied up her bedding and set it aside in a corner, then went to finish preparing breakfast, picking up where Liuyue had left off.

When she had finished and brought the meal to the table, Liuyue finally turned and sat down.

To her surprise, this time he began to eat without testing for poison with a silver needle—something that stirred a strange excitement in Jin’er. Outwardly, however, she showed not a hint of emotion.

The two ate in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Afterwards, Jin’er went out alone to practice swordsmanship in the courtyard.

When Liuyue failed to appear after a while, Jin’er guessed he was still upset by her words and had no desire to teach her. So she didn’t seek him out, but immersed herself in practice amid the swirling snow.

Before long, however, Liuyue emerged from the house, carrying a book with a blue cover, which he handed to Jin’er.

She looked at him in confusion, but he merely stared expressionlessly. Without another word, she took the book from his hands.

“Flower Moon Divine Sword?” Jin’er murmured in mild surprise. Though she’d never heard of it, the name alone suggested it was a remarkable sword manual.

“Master it, and few in the martial world will dare bully you again.” Liuyue spoke coldly, then turned to leave.

Jin’er couldn’t help but laugh, “What, trying to make it up to me?” She looked up at his tall, broad back, her smile tinged with mockery.

Liuyue paused, rooted to the spot.

“Fine, I’ll accept it,” Jin’er said, not waiting for his response, turning and heading straight for the kitchen.

What a joke—who would refuse a good thing? If the sword technique was as powerful as he claimed, it would be a prize indeed!

Liuyue watched her as she walked away, head bowed, leafing through the book. His brows furrowed, and his mind churned with inexplicable unease.

It was a secret manual forbidden from being passed to outsiders—if his master learned he’d given it away without permission, there’d be hell to pay.

But after what happened that morning, a gulf seemed to have opened between him and Jin’er, an impassable chasm. He no longer had the heart to teach her as before; so he simply handed her the manual, letting her teach herself.

If she had the talent to succeed on her own, he’d consider it as taking a pupil, and next time, he’d face his master’s wrath. If she failed, he’d take the manual back as if nothing had happened.

This way, he was freed of responsibility, and it served as a small compensation to her—a solution that suited them both.

In the kitchen, Jin’er studied the book intently, mimicking its movements with a branch, carefully tracing the trajectory of the sword. After several moves, she realized the sword technique was truly exceptional, and a surge of excitement welled up in her.

At last, she felt the sense that surviving disaster would bring her fortune. Perhaps her luck was about to turn.

When preparing dinner, Jin’er took extra care. For at lunch, Liuyue had again eaten without testing for poison—he seemed to trust her completely now. And that, in turn, gave her the opportunity to poison him.

To avoid suspicion, she unwrapped the cloth from her left hand, cut a shallow wound into her scarred wrist, drained some blood, and bandaged it again. Then, she mixed the blood into two dishes he favored, and added ten drops to a jar of wine. He always drank directly from the jar, never pouring it into cups, so she wasn’t worried he’d notice. As for the dishes, both were heavily seasoned, so the addition of blood wouldn't be detected.

When everything was ready, she carried the meal to the dining hall.

Jin’er calmly set the bowls and chopsticks, served him his rice, and finally sat at her own place, her heart racing with nervousness.

She was so close to success—there shouldn’t be any unexpected mishaps. Yet her unease grew, her heart hammered faster than ever. She told herself it was just nerves.

Steady—she had to keep steady! She had waited so long for this day; she couldn’t afford to fail now.

Liuyue lifted his bowl, took a bite of plain rice—everything seemed normal. Jin’er picked up her own bowl and, unable to resist, glanced at him, her heart pounding.

Suddenly, Liuyue raised his eyes to meet hers, his brows drawing together in puzzlement.

Caught in the act, Jin’er quickly lowered her head and feigned nonchalance, eating as if nothing was amiss.

Liuyue watched her for a moment, as if about to speak, but ultimately said nothing, withdrawing his gaze and reaching for a dish.

Jin’er kept her eyes down, but monitored him from the corner of her vision. He didn’t touch the two poisoned dishes, which made her anxious.

She kept reassuring herself: he would eat them, he definitely would—she must not betray any sign, lest he grow suspicious.

Yet at that moment, Liuyue set down his bowl and chopsticks.

Jin’er’s heart lurched—was she discovered?

“What’s your name?” The abrupt question stunned Jin’er, leaving her speechless for a long moment.

“Jin’er.” She couldn’t fathom why, at such a critical juncture, he would ask such a trivial question. They had lived together for over a month, and he had never before asked her name—their conversations had always been sparse.

“Jin’er?” Liuyue repeated softly, the name familiar. He recalled their first meeting, when she’d told him her name, and he’d thought it pleasant—but had never bothered to remember it.

“The poison in your body... have you ever consulted a physician?” he asked, setting aside other thoughts.

“If those doctors could cure it, do you think I’d still be fighting death every month?” Jin’er shot him a sideways glare, her tone icy.

Liuyue frowned, falling silent.

After a while, he spoke again: “I heard there’s a rare antidote, an ice toad, in the canyon behind these snow mountains. Tomorrow, I’ll go into the mountains to find it. Stay here and focus on your training until I return.”

“Ice toad?” Jin’er echoed, puzzled. She’d never heard of such a thing.

“The ice toad is crystal-clear as ice, hence the name. Its numbers are few, and its color nearly matches the snow. It’s quick and alert, so hard to find. I may be gone several days—take care of yourself.” As he finished, Liuyue felt awkward; he had never spoken so caringly to anyone, not even his master.

Jin’er stared at him in a daze. Though his expression remained impassive, she couldn’t shake the sense that he was... gentle. An odd word for him, but somehow fitting.

Seeing her gaze, Liuyue grew more uncomfortable, so he looked away, picked up his bowl, and resumed eating.

Jin’er snapped back to herself—just as his chopsticks reached for one of the poisoned dishes, she panicked and snatched the plate away, guarding it jealously.

“I—I like this dish. Eat something else!” she feigned a domineering air, arching her brow at him.

Liuyue withdrew his hand awkwardly, reaching for the other dish.

Jin’er quickly grabbed it as well: “This one’s mine too!”

He stared at her, baffled—she had never acted this way before.

As he seemed to ponder her odd behavior, Jin’er hurriedly picked up her chopsticks and began gobbling down the two dishes she’d seized, eating with exaggerated hunger.

Liuyue frowned, “Eat slower—I’m not fighting you for it.” He gave her a helpless glance and turned to the remaining dishes. Thankfully, Jin’er didn’t compete for those.

After a few bites, Liuyue reached for the wine jar. Jin’er glared and snatched it away, tipping it up and gulping greedily.

After several hearty swallows, she set the jar down, gasping for breath.

Heavens—it burned! She fanned her mouth, then shoveled rice and food into her mouth to quell the heat.

Liuyue stared at her, utterly speechless, his eye twitching.

Was she deliberately provoking him, snatching his favorites? But this method seemed so foolish...

In no time, Jin’er finished both dishes and half the jar of wine, her stomach bulging, her head spinning.

Oh no, in her panic, she’d drunk the wine as if it were water... clutching the jar, she felt as if she were holding five.

With her last bit of consciousness, Jin’er let the jar slip, smashing it on the floor, then slumped onto the table and lost consciousness.

“Hey! Are you alright?” Liuyue pushed her, but she gave no response. He sighed, gathered her up, and carried her to his room, covering her with a blanket before sitting at her bedside.

She frowned in her sleep, clearly uncomfortable, her small lips mumbling adorably.

Liuyue’s lips curled into a faint smile; he unconsciously leaned in, gently smoothing her furrowed brow, his hand lingering as he caressed her soft, flawless cheek. The sensation softened his heart.

As she slept, there was no hatred, no anger, no scheming—only the pure, lovable girl she once was. But her suffering was partly his fault, so he was determined to cure her.

With that thought, he reluctantly withdrew his hand and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

The next morning, Jin’er woke with a groan and a pounding headache from her hangover, nearly noon. She looked around, realizing she was in Liuyue’s room, and slowly recalled the events of the previous night.

Thinking of how she’d foolishly devoured two dishes and half a jar of wine, she felt nothing but regret.

She had been so close to success, only for it to slip away—how could she not be frustrated? Yet after everything was settled last night, her heart felt unexpectedly light, utterly different from her previous anticipation of watching him succumb to poison.

Why was she relieved? She didn’t know. Perhaps it was because he had promised to find the ice toad antidote, and she had managed to avert disaster at the critical moment.

Whether the poison in her body could ever be cured, she had no idea. But now, with him seeking the ice toad, hope stirred within her.

Hmph! For the sake of his quest to cure her, she would let him live a little longer.

With that thought, Jin’er rose and left the room. The fresh, snowy air cleared her head, easing her hangover.

She searched the house, but Liuyue was nowhere to be found.

He had already set out to find the ice toad?

Remembering he’d said he’d be gone several days, Jin’er felt a strange pang of worry. He would be braving the freezing wilderness, exposed to the elements—it was enough to make her shiver.

Wait—Jin’er, why worry about him? Don’t forget, he’s your mortal enemy! Just because he’s seeking an ice toad for you, are you softening? Have you forgotten how Granny and Ying’er died?

A cold, sharp voice within her mind reminded her sternly.

Jin’er’s heart skipped a beat. She muttered, “Who’s worried about him? I’m only worried about my ice toad.” She shook her head and headed for the kitchen.

Lifting the lid, she was surprised to find several dishes prepared—clearly set out by him for her.

Her heart clenched, a strange sadness welling up.

His recent changes had left her off balance. Why? He was a cold-blooded killer—did he need to do all this? Did he need to make amends?

She clenched her fists, jaw tight, eyes shut in frustration.

She would rather he remained as he once was—aloof and cruel—than now, when chaos and turmoil stirred within her.

After descending the mountain, Liuyue sought out the most experienced local hunter to ask about the ice toad.

“Young man, I advise you to give up. I’ve hunted these mountains most of my life. I’ve seen the ice toad a few times, but each time it escaped before I could get near—it’s incredibly fast.

Many have tried to catch it, but most give up halfway, and a few who persisted failed anyway. No one has tried in the past decade.” The hunter, a wiry man in his fifties, shook his head.

“But I heard someone succeeded,” Liuyue said, undeterred.

The old hunter laughed, “There was one, yes. He was highly skilled, but lost an arm in the attempt. The ice toad is rare and hard to spot, but it’s also fast—and more importantly, it has a poisonous sac on its back. When threatened, it sprays venom.

That venom corrodes flesh and spreads quickly throughout the body, causing death. The hero who caught it had his hand sprayed; he reacted fast, cut off his arm, and barely survived. Others weren’t so lucky...” The hunter shook his head in regret. The young man before him seemed capable, but it would be a shame to die in vain.

Liuyue knew all this—he was acquainted with that one-armed man. That’s how he knew about the ice toad, and about the celestial silkworm gloves that could protect against its venom.

He’d found those gloves during a previous mission, and now, at last, they would serve their purpose.

“Take me to where the ice toad is most likely found.” Liuyue produced a heavy pouch from his cloak and handed it to the hunter.

The hunter opened it, revealing a pile of gleaming silver. He was overjoyed—enough to live comfortably for the rest of his life.

He quickly packed his belongings—blankets, food, and supplies—and led Liuyue deep into the snow-covered mountains.

After nearly a day and a half of relentless trekking, they reached their destination. By the faint moonlight, the hunter confirmed this was the place.

They stopped, found a sheltered spot beside a large rock, and built a simple tent with the rock and a few sticks, huddling inside for warmth.

“Young man, you’re trying to catch the ice toad to save someone, aren’t you?” the hunter asked, chewing a dry biscuit. Seeing Liuyue’s silence, he laughed, “Must be someone important to you, or you wouldn’t risk all this hardship. Judging by your bearing, you’re not short of money, so it’s not for profit.”

Liuyue remained silent, eating elegantly, but the phrase “someone important” echoed in his mind.

Did he care? Or was he merely making amends? Neither fit his nature. He had never cared for another, never felt guilt for killing—he had slain more people than he could count.

Unable to resolve his thoughts, he stopped pondering. Whatever the reason, he knew that if he didn’t help her, he would feel uneasy. And he never made things hard for himself.

After their meal, exhausted, the two slept soundly in the tent.

At dawn, they awoke and crawled out.

“This is the valley—I’ve seen ice toads here several times. Though their bodies are clear, their eyes are a ghostly green. If you watch carefully, you can spot them—if you’re lucky. If not, you’ll leave empty-handed.” The hunter spoke, his breath steaming in the cold.

He gave a few last instructions, then packed his things and prepared to leave.

He had brought the young man as far as needed, and that was enough—he had no desire to spend his newfound wealth in the underworld. For Liuyue’s generosity, he left the blanket behind.

Taking only some food, the hunter bade Liuyue farewell and departed. Soon, the snowy, lifeless valley was deserted save for Liuyue.

He chose a concealed, elevated spot and crouched there, eyes fixed on the ground below, waiting patiently for the toad.

The wind howled, his white robes billowed, his black hair streamed in the gale. His chiseled face was as sharp as stone, vivid yet unmoving, save for the obsidian brilliance of his eyes, which flickered now and then.

Time trickled away. The gentle sun rose, reached its zenith, then sank westward as night descended.

Only when he could no longer see did Liuyue leap down and retreat to the tent. Even then, he kept part of the tent open, eating as he watched outside.

Thus, days passed—five in the blink of an eye, with no results. Though his impatience grew, he still believed the ice toad would appear. Having come this far, he would not allow himself to return empty-handed.

Meanwhile, Jin’er, training diligently each day, grew increasingly uneasy as time passed and Liuyue did not return.

The more anxious she became, the more fiercely she practiced, hoping to distract herself from thoughts of his whereabouts, whether he had found the ice toad, whether he was in danger...

Though she reminded herself again and again that she only cared about the ice toad and her cure, she had to admit—after so long together, his sudden absence for so many days was unsettling.

Perhaps it was simply too quiet. With no one else around, not even a soul to speak to, she found herself missing the times when he was here—even if they only exchanged a handful of words each day.

Two more days passed. On this day, the sun shone brightly, its rays reflecting dazzlingly off the snow, creating a crystalline, beautiful scene.

Suddenly, Liuyue spotted a pale green dot hopping in the distance. His expression tightened, all his attention focused.

As the distance closed, his excitement mounted. This was it!