TRT -Chapter 49 Heading North

After being kidnapped, injured, tortured, and even dangled over a cliff these past few days, I must have been completely exhausted. I slept straight through until dinnertime the next day before finally feeling satisfied.

When I woke up, there was no one in the room. Dusk had just fallen, and the innkeeper hadn’t come to light the lamps yet. The room was immersed in a nostalgic yellowish gloom. I sat on the bed in a daze for a while, and suddenly felt how empty and lonely everything was. It was unbearably desolate…

That damn white-haired guy even said he liked me, yet he dumped me so quickly! After grumbling to myself for a long time, I suddenly realized—why wasn’t I thinking about escaping anymore?

Two soft taps came from the window. I turned my head and saw a young man in light-blue gauze robes kneeling sideways on the windowsill. He respectfully held out a brocade box with both hands.

“My master, Lord Luo, instructed me to present this to Miss Minmin. Please accept it.”

Was it from Luo Cheng? Or Luo Chuan?

The scene from the cliff last night suddenly flashed through my mind. I… seemed to have said some pretty harsh things back then…

I climbed out of bed barefoot and walked to the window. Hesitantly taking the box, I asked softly, “Is your master doing well?”

The boy didn’t even lift his head. He gave a brief bow and vanished from the window, leaving me feeling awkward.

Pouting, I opened the box. On red velvet lay two beads, one black and one yellow. The black bead had faint golden cracks like fine threads, while the pale-gold one had black cracks. They looked a little like modern crystals, but as the angle changed, light shimmered around the pigeon-egg-sized beads. They were incredibly beautiful.

“Heaven is dark, earth is yellow.” Ancient people believed the sky was black and the earth yellow.

A thought struck me—could this be the legendary Huntian Pearl? Then what was the other one?

I tilted my head and noticed a letter beneath the velvet. On the corner was the character “Cheng,” written in an elegant, refined hand. My chest suddenly felt tight.

There was no farewell in the letter, only a short poem—Ouyang Xiu’s Langtaosha. I had written it for Luo Cheng back then. I never thought he would keep it…

Now, rereading the final line, it pierced my heart with sorrow.

Outside the window, the fading sunlight reflected off the beads, forming a melancholic, almost cruel halo. Thinking of Luo Cheng’s ink-dark eyes gazing at me in the rain, my heart filled with mixed emotions.

I stood there sighing when suddenly—the window shattered into dust.

White Hair, dressed in black, stood before me like a god descending from heaven.

Why does everyone prefer windows to doors?!

“What are you doing? Aren’t your feet cold?” he scolded as he removed his mask.

It was my first time standing face-to-face with him and really observing him. I only reached his chest—he had to be over 185 cm tall. Northern men really were tall.

My gaze moved upward, over his graceful shoulders and neck. Though he was from a minority tribe, he didn’t wear any noisy ornaments. His outfits were always simple—probably because he was already striking enough.

Like Yang Guo, he always wore black. But while fair-skinned Yang Guo looked like flowing moonlight in darkness, his black clothes bore faint, bold totem-like patterns. Against his honey-colored skin and silver short hair, he looked wild and domineering.

And those golden eyes—totally weird and punchable by modern standards—matched him perfectly.

I was lost in aesthetic appreciation when he grew impatient under my “searchlight” gaze.

He slid his arms under mine, lifted me up, shook me like a towel, then stuffed me into his arms and sat down. He wrapped my icy feet in his warm hands.

“Tonight, we head north,” he said, then leaned against my neck and dozed off.

He didn’t ask about the brocade box. He didn’t explain where he’d been. But the way he leaned on me, lightly drifting off, made me feel strangely secure.

So I didn’t ask where the heavy scent of blood on him came from.

I simply reached up, wiped away a small bloodstain behind his ear, and obediently leaned into his embrace.

The room was dim. My feet were warm in his hands. Influenced by him, I grew sleepy too.

This time, I didn’t feel lonely anymore.

I never knew exactly where I was—only that it wasn’t West Platform City anymore.

That very night, Big Fox’s martial law order arrived. My portrait was posted on the city walls. There was none of White Hair’s—either everyone who had seen his face was dead, or he was protected by political ties.

That said, ancient portrait artists really sucked at realism…

When I pounced on the twisted face in the drawing, White Hair dragged me back while suppressing laughter, stuffed me into a sack, and carried me over the wall.

(White Hair, your transportation method is seriously… -_-)

Perhaps because Xiao Tao had stayed with the Fourth Prince voluntarily—and his words had reassured me—I no longer felt forced.

Instead of returning to Big Fox, I became obsessed with this hunter-and-prey game with White Hair.

If the Fourth Prince was a cunning hunter, White Hair was top-tier prey—because he himself was born a hunter.

Wind tactics, feints, misdirection, shell games…

After days of pursuit and counter-pursuit, I evolved.

From being stuffed in sacks…
To climbing trees and rooftops like a thief…

From trembling at the sight of officials…
To “kill gods, kill Buddhas” mode…

From digging roots for food…
To pointing and getting meat…

Under White Hair’s hands-on training, I became more and more shameless—uh, I mean, more experienced in guerrilla warfare and wilderness survival.

I finally understood: his tracking skills weren’t just about martial arts. They were about experience.

And I devoured this knowledge eagerly, while he immersed himself in this “raising Minmin” game.

Though powerful, White Hair had plenty of bad habits.

He never disguised himself. He stubbornly maintained his exotic look, forcing us to hide by day and travel by night. I nearly became nocturnal.

His eyes often glowed green. (For other reasons.)

We hid in chaotic places. Inns were risky, so we often stayed in brothels.

We couldn’t hire companions, but renting rooms just to sleep was suspicious. So White Hair would dress me up extravagantly, wrap an arm around me, and swagger in to rent a private courtyard.

In modern terms: getting a hotel room.

And then he’d stare at me with glowing eyes.

I told you—being nocturnal is unhealthy!

(Author: That’s not it… T-T)

I once protested against sharing horses and beds.

The horse issue was rejected—no horse could outrun Ye Dao.

The bed issue… was simply crushed.

Since that bloody night, he asked me two questions every evening.

First: “Do you feel unwell anywhere?”

After my confused headshake, he’d relax. Still, he dragged doctors to check me.

Premarital checkups, much?

Second: “Want to exercise before sleeping?”

Eyes glowing green.

I’d teach him yoga or aerobics. He’d half-heartedly follow, complain of being tired, and press me to sleep.

If you’re weak, just admit it!

(Author: It’s really not like that… T-T)

After ten-plus days, we left Big Fox’s territory.

Life became easier. Hiding turned into sightseeing.

He once wanted to “teach” me cultivation methods to pass time. Thinking of Qinglian and Jinzhi’s tragic examples, I firmly refused.

(They: We were in love, okay?!)

Maybe from boredom or adjusting to healthy routines, his “green eyes” became more frequent.

Finally, while camping in the mountains, we attracted a group of his “kind”—

Wolves with glowing green eyes.