If you die, I will be able to inherit your cultivation.

Su Mingli was the last to emerge from the cave. He had been crouching in the innermost corner of the cave the whole time.

He only dared to come out when it was completely quiet outside. When he saw Su Mingyue's appearance, his expression became quite interesting.

He paused for a moment, then rolled his eyes, shrank his neck, and circled around her without even saying hello before disappearing into the group of servants.

Only the people from the Yongning Marquis's residence did not bow their heads.

The four maids put away their short swords and remained by Su Mingyue's side.

Dongmei was wiping the bloodstains on the short sword with a piece of cloth torn from somewhere, while the other three were counting heads and checking the wounded.

The guard commander stood two steps behind Su Mingyue, leaning on his long sword, his back straight.

The guards of the Marquis's residence quietly began to clean up the mess.

No one spoke, and no one needed to speak.

They could clearly see who was truly in charge in that battle just now.

The respect shown to the young lady had long since transcended the master-servant relationship and evolved into something much deeper.

The carriage has arrived.

The carriages and horses lined up in a row on the mountain road, their wheels leaving deep ruts as they rolled over the ground.

The stewards of each household were busy taking stock of their own people, determining the casualties, helping those who could still walk onto vehicles, and carrying those who were too badly injured to move onto stretchers.

Once everyone had arrived, the carriages and horses began to turn around.

No one exchanged pleasantries, no one said goodbye.

One carriage after another silently drove away along the mountain road.

Compared to the long, spirited procession that arrived, the returning convoy was sparse and quiet, with each vehicle filled with the exhaustion and lingering fear of surviving the ordeal.

Zhou Ming also got into the carriage carrying the wounded, leaning against the side of the carriage. The piece of broken plank in his hand had disappeared at some point.

By the time they returned to the Marquis's residence, it was already dusk.

The convoy filed in through the main gate without a word being spoken.

The servants guarding the door had already received the news and were waiting in a row inside with lanterns, their solemn faces illuminated by the dim light.

The steward stepped forward and whispered a few words to Su Mingyue, who simply nodded and dismounted.

He casually handed the longsword, whose blade was already dulled, to Dongmei beside him.

She turned around and said only two words to the group of attendants and guards behind her.

"It's over."

Everyone felt as if they had been granted a pardon.

It wasn't the kind of amnesty that brings jubilation, but rather an amnesty for those who have survived a catastrophe and can finally relax.

No one spoke loudly, no one chatted idly, everyone dispersed in silence, each heading back to their own residence.

Some people's legs went weak as they walked, and they squatted down, leaning against the wall. The people next to them didn't ask or urge them, but just stood there and waited for a while.

Zhou Ming lowered his head, walked through the alley he knew by heart, pushed open the door to his house, and closed it behind him.

The sound of the latch hitting its groove was particularly crisp in the darkness.

He plopped down on the bed.

The bed was hard as a rock, and the blankets were still haphazardly folded as they had been that morning.

He didn't light a lamp; he just sat in the darkness, his hands supporting his knees, with several dried mud stains on the back of his hands.

The room was very quiet, so quiet that you could hear your own breathing, one breath in and one breath out, like someone who had just surfaced from the bottom of the water still trying to make sure they were really on land.

Then, a wave of fear washed over me.

It didn't slowly rise up; it came all at once, like a dam being burst open by something, and everything he had been suppressing all along the way surged out in an instant.

His fingers began to tremble, first at the fingertips, then throughout his hand, and finally both arms began to tremble slightly.

He instinctively tried to clench his fists to stop the trembling, but found that he couldn't clench them tightly; his hands were weak, as if they had been drained of all their strength.

The image of those men in black on the western hills brandishing knives suddenly popped into my mind without warning.

He almost died on the western mountain.

Having lived two lives, this was the most dangerous one.

Was it considered dangerous to watch thugs fight at the school gate in your past life?

Is it considered dangerous to be pushed down and fall in an antique street?

Doesn't count.

It means nothing.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his back hunched, his hands gripping the fabric on his knees until his knuckles turned white.

In the darkness, his breathing grew heavier, and then he swallowed hard, as if he had forced something back down into his stomach.

After a while, his hands finally stopped shaking.

Zhou Ming let out a long breath, lay back on the bed, and stared at the dark beams.

A decision slowly took shape in silence.

It emerged from the most chaotic corner of his mind, then walked step by step to the very center and sat down steadily.

From now on, he will never step out of the Marquis's residence unless absolutely necessary.

The outside world is too dangerous.

The origins of the masked men on West Mountain are unknown, but their ability to accurately intercept so many scions of noble families indicates that this assassination attempt was not a spur-of-the-moment decision, but rather a long-planned scheme.

Who knows who they're after? Who knows who's behind them? Who knows if they have any accomplices in the city?

Under these circumstances, he was just a lowly servant in a marquis's mansion, with no cultivation whatsoever; going out would only mean certain death.

Although the Marquis's mansion was strictly hierarchical, with so many rules that they could suffocate anyone.

But from another perspective, those rules were also his protective shield.

The master lived in the inner courtyard, the servants lived in the outer courtyard, and the guards patrolled day and night.

As long as you keep your mouth shut and don't say what you shouldn't say.

Control your eyes; don't look at what you shouldn't.

If you just do your job and eat your meals as usual, follow the rules, don't stand out, and don't go overboard, there's really no threat to you.

Besides, he had personally witnessed his young lady's behavior today.

The woman who could stand calmly amidst a pile of corpses with a sword in hand, regardless of her usual attitude towards her lowly followers, was at least a capable mistress.

It's good to take shelter under a big tree. Although this big tree looks a bit sharp, it has deep roots and lush foliage, so it's reliable.

As for the matter of spreading the scriptures, let's put it aside for now.

Zhou Ming turned over and buried his face in the blanket.

He still carried the book "The Scripture of Crossing the World" in his bosom, and the karmic chain of Fang Yuan and others still hung firmly between his brows.

He knew that the matter of the scriptures was slowly brewing, but he didn't want to push it any further.

Why spread scriptures? To increase strength. And why increase strength? To save one's life.

If you can't even save your own life, what's the point of passing on the scriptures? Only when the scriptures are distributed and someone has mastered them can he recoup his investment with interest in the future.

But if the messenger dies on the way, all those causal threads, no matter how thick or dense, will be of no use.

No matter how big the problem is, nothing is more important than your own life.

Survive, you must survive first. Only by keeping your life can you talk about the future.

Zhou Ming pulled the blanket over himself, curled up his legs, and shrunk himself into an inconspicuous ball shape.

I didn't take off my clothes, didn't wash up, and didn't do anything I was supposed to do before bed.

He curled up on the bed, listening to the occasional distant sound of the night watchman's clapper outside the window, and slowly closed his eyes.