Ning Yan shrugged carelessly. “There must be more to it. But for them to go through such trouble—abducting someone right under the Emperor’s nose—it clearly isn’t just about pinning a murder on someone.”

He didn’t elaborate further and simply escorted them swiftly back. “Go home and let your family know you’re safe, put their minds at ease.”

Bai Jinghuai was deeply grateful for everything that had happened tonight. He bowed solemnly to Ning Yan and said, “Had you not arrived in time, I fear these old legs of mine would’ve been forfeit, and who knows what might have happened to my son. Worse still, I might’ve been accused of murder. This debt of kindness—I will never forget it.”

Ning Yan waved it off. “It was nothing. Here—take this.”

He pressed a small, round porcelain bottle into Bai Jinghuai’s hand. Bai Jinghuai looked at it in puzzlement. “This is…”

He examined it and recognized it at once—an excellent medicinal balm. The confusion on his face only deepened. “Neither I nor my son are injured. This is far too good to be wasted…”

“Just keep it. It’ll come in handy eventually. Also, since you’ve all been caught in the rain, have someone make some soup to drive out the chill. Everyone in the household should have some. Even if there’s no illness—it’s good for the body.”

Bai Jinghuai: “...?”

True to his word, Ning Yan personally escorted them all the way to the gate of the Duke of England’s residence. Before they even arrived, he spotted a figure waiting in the misty night.

Though the shadows blurred her features, Ning Yan recognized that slender form at a glance. He saw her bracing herself against the doorframe, slowly rising, and then stumbling toward them.

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His fingers twitched involuntarily—but before he could move, Bai Qingqing had already thrown herself into Bai Jinghuai’s arms.

As he listened to his daughter’s muffled sobs of fear and relief, Bai Jinghuai’s heart ached so badly it felt like it might split in two. He blinked away the sting at the corners of his eyes and gently soothed her. “There, there, it’s all right now. Daddy’s fine, you see? Why were you waiting out here like this? Your clothes are soaked…”

But Bai Qingqing was no longer so easy to console. Like a frightened child, she threw all propriety and decorum to the wind, and burst into tears in her father’s arms.

Her cries overflowed with fear and anguish, like a child who had lost her way and finally—after countless perils—found her family again.

Bai Rui paced in circles nearby, frantic. “Sister, don’t cry. It’s my fault, I made you worry. I swear I won’t do it again, really—I’ll change, I promise!”

Ning Yan stood two or three steps away, fists clenched at his sides, his eyes shadowed and unreadable, lost in thought.

After the Bai family entered the house, Bai Qingqing suddenly came running back out. She bowed deeply, profoundly, in his direction. For a moment, the muscles in Ning Yan’s face tightened, as if he wanted to speak—but in the end, he said nothing. He watched in silence as she turned and went back to her family.

He stood outside the Duke of England’s manor for a long time before finally stirring. But he didn’t return to the Jinyiwei headquarters—instead, he went east of the city, to a manor on the outskirts.

The night was soaked in fine rain, but a single room in the manor was lit. On a low table by the window, a pot of wine sat warming between two cups. A subtle fragrance wafted through the air, softened and drawn out by the damp mist.

Ning Yan seated himself at the table without a word, poured a cup of wine, and drained it in one gulp. His lips, touched by the liquor, showed no hint of softness.

Opposite him, Pei Lingshu lounged in a chair, fanning himself lazily. His voice was calm and indifferent. “What, having second thoughts?”

Ning Yan’s gaze shot over like a blade, but Pei Lingshu didn’t flinch—in fact, he even chuckled. “I warned you. You wouldn’t listen. I wasn’t in any rush, but you just had to use this opportunity, didn’t you?”