Bai Zhizhi had no idea that Song Jing’an was going crazy looking for her. At this moment, she was strolling leisurely along the mountain path, walking over the rugged trail as if it were flat ground.

Actually, she hadn’t intended to wander off. But when the wild boar had charged at them, she sensed a familiar aura approaching from another direction. Curious, she wanted to go and check it out, which was why she left.

She had thought about telling Song Jing’an before leaving, but he’d been so tense at the time. Since she expected to be back quickly, she didn’t say anything. Who knew that before she could return, Song Jing’an would already discover she was gone and panic so much.

Perhaps Heaven favored him, for Song Jing’an had chosen the right direction to search. Before long, he spotted her figure and called out, “Zhizhi!”

Bai Zhizhi turned around and met the joy in his eyes, but in the next instant that joy shifted into horror.

“Don’t move!” Song Jing’an shouted in a low voice, carefully approaching her while trying to soothe her in a whisper. “It’s alright, Zhizhi, don’t be scared. Just stand still.”

Bai Zhizhi quickly realized that his fearful gaze wasn’t on her—but on something behind her.

She turned her head and immediately locked eyes with a pair of glowing green eyes.

Before she could react, Song Jing’an had already yanked her behind him, shielding her tightly.

In that instant, the animal behind her was revealed—a wolf. It was large and muscular, with sleek fur, staring at them with predatory intent.

Startled by Song Jing’an’s movement, the wolf suddenly lunged forward, jaws wide open to bite.

But Song Jing’an was faster. He shoved Bai Zhizhi aside—she staggered from the push—“Run!”

Then he grabbed a sharp wooden stick he had picked up along the way, ready to fight.

The wolf was ferocious, but Song Jing’an was no less fearless.

Just as they were about to clash, Bai Zhizhi fixed her gaze on the wolf’s eyes and softly uttered a single word:

“Stop.”

The wolf’s raised front claws instantly withdrew. With a graceful leap, it landed steadily on the ground, tilting its head as it looked at them.

Song Jing’an was stunned but didn’t dare relax, gripping the stick firmly as he slowly backed away.

Bai Zhizhi spoke again: “Lie down.”

To Song Jing’an’s disbelief, the wolf—which had looked so menacing moments ago—actually lowered itself obediently to the ground. Its eyes were no longer fierce but docile, like those of a tame dog.

Song Jing’an: …

He stared in shock between Bai Zhizhi and the wolf, feeling as if the world itself had turned fantastical.

If he could believe that the wild boar charging straight into the trap was Bai Zhizhi’s doing, then how could this wolf listening to her commands be explained?

But then again, since he had been given another life, perhaps it wasn’t so strange that Bai Zhizhi had some sort of special ability?

Song Jing’an’s expression shifted into sudden understanding.

Bai Zhizhi, unaware of his thoughts, had already walked up to the wolf. She crouched down and reached out her hand.

Song Jing’an snapped back to himself at the sight and quickly warned, “Be careful.”

Even if the wolf obeyed her just now, it was still a wild animal. If its instincts suddenly flared and it attacked, what then?

But Bai Zhizhi didn’t pause in the slightest. She patted the wolf’s head, and the wolf affectionately nuzzled her palm.

“You…” Song Jing’an was at a loss for words. “How did you do that?”

How could she train a wolf to act like a dog?

As he asked, he moved closer. But the moment he neared Bai Zhizhi, the obedient wolf suddenly bristled, baring its teeth at him in a protective stance.

Bai Zhizhi lightly patted its head. “Be good.”

The wolf obediently settled down again. Only then did Bai Zhizhi glance at Song Jing’an, tilting her head as she explained, “I saved it before, so it listens to me. Just like Dabai.”

As if worried he wouldn’t believe her, she nodded earnestly. “Really, you have to believe me!”

Song Jing’an was silent. “…I believe you.”

Bai Zhizhi was satisfied.

In truth, that wasn’t exactly the case. But she and the wolf were indeed old acquaintances. Back when she had been a little hedgehog, this wolf had once tried to provoke her—but she had given it a harsh beating. Ever since then, the wolf had behaved itself.

Even though she wasn’t a hedgehog now, her aura hadn’t changed. Naturally, the wolf still recognized her and obeyed.

Bai Zhizhi stroked the wolf’s fur, then pulled something out to feed it. “Go on.”

The wolf stood up, shook its fur, cast a warning glance at Song Jing’an, and then left with elegance.

Song Jing’an watched the wolf leave, then lowered his gaze to Bai Zhizhi. Now that only the two of them remained, he finally breathed a sigh of relief. The knot of fear that had tightened in his chest since discovering her disappearance finally loosened.

He was still shaken. He noticed his hands trembling slightly as he exhaled, then suddenly pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. Only by hugging her close could he feel she was really safe.

Bai Zhizhi had been watching him the whole time, so when she was suddenly pulled into an embrace, she jumped in fright and couldn’t help but pat his back. “What are you doing?”

“Let me hold you. Just once.” Song Jing’an’s voice still trembled. After a long moment, he finally let go.

She’s safe—that was all that mattered.

He released her, lips parting as though to speak. But when he met her clear gaze, every word he had prepared was suddenly stuck in his throat.

While searching for her, he had thought it through: once he found her, he would confess his feelings, even if she didn’t understand or didn’t want to accept them. He would say it anyway, because he was willing to wait.

But the moment he saw her, he suddenly couldn’t bring himself to speak. Clearly, now wasn’t the right time. If he blurted it out recklessly, Bai Zhizhi might become even more guarded against him, and he would only push her farther away.

So Song Jing’an swallowed his words, hiding his little thoughts. Instead, he nagged, “Zhizhi, next time you go off somewhere, you must tell me first. Let me know where you’re going. What if something happened to you?”

Bai Zhizhi nodded carelessly. “I got it.”

Her attention was completely drawn to Song Jing’an’s face. Suddenly, she reached out and poked at a bloody scratch on his cheek, pressing a little too hard, making him hiss in pain.

“You’re hurt?”

This unlucky fellow—his face was the only decent thing he had. What a shame it would be if it got ruined.

Song Jing’an shot her a look, then casually wiped his face with his hand, smearing away the blood.

Only then did he realize how disheveled he must look—scratches all across his face, his clothes covered in bits of grass and dirt, looking like he had been wandering in the mountains for days.

Song Jing’an’s expression twisted slightly. He was glad he hadn’t confessed just now. He didn’t want Bai Zhizhi to know his feelings while he was in such a sorry state.

But now wasn’t the time for that anyway. Clearly, Bai Zhizhi didn’t realize the seriousness of the situation and seemed to think nothing of it.

This wasn’t the first time. Last time, when she’d gone out with Bai Junyu, it was the same. Now it happened again. Who knew if it wouldn’t happen yet another time—and what if something dangerous happened then?

“Think about it,” Song Jing’an said, then paused briefly. “If… if Auntie—say you went out with Auntie, and then she wandered off without telling you—wouldn’t you be worried? It’s the same thing. If you go off without saying anything, wouldn’t Auntie be worried?”

He had originally wanted to use himself as the example. But he was self-aware: if he disappeared, Bai Zhizhi wouldn’t be worried at all. So at the last moment, he switched to Liao Guizhi instead.

Bai Zhizhi thought for a moment, then her expression grew serious. “I understand.”

Much more serious than before.

Back when she was still a little hedgehog, she had always lived alone, so she never had the habit of informing anyone before leaving. Even now, though she had a family, the thought didn’t occur to her—until Song Jing’an pointed it out today.

Seeing her reaction, Song Jing’an was satisfied. Remembering what had just happened, he asked, “What did you feed that wolf?

And that thing you tossed into the trap—was it really wild ginseng?”

Bai Zhizhi nodded. “Yes, it was the ginseng you gave me. But I only took a little from its root hairs, I didn’t waste it.”

Animals in the mountains had sharp senses. Even just a tiny shred of ginseng root hairs carried spiritual energy, which was extremely attractive to them. That was why, when Bai Zhizhi threw the ginseng hairs into the trap, the wild boar had been lured to charge in headfirst.

And the wolf had also been attracted by the ginseng hairs in the trap. Bai Zhizhi had sensed it, so she came over.

Hearing it really was wild ginseng, Song Jing’an fell silent. Since when was ginseng so useful it could be used as bait for wild boars?

But then he looked at her and said, “I already gave it to you. You can use it however you want.”

Even if she threw it away, he wouldn’t object. But knowing Bai Zhizhi’s nature, she would never waste precious herbs.

Bai Zhizhi nodded.

Just as they were about to head down the mountain, the wolf that had left earlier suddenly leapt out again. Song Jing’an’s whole body tensed, his heart—which had just settled—jumped up again, and instinctively he stepped in front of Bai Zhizhi.

But then Bai Zhizhi pushed him aside.

The wolf trotted up carrying a fat rabbit in its mouth. It dropped it in front of Bai Zhizhi with a howl.

“For me?”

A howl in response.

“Alright, thank you.” Bai Zhizhi patted the wolf’s head. “Now go home.”

The wolf affectionately nuzzled against her hand, then left reluctantly, looking back every few steps.

After everything that had happened today, Song Jing’an had already been shocked enough times. Now, he wasn’t even surprised. Even if someone told him Bai Zhizhi was some kind of mountain spirit in disguise and that was why she was so close to the wild animals, he could keep a straight face.

He had no idea that he had stumbled onto the truth—Bai Zhizhi really was a little hedgehog spirit.

He lifted the rabbit the wolf had dropped and weighed it in his hands. “Pretty heavy.”

“This wolf actually knows how to repay kindness.”

Bai Zhizhi laughed. “Of course. Little Wolf is very good.”

Back when she was still a hedgehog, Little Wolf often took her to pick fruit. When she was cultivating, Little Wolf would guard her from the side. So yes, Little Wolf was very good.

Bai Zhizhi tapped the fat rabbit, the plump meat making her mouth water. “We can eat rabbit tonight. Let Second Sister-in-law cook it.”

Ever since tasting her second sister-in-law’s cooking, Bai Zhizhi felt like the hundreds of years she had spent cultivating had been sheer stupidity. She should have tried earthly food ages ago.

Song Jing’an found himself tempted too. The Bai family never lacked for meat, but rabbit meat was something fresh.

With that thought, the two of them started down the mountain.

As they walked, Song Jing’an suddenly stumbled on something and almost fell, though he managed to steady himself in time and avoid making a fool of himself.

The path they were on was a small one, rarely traveled, so it was overgrown with grass and vines. What had tripped Song Jing’an was a vine sprawled right across the middle of the trail.

Annoyed, he kicked at the vine. Of all places, it had to grow right in the middle of the path—what a nuisance.

While he was caught up in irritation, Bai Zhizhi cast a casual glance at the vine—just a quick look. But that glance revealed a familiar shape.

Her composure broke. She crouched down on the ground, following the vine to the side of the trail. Heart-shaped leaves, night-blooming vine—just as she had thought.

“What is it?” Song Jing’an asked, puzzled by her sudden excitement.