Twenty-five years had passed in the blink of an eye. The once innocent young girl had transformed into a cold, murderous woman. Yet when she stood beside him, her body still stained with blood, this man who had dominated all the joys and sorrows of her life personally told her: the person in his heart was called Hua Qingyue!
The one he loved was her! What a laughably tragic truth this was. Hua Qingyue’s eyes widened, her entire body trembling uncontrollably. Then a trace of wild joy pierced her heart, making her laugh maniacally as tears burst forth like a broken dam, dripping through her fingers onto the ground below.
Yes, she had spent half her lifetime doing something utterly ridiculous. But if it could win his admission of love, what did it matter how laughable or tragic it was?
Xiao Du stood far to one side, picking up the fallen lantern from the ground. Under the dim yellow lamplight, the princess covered her face, laughing and crying simultaneously, her entire being seemingly plunged into madness. Meanwhile, Xiao Yunjing stood quietly opposite her, his gaze filled with regret, pity, and many other emotions that Xiao Du couldn’t comprehend. At this moment, Yuanxi had already carried Xiao Zhixuan out through the tunnel to find medical treatment. So he stretched out his arms to hang up the lantern, then turned and walked out as well. He had no desire to know what had truly transpired—after all, he had witnessed too many sordid, tragic, or helpless affairs. These two were people he had once regarded as closest family; their story was theirs alone to face.
It was a long while before Hua Qingyue recovered from her manic emotions. Only then did she grasp the deeper meaning behind the Old Marquis’s words. She suddenly raised her head, her voice trembling: “You! You knew everything?”
“That’s right. I knew on our wedding night.” He paused, as if it took tremendous effort to force out his next words: “Because no one could fail to recognize the woman he loves.”
Time seemed to freeze suddenly. Hua Qingyue couldn’t believe what she was hearing, only staring with misty eyes in a daze: “You knew all along… but why…” Such a grave crime of deceiving the emperor that could destroy an entire clan—why would he conceal it for her?
Hearing this, the Old Marquis revealed a bitter smile. Why indeed… How many times over the years had he asked himself the same question? He wanted to reach out and steady her trembling shoulders, but his hand only stopped in midair for a moment before he clenched it and drew it back. A trace of tenderness actually flickered in his eyes as he said: “Because in that farmhouse on the city’s outskirts, you protected me once. From that moment on, I was willing to protect you for a lifetime!”
The moment Xiao Yunjing most often recalled in his life was neither his triumphant return from the battlefield nor his enfeoffment as marquis before the throne, but that day when he had rescued a young girl by chance.
She had bandaged his wounds and held him through the most difficult night. She was like a fairy by the stream in the morning. Though clearly terrified, she had shielded him behind her without regard for anything else.
When Emperor Yun bestowed Princess Ruizhen upon him in marriage, he had initially wanted to refuse, but then thought that only this way could he see her again. Who could have known that just days before the wedding, he would receive news of her sudden death in the palace? In that moment, he experienced for the first time in his life what it meant to have a heart turned to ash.
Yet that heart which should have become ash was lifted up and pieced back together by her in their bridal chamber. Almost the instant he lifted her wedding veil, he discovered: this was not the delicate rose from the palace, but his own vanilla grass. After the wild joy came shock and suspicion—if the person before him was her, then who was the one who had died suddenly in the palace?
On their wedding night, he couldn’t control himself, embracing and entwining with her passionately without restraint. But the next day, he understood the bloody truth behind it all. After repeated anguish and struggle, he quietly made a decision: no matter the cost, he would protect her peaceful life.
But from then on, he was tormented constantly by conscience and guilt. He dared not approach her again, fearing that one more glance would cause his love to burst forth like a broken dam, impossible to conceal. He tried taking concubines, but not one could compare to her—the one who would sing him gentle songs in the darkness and show him gardens full of blooming flowers.
Only today did he realize that his self-proclaimed protection and indulgence had pushed her step by step into the abyss. He had personally killed that gentle young woman from his memories, burying her entire life in the obsession of loving without being able to possess.
Xiao Yunjing closed his eyes in anguish, his voice trembling: “Why? To cover up this secret, how could you kill so many people and commit so many sins?”
The princess raised her vacant eyes to look at him, finally covering her face and weeping bitterly. Even she herself didn’t understand how things had come to this point.
Twenty-five years ago, in the princess’s bedchamber, she had been repeatedly tormented by jealousy and unwillingness, unable to eat or drink daily, secretly shedding tears. Her good sister Yu You’er had noticed her strange condition. After persistent questioning, she had told her the secret.
She remembered that Yu You’er had stared into her eyes and asked only one question: “Do you truly want to be with him, no matter what the cost?”
She had nodded desperately, and then Yu You’er had told her a secret: a mysterious art from their homeland that could disguise one person as another.
After Yu You’er finished speaking, she had only watched her quietly. But Hua Qingyue had already understood everything: she and the princess were extremely similar in appearance and build. To exchange identities with the princess, she had put great effort into learning the princess’s mannerisms and voice. With just one desperate gamble, she could live with that man as his legitimate wife—the temptation was too great. She had grasped Yu You’er’s hand almost without hesitation: “Can you help me…”
Everything had initially proceeded very smoothly. On their wedding night, she saw again those eyes that had haunted her dreams. When his hands and lips pressed against her body with passion, that was the happiest moment of her entire life—even if it was under another person’s identity.
But then everything changed. He began treating her with cold indifference, and she, to conceal her identity, dared not interact with others and had to confine herself to the dark Buddhist hall. When she discovered her pregnancy, she thought heaven had finally favored her, only to receive a nightmare from which she would never wake.
Her child with him was gone, yet she still had to reluctantly accept that bastard child that didn’t belong to her. This hatred nearly drove her insane. From that moment on, she began to hate everyone and everything—except him.
Then he began taking concubine after concubine into his household. She could see he didn’t love those two women, so she permitted it all, as long as he would spare her one more glance. But even this humble wish ultimately came to nothing.
Later, her face began having problems. It turned out Yu You’er hadn’t told her that this mysterious art required annual maintenance, and the method of maintenance was using young girls’ tender skin plus burned bone sacrifices. She couldn’t let herself be exposed, so she acquiesced to Yu You’er using the household’s maids as substitutes. The first time she saw those girls, young as flowers, kneeling before her trembling and begging for mercy, she had felt soft-hearted and frightened. But she quickly grew accustomed to it, until her hands were stained with blood, until human lives meant nothing to her.
Countless nights she would wake from nightmares, seeing many faces hanging before her, then entire facial skin would slowly peel away, leaving only bloody, fleshy orbs coldly accusing her of her crimes.
Perhaps this was her destined curse. From the moment she personally thrust the blade into the princess’s chest, she was doomed to sink deeper into the mire, forever trapped in demonic obsession.
But only today did she learn how she had squandered all that silent endurance and protection, how she had completely disrupted and destroyed everything he cherished.
Between the cold, bare walls echoed a woman’s remorseful and anguished wails. Hua Qingyue suddenly stood up and began running frantically—she had to leave this place. It was too cold, too dark. She shouldn’t belong here.
Like a headless fly, she ran and stumbled about, finally crashing her entire body into the fan rack. The row of fans stretched with human skin collapsed thunderously—they were her inexhaustible sins, nightmares that could never be erased.
Hua Qingyue moved her fingers away, staring blankly at those pieces of facial skin. They seemed to be grinning coldly at her, while countless hands reached up from cracks in the ground to pull her down. Ghost-like voices continuously whispered in her ears: “You’ve lost. Come down quickly and keep us company.”
Hua Qingyue collapsed powerlessly in the center of that pile of fans. She raised her head to gaze sorrowfully at Xiao Yunjing one last time, finally imprinting his image in her heart. Then she picked up the golden hairpin from the ground and thrust it fiercely into her throat.
Xiao Yunjing’s expression changed dramatically as he immediately rushed forward to hold her tightly. Blood gushed from her throat, flowing down his sleeve to his pulse. Xiao Yunjing tightly closed his eyes but couldn’t speak a word, only murmuring: “Qingyue… Qingyue…” In this lifetime, who exactly had wronged whom, and who had harmed whom?
Hua Qingyue’s entire body began convulsing. She struggled to open her eyes, but everything before her was blurred. She seemed to return to the first time she had seen him—in that chaos, his silver armor was bathed in light, his eyes colored with honey. One glance, and she was willing to swallow all bitter fruit.
If she hadn’t met him that day, she wouldn’t have had to endure such day and night suffering and torment, and could have lived peacefully and smoothly. But if she hadn’t met him, what meaning would this life have had?
She tremblingly reached out her hand, her ice-cold fingers gently touching his wrist, using her last bit of strength to say: “Xiao Lang, do you still remember that mountain song I sang for you? Let me sing it for you one more time: Stars fill the sky… but the moon’s not bright, mountains fill the earth… but roads aren’t smooth. If brother stays true to sister’s heart, then sister will think of brother… until now…”
In his arms, she seemed to become that gentle sixteen-year-old girl again, standing in the pure stream water, singing clear and melodious tunes, waiting for her lover to turn back for her.
All hatred dissolved in his warm and solid embrace. Heaven had not been too unkind to her after all—someone as sinful as she could die where she belonged, seeking benevolence and obtaining benevolence.