As if to confirm the divination bought with a hundred years of cultivation, the day before the Empress summoned Wei Zijue again, white mourning banners were hung throughout the Wei family compound.

Wei Zijue, dressed entirely in plain white mourning clothes, knelt at the very front of the mourning hall, kowtowing one by one to the elders who came to pay their respects.

His eyes were red and swollen, his voice so hoarse he could no longer speak. Looking at his father’s armor hanging nearby, his heart was filled with grief.

“Every inch of mountains and rivers is worth an inch of gold, every inch of mountains and rivers is worth an inch of gold… If my son can cross the Nine Rivers, during the New Year sacrifices, burn paper money to inform your father. Though your father may become a ghost, he will surely protect you!”

“If the Nine Rivers are not crossed, my soul cannot rest in peace!”

His father had not died in the desolate winds and sands of the frontier, but had died here in the most prosperous Lin’an City, lying in his coffin with rusted armor and a broken map of mountains and rivers, unable to close his eyes in peace.

By His Majesty’s grace, he was posthumously granted the title of Grand Commander of Loyal and Filial Eternal Peace.

With neighboring countries like Great Xia watching like tigers, border cities retreating again and again—could such a Great Qian truly be called eternally peaceful?

He numbly listened to the consolations of those around him. Breaking tiles at the funeral procession, he walked the entire way like the walking dead.

Perhaps heaven also cherished heroes—on the day of the old commander’s funeral, heavy snow fell like goose feathers, turning all of Cang’er Mountain into a vast expanse of white.

Wei Zijue personally carried his father’s coffin into the tomb chamber, then personally used sealing stones to block the tomb passage. When he emerged, the sky had already turned completely dark.

The vast snow made it impossible to distinguish directions. He had intended to return to the funeral procession, but after walking for a long time, he saw no one around.

Wild winds howled, causing the snow piles on the mountain rocks to make creaking sounds.

Wei Zijue felt something was wrong, but the snow had already reached his knees, making it very difficult even to lift his feet. He could only watch helplessly as the heavy snow collapsed the mountain rocks and poured down toward him like a flood.

In the moment before losing consciousness, Wei Zijue thought: Too tired. In his next life, he didn’t want to be human anymore.

Warm candlelight danced on the lamp stand, fine silver-gray charcoal showed not a trace of smoke, instead giving off a gentle fragrance.

Wei Zijue moved his eyelids in confusion, then felt someone helping him up and holding him in their arms. Warm soup moistened his lips and teeth, sweet with a lingering fragrance.

“In the past, this was just you acting spoiled with me, but this time you’re truly hurt,” someone sighed softly. “If I had known it would come to this, why suffer so?”

It was Ruyi’s voice.

Wei Zijue opened his eyes in some astonishment.

There was no snow around, no mountains either—only her blue-green skirt hem and the dazzling yellow jade sparrow hairpin in her hair.

“Awake?” She glanced sideways, her long eyes rippling and languid.

Sitting up abruptly, Wei Zijue looked at his own hands: “How am I here?”

He had encountered an avalanche—he should have died.

She blinked innocently: “I don’t know either. When I opened the door, you were right outside, so I helped you in.”

Cang’er Mountain was at least thirty li from the Immortal Meeting Tavern—how had he gotten here?

Wei Zijue frowned and held his head.

His stiff arms were pulled down by her. Ruyi looked at him deeply and smiled: “Everything’s fine now. You’re in mourning, so I won’t keep you, but first finish this bowl of chicken soup, and I’ll arrange a carriage to send you back.”

He took the bowl and stared at its rim for a moment, suddenly feeling his throat tighten.

“My father loved drinking this,” he said hoarsely. “There was none to drink at the frontier. He craved it for so many years, but when he returned, he could no longer drink it.”

On the first day back in Lin’an, his father had gone to the palace and accidentally fallen on the way—a very serious fall.

He had cooked so many, many bowls of chicken soup, but his father couldn’t drink a single sip. Like a piece of dry kindling, he gradually wasted away in bed.

“I felt he had other worries on his mind, but he wouldn’t tell me, only asked me to take good care of mother,” Wei Zijue said, his eyes growing redder. “After he left, my mother also fell ill.”

Ruyi didn’t comfort him; she only sat quietly beside him, watching.

Many years ago in the Ten Thousand Demon Cave, this person had often cried too, but back then Ah Jue had been cunning—crying was just to gain her sympathy, so she would touch him and hold him.

But now, this person was like a child who had lost his home, his head turning left and right in confusion, the collapse in his eyes hanging by a single hair—it would all come pouring down with just a light touch.

Ruyi didn’t move, watching as he gradually replaced that hair with hemp rope, then with iron wire, slowly pulling his rationality back together.

“I will fulfill father’s dying wish,” he steadied himself and said seriously. “No matter what, I will fulfill father’s dying wish.”

“You can do it,” she finally said.

Wei Zijue looked toward her, reaching out to embrace her, but mindful of the mourning clothes he wore, he stopped halfway and restrainedly withdrew his hand: “Thank you.”

“Not calling me sister anymore?” Ruyi raised an eyebrow teasingly.

He looked at her deeply, then drained the chicken soup in one gulp: “The future is long. I won’t lose to fate, and I won’t lose to Lord Shen either.”

“Farewell.”

“Safe travels.”

Ruyi leaned against the second-floor window, watching him leave and board the carriage, then watching the wheels leave two deep, long tracks in the snow.

“The owner is back?” Zhao Yanning, carrying account books, passed by her door and poked his head in, saying meaningfully, “The snow on Cang’er Mountain was so heavy—it must have been hard for the owner to travel so far to buy ingredients.”

Ruyi turned around and chuckled: “You wouldn’t be speaking up for someone’s injustice, would you?”

“How could that be? I’m taking the owner’s wages now—I have no particular relationship with that lord,” he touched his nose tip. “I’m just curious—how can one person’s heart be split in two?”

The owner usually seemed very close to the lord, yet was willing to brave such heavy snow for Commander Wei. It was hard to determine whom she favored more.

“A human heart cannot be split in two, but it can beat many times,” Ruyi said casually. “Each beat is a flutter of the heart, so in one’s lifetime, it’s natural to have one’s heart flutter for thousands upon thousands of people.”

Zhao Yanning bowed: “This humble one admires that.”

“Say one more word, and I’ll go teach Fuman,” she threatened wickedly. “Make her like me—loving all under heaven.”

Zhao Yanning was stunned.

He straightened up, lowered his eyes, and tugged at the corner of his mouth: “If the owner could truly teach that, it would also be good.”

“Oh?” Ruyi raised an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t mind becoming one of ten thousand?”

“I wouldn’t mind,” he said. “After all, I’m not even one of ten thousand now.”

Others saw him and Fuman entering and leaving together, seeming close enough, but only he knew that between those few inches of distance lay the Milky Way that could never be crossed.

Ruyi tactfully changed the subject: “Lady Zhang’s case has been transferred to the Ministry of Justice. Why are Fuman and Tinglan still so busy recently?”

“Lord Shen asked them to help—probably because the case is tricky,” Zhao Yanning’s face resumed its mocking expression. “Our lord used to be utterly upright and incorruptible. Now I don’t know who he learned from, but he’s learned to use money to buy people off.”