In the second year after Song Yuhe’s death, An Mianmian returned to the prince’s mansion. The prohibition notices pasted on the gates had long been blown away by the wind, with no one standing guard.

She walked along the wall until she reached the back door, knocked on the third brick beside the door, and a gap opened on the other side – just wide enough for a person to squeeze through sideways.

The courtyard was overgrown with weeds, and the fish and shrimp in the pond had long since died.

Withered leaves covered the ground; prosperity was no more.

An Mianmian walked step by step toward the main hall. The birdsong in her ears made her feel as if she had returned to many years ago, when she had just reached the door and seen Song Yuhe sitting there playing chess.

An elegant gentleman, unparalleled in all the world.

Jade-white hands holding black chess pieces, he had only glanced at her coolly before withdrawing his gaze.

Languid and aloof – seemingly contradictory words that suited him perfectly.

Just that one glance had stayed in her memory for many years.

Those eyes showed no emotion, three parts indifferent.

An Mianmian entered the room. Wind blew through, stirring up the dust that covered the floor.

On the table sat moldy mung bean cakes with one piece missing – someone must have taken a bite before.

An Mianmian suddenly thought that Song Yuhe’s comment about it being “effective” might have meant he had made a wish before eating the mung bean cake.

She shook her head with a smile. He never believed in such things – these mung bean cakes probably weren’t eaten by him either.

Beside them lay a brocade pouch. An Mianmian opened it to find a peace charm inside.

It was the one she had obtained for him, without sincerity.

He had always carried it until the night before his rebellion, when he finally untied it and placed it on the table.

A peace charm that prayed for no peace.

He had understood everything.

Song Yuhe had said: “Mianmian, in the next life, don’t meet me again.”

At the time, An Mianmian had thought it was just Song Yuhe’s simple apology, but she was wrong.

Her hatred, her careful scheming, her pain, her struggles – Song Yuhe knew it all. He knew everything. He wanted to use his death to let her release her hatred and live happier days in the future.

A year since we’ve met. I’ve come to see you. My health is much better – the Blood Bright Pills are indeed more useful than your Blood Resolve Pills.” An Mianmian swept the dust from a chair and sat down, talking to herself.

She arranged the chessboard nearby and unknowingly recreated the dead game Song Yuhe had played that day.

His chess style was beautiful and languid, like a cat toying with a mouse.

“I didn’t love you, Song Yuhe.”

“I only have some regrets. If our first meeting hadn’t been like that, I think I would have fallen in love with you. Perhaps a stunning glimpse when you traveled the mountains and waters after leaving the capital would have stayed in my memory for years.”

“With my personality, I would have used all my strength to get close to you, worked hard to make you notice me, and used every means to make you love me too. I would have married you, borne children, and had a house full of descendants. On our wedding day, I would have called you ‘husband,’ and from then on we would have walked hand in hand until our hair turned white.”

“Song Yuhe, what saddens me is that our ending could have been better than now, yet we were forced to the very end. What saddens me is that when you took my hand and said ‘this prince will protect you,’ my heart only felt the secret joy of finally hooking you.”

“This protection of yours was something I obtained through sleepless nights of scheming and calculated planning. Setting aside thoughts of seizing power and usurping the throne, everything else about you was what I would have liked.”

An Mianmian had never told anyone else, hadn’t even wanted to admit to herself, that she had long stopped hoping for Song Yuhe’s death. If possible, she hoped Song Yuhe could let go of his obsessions and just be a prince in Jiangnan, attending poetry gatherings, occasionally listening to music, letting her continue to hate him forever.

She could keep hating him forever, hoping for his death, praying for Buddha to open his eyes. But she could also stay by his side forever, eating sweets she didn’t like, acting cute, and pleasing Song Yuhe.

She didn’t like sweets – just like Song Yuhe, she had disliked them since childhood.

“Song Yuhe, if our beginning hadn’t been like this, I wouldn’t have needed to learn Ruoyi’s personality to attract your attention. If I had been myself, I think that would have been enough to attract you, too.”

The sound of vendors calling from the streets, noisy and bustling, made An Mianmian think she was back in Jiangnan during New Year’s.

New Year’s had been so lively.

She was pouring wine, Song Yuhe was watching her, his eyes holding an indulgence that neither of them had noticed at the time. His lips curved in a smile as he asked gently: “This year, would you like to be a princess?”