The owner put down his knife and fork, elegantly wiping the corners of his mouth with a napkin.

Across from him, the doctor held his dinner knife like a scalpel, efficiently cutting his medium-rare steak: “Hey, you’re not going to eat anymore? What a waste!”

“I’m not used to Western food. You should have brought someone else.” The owner picked up his wine glass and took a light sip.

The doctor forked the owner’s steak onto his own plate, complaining: “This Western restaurant just opened. The discount coupon my friend gave me requires two people to use it. You think I wanted to drag you here?”

The owner wore his black Zhongshan suit, with a deep red dragon coiled around his left arm, its head resting at the back of his neck. The perfect embroidery and lustrous silk had already attracted many gazes. Not to mention two grown men dining at a romantic Western restaurant was conspicuous enough.

The doctor was beginning to regret—he should have just come alone to eat!

The owner narrowed his phoenix eyes: “Don’t you have anyone to accompany you? How pitiful.”

“With my around-the-clock work schedule, where would I find time for a girlfriend? If I casually ask a woman out for dinner, I’m afraid of being misunderstood. Women—so troublesome.”

The owner raised an eyebrow but didn’t voice his opinion, merely swirling his wine glass gently.

The doctor smiled and lowered his voice: “You don’t believe me? Look at that couple at the table on the left—the woman is smiling sweetly, but the man looks annoyed. I bet they’re about to break up.”

The owner boredly swirled the red wine in his glass again, beginning to consider whether he could head home.

Just as the doctor was about to say something more, a loud slap suddenly rang out from the left table, drowning out the beautiful music in the restaurant and instantly making everyone turn their heads.

The well-dressed man was slapped so hard his face turned to one side. He hastily threw down his napkin and fled in embarrassment, while the young woman who had been laughing happily just moments before stood there stunned, finally collapsing weakly into her chair after a long moment.

The doctor was startled by his own crow’s mouth. The owner turned to look at the young woman, and after a long pause, curved his lips and said to the doctor: “Hey, here’s a chance to play hero and save the damsel.”

“What?” The doctor was puzzled.

“That young lady appears to have no wallet with her. The gentleman who came with her has left, and she clearly hasn’t paid the bill—otherwise she wouldn’t have been sitting there rigidly for so long.”

The owner smiled, swirling the wine glass in his hand again. He seemed to prefer watching the blood-like liquid flow in the glass rather than actually drinking it.

The doctor followed his gaze and indeed saw the young woman in the cocktail dress looking anxious, holding her phone wanting to make a call but hesitating.

“But why do I have to pay the bill? I’ll give you this hero-saving-damsel opportunity!”

“Hehe, because I didn’t bring a wallet either!”

“…”

“What do we do now?” The doctor tugged at his tie, looking helplessly at the still-crying woman.

He had thought doing a good deed would count as his daily good turn, but he hadn’t expected this woman to keep crying. It was late at night, and he was afraid something might happen if they left her on the street, so he and the owner had no choice but to bring her back to Dumb House.

“Let’s wait until she calms down.” The owner said flatly.

“Calm down? It’s just a breakup! Why act like the sky is falling?” The doctor couldn’t stand this kind of drama. Unable to control himself, his voice rose slightly.

“Wuu… I… I’ll pay you back…”

The woman in the lotus-colored cocktail dress looked up, her eyes red and swollen from crying. Her light makeup was completely smeared, making her look very pitiful.

The doctor pursed his lips: “You’re still in school, right? I saw your student ID in your wallet just now. Forget it, consider it my treat. It’s just a breakup—the next man will be better!”

The young woman wiped her tears with a tissue, sobbing: “No one will be better than him. I only want Xi in this life. Xi and I grew up together—we’ve known each other since we were four. Why does he want to break up with me?”

Hearing this kind of rambling, the doctor couldn’t offer any more consolation. Matters of the heart were beyond outsiders’ ability to comment.

Unexpectedly, the owner spoke up: “Do you want him to change his mind?”

The woman nodded eagerly.

The doctor watched the owner go behind the jade screen to look for something, feeling a chill, knowing the owner was going to fetch some strange item again.

Soon, the owner emerged carrying a palm-sized box, opening it and placing it before the woman.

The woman momentarily forgot her tears, staring blankly at the wooden doll lying quietly in the brocade box.

It was a figurine only as long as a palm, made from some unknown wood. From the mottled and peeling paint, it appeared quite old.

The doll was entirely wooden, with angular features indicating it was male. It had a topknot hanging at the back of its head, wearing thick inner garments with wide-sleeved robes over them, eyes slightly closed, features delicate. Even carved from wood, fine details were visible. The craftsmanship was simple yet the proportions balanced—though concise, it wasn’t crude, clearly the work of a master.

This doll looked like a sleeping handsome man, as if it might open its eyes the next moment, emanating an indescribable eerie feeling.

“This is Empress Chen Ajiao’s voodoo doll.” The owner’s lips curved in a perfect arc. “When Liu Che was four years old, he made a promise to Chen Ajiao: ‘If I can have Ajiao as my wife, I shall keep her in a golden house.’ The golden house wasn’t the meaning commonly used now, but a man’s vow to his childhood sweetheart wife.”

“But later, Liu Che, who became Emperor Wu, betrayed Chen Ajiao.” This historical episode was familiar to everyone. The woman said sadly, thinking of her own situation.

“Liu Che became infatuated with Wei Zifu. Chen Ajiao tried to use voodoo magic to win back Liu Che’s love but was banished to Changmen Palace, dying lonely and forgotten.”

The owner said concisely: “The voodoo Chen Ajiao used was never meant to harm Liu Che, but to pray that he might one day change his mind. The doll in this box is the paulownia wood voodoo doll used by Empress Chen Ajiao.”

“How much… does this doll cost?” The woman asked.

“Take it and use it first. If it doesn’t work, you can return it. If it does work, just treat us to a meal at that Western restaurant.”

The owner smiled: “This voodoo doll is hollow inside. Just put his hair through the small hole at the bottom, seal it with cinnabar, and place it in a dark place facing due north.”

The woman clutched her tissue, biting her lower lip. After a long moment, she picked up the brocade box, stood up, and nodded gratefully to the doctor and owner: “Thank you for tonight. I’ll repay the money I owe you both when I come here next time.”

Watching the woman push the door and leave, the doctor took a long time to find his voice: “Hey, didn’t you say you don’t like Western food?”

The owner nodded—he indeed didn’t like it.

The doctor stared at him. Then why did he say to treat them to Western food if it worked? Suddenly he understood, exclaiming: “You mean that voodoo doll won’t work at all?”

The owner poured himself tea, holding it under his nose to smell the fragrance, smiling slightly: “Did you see Chen Ajiao win back Liu Che’s heart?”

Of course not… The doctor was completely speechless.

He seemed to have slept too long.

So long he’d even forgotten his own name.

Really too long…

“Woman, what wish do you desire?” He stretched his still-forming body in the air, looking down at the surprised woman.

“I… I want him to return to my side.” The woman recovered from her shock and said firmly.

He paused, as if somewhere in the depths of memory, a woman had said the same thing to him.

Exhaling heavily, he didn’t know why his mood suddenly turned sour. “My magic only works on the person who awakens me, not on others.”

The woman fell silent.

He snorted silently through his nose—foolish woman, forever wallowing in the illusion of love.

He yawned in the air, his semi-transparent state looking like a formless mist. The woman still hadn’t answered. He waited patiently while sensing the world he now found himself in.

So… he had slept for two thousand years…

His face darkened, unable to remember what had happened before his slumber. He couldn’t remember anything at all. Why was this happening?

Then the woman suddenly looked up and said clearly: “I want to live my previous life. Can this wish be fulfilled?”

He propped his chin, looking down at the hopeful light dancing in the woman’s eyes, suddenly finding it interesting. Very well, he had slept too long and was too bored. Playing with her wouldn’t be unacceptable.

He blew gently, and the mist surrounding him gradually receded. A tall, elegant figure slowly descended to the ground. He gracefully knelt on one knee, reaching out to lift the hem of her dress and place a gentle kiss on it. Then he looked up with a light smile: “My master, your wish shall be fulfilled by me.”

As he expected, the woman went from panic to horror, her delicate face filled with disbelief.

This expression pleased him, and his smile became even more unrestrained.

Because he had now transformed into an appearance identical to her boyfriend.

He accompanied her on walks in the park.

She wore her favorite tender green dress, her face glowing with happiness under the autumn sunlight: “Xi, look, this flower blooms so beautifully!”

He smiled warmly and nodded at the appropriate moment.

Yes, his current name was Mu Xi, and his identity was Pei Ying’s boyfriend. Pei Ying was the brilliantly smiling woman before him, a second-year university student who lived alone off-campus due to family circumstances. And the role he now played was her boyfriend.

She had awakened him, wishing to have her past life back, so he had to satisfy her.

He knew why she was so obsessed with this relationship—not just because she and Mu Xi were childhood sweethearts.

When Pei Ying was very young, her parents had divorced and each formed new families with other children. So she was the extra one, possessing nothing each month but additional child support in her bank account. In this situation, Mu Xi’s existence became especially precious.

Since they established their romantic relationship in high school, Pei Ying had devoted all her attention to Mu Xi. But wholehearted love, when too pure, becomes enormous pressure.

Mu Xi had his own life, but Pei Ying was like a vine, wrapping around him densely, stealing his nutrients and air, leaving him unable to breathe.

Time is a sharp blade. Even the deepest feelings slowly get dismembered through trivial daily friction.

Finally, Mu Xi couldn’t endure it anymore and proposed breaking up.

Then she awakened him.

Thinking of this, he smiled. All these memories he had read through the strand of hair placed inside his body. As a voodoo spirit, fulfilling his master’s wishes within acceptable limits was his duty.

“Xi, do you remember? This is where you celebrated my eighteenth birthday.”

Her voice drifted over as she turned to give him a gentle smile. He hazily thought of someone—that person also had such a lonely yet gentle smile.

Similarly, not a smile meant for him.

“Of course I remember. I gave you a necklace then. Ying Ying, have you been wearing it properly?” He smiled lightly.

Having read Mu Xi’s memories, he naturally knew every detail of their time together clearly. What she wanted was to live happily with Mu Xi. He naturally had to perfectly play that Mu Xi.

The Mu Xi who deeply loved Pei Ying.

“Look.” She pulled out a necklace from her clothing pocket. The pendant was a sweet, lovely silver angel that sparkled brilliantly in the sunlight.

“Very beautiful, just like you.” He smiled and said the words Mu Xi had spoken back then, naturally and affectionately.

She smiled contentedly, reaching out to hold his arm. Ignoring others’ horrified stares, she sweetly leaned on his shoulder as they walked forward.

Under the brilliant autumn sunlight, she didn’t notice that behind them was only her own shadow.

Yes, in this world, only she could see him.

No, it seemed… there was another woman.

He suddenly remembered.

Two thousand years ago, in that distant Han Dynasty, there was a palace named “Pepper Room,” its walls coated with pepper mud. Pepper’s spicy nature warmed the rooms and made them fragrant.

This was where Han Dynasty empresses lived, representing the highest position in the imperial harem. Yet when he awakened in this Pepper Room Palace, it was just an empty, golden palace with a woman who had lost imperial favor.

At that time, everyone called her—Empress Chen.

“A Che, look at this dress—is it beautiful?” The absolutely beautiful woman wore complex layered skirts, spinning in circles before him, her snow-crystal skin bearing a heart-stirring smile.

A Che? Who was she calling? He looked around and found himself in a spacious palace, with sandalwood incense curling from bronze dragon-patterned censers nearby. Everywhere were golden decorated walls, jade-carved doorways, magnolia wood carved rafters, and apricot wood decorated beams. The palace was so vast that voices echoed.

Though all visible furnishings and decorations were exquisitely carved, the red and black curtains made the place seem sinister and terrifying, with only a few palace lamps flickering dimly.

Where was this? Though he’d never seen this place before, why did familiarity surge from his heart?

“Very beautiful. Ajiao, the crabapple-colored dress should match that phoenix-head jade hairpin.” He heard himself say.

The woman called Ajiao smiled charmingly, taking his hand to sit before a bronze mirror. She opened a drawer, took out a jade hairpin, and handed it to him: “A Che, help me put it in.”

He stared blankly at the cleverly smiling face in the bronze mirror, unable to refuse as he took the jade hairpin. Looking down, he discovered a long shadow cast by the palace lamps on the ground.

That was her shadow, but beneath his feet was nothing.

He gripped the jade hairpin tightly, the bone-chilling cold quickly spreading from his palm throughout his body, making him shiver and wake up.

“…Xi, Xi?” A voice came from far and near. He shook his head slightly, and boiling human voices surged like tide, washing away all the loneliness and desolation of that cold palace.

“…Xi, Xi? Are you listening? Do I look good in this dress?” That voice asked again.

He blinked, looking at Pei Ying before him. The surrounding noisy voices made him somewhat at a loss.

They were now in a department store’s specialty shop, the air conditioning uncomfortably cold. There was no ancient, luxurious palace, no woman in ancient costume—only noisy human voices and strange stares from all around. The clamorous mall made him miss that spacious, quiet palace even more.

For a moment, he could almost still smell the remaining sandalwood at his nose tip. But in the next instant, it was completely washed away by Pei Ying’s Lancôme perfume.

He suppressed the loss in his heart and smiled: “Very beautiful. Let’s buy this one.”

She nodded happily and went to the changing room.

He exhaled deeply. He was perfectly playing Mu Xi’s role, acting according to his and Pei Ying’s interaction patterns without any flaws. Perhaps even if the real Mu Xi stood before her, she couldn’t distinguish which was the illusion.

The Mu Xi who deeply loved Pei Ying would naturally accompany her shopping tirelessly. Only after their feelings gradually wore thin did Mu Xi stop accompanying her to such places.

So this should be a very simple wish—he only needed to perfectly play this affectionate Mu Xi and create the illusion she needed.

But why did he lose himself in another scene, and where did this continuous surge of sadness from his chest come from?

“Xi, let’s go. Let’s eat at my place tonight. I’ll make your favorite curry beef.”

She came out after changing, paid with her card, and walked over smiling to link arms with him.

He steadied himself and returned her smile: “Mm, let’s go.”

They walked side by side past the mall’s fitting mirrors. The mirrors ruthlessly but honestly reflected Pei Ying’s solitary, intoxicated smile. She naturally linked arms with empty air, walking in strange postures under people’s curious gazes, completely unaware.

“A Che, it’s time for you to go to Xuan Room Hall for court.” She sat properly in the pavilion. Though she spoke of him leaving, her eyes clearly showed reluctance.

He smiled slightly: “What? Didn’t you ask me to accompany you flower viewing? Look how brilliantly these peonies bloom.”

She pouted, sighing in frustration: “I’ve already taken up so much of your time. Later I’ll be criticized by the censors again for the empress being willful.”

He found it amusing and couldn’t help saying what that person in his memory had once said: “An emperor excessively favoring a certain concubine would be losing virtue, but my favoring my empress—isn’t that harmonious relationship, the nation’s wish?”

Her expression changed, her smile freezing at her lips.

He couldn’t help feeling annoyed, because he knew the person who had spoken those words was now on the other side of this vast palace, excessively favoring a certain concubine.

She lowered her eyes and said flatly: “You should go first. I want to be alone quietly.”

He suddenly felt utterly bored, not wanting to pretend to be someone else anymore. He rose with a flourish and walked outside the pavilion.

He was just a doll she had awakened—dolls existed for acting. Both the actors and audience knew that no matter how beautiful the story, it was just a play.

Walking down from the pavilion, passing by two serving palace maids in the outer corridor, he unintentionally overheard their gossip.

“Look, the empress had us set out two cups of tea again. She’s waiting for the emperor again.”

Hmph, ridiculous. That cup of tea was for him—only others couldn’t see him.

“Sigh, how could the emperor come? I heard Lady Wei is already pregnant.”

He shuddered and couldn’t help turning back.

The lonely figure in the pavilion was lifting the teacup from across the table, pouring out the cold tea inside, then picking up the teapot to refill it with fragrant hot tea.

He stared blankly as the ethereal steam dissipated, silently clenching his fists.

So she really was waiting for that him…

She could distinguish clearly—which was her illusion, which was the Liu Che she loved.

He couldn’t help sighing softly as everything before his eyes gradually dispersed like thick fog…

“Xi, Xi? Why are you spacing out again?”

He came back to his senses and noticed he was holding the magazine upside down.

Calmly closing the magazine, he looked up at Pei Ying bustling about in the kitchen, stood up and said: “Don’t bother. I have something to do tonight, so I’m leaving.”

His task was to play Mu Xi well, and this behavior fit Mu Xi’s personality. For Mu Xi, Pei Ying was part of his life, but as time passed, that part had become very, very small.

In the end, she became dispensable.

She rushed out from the kitchen, hastily wiping her hands on her apron, grabbing his arm and pleading: “Don’t you love curry beef the most? You haven’t eaten at my place in so long. If you’re in a hurry, I’ll make it and pack it for you to take away, okay?”

He looked down at her clear eyes, which reflected the face of a strange man.

She wasn’t Chen Ajiao—she couldn’t distinguish between her illusion and the Mu Xi she loved.

He was stunned. The words of refusal that should have come turned around on his lips, and in the end he just nodded.

Her smile bloomed instantly like the peonies under sunlight in his memory.

Such a smile—he had never seen it on that woman’s face…

“Your Majesty…”

He turned around in surprise, looking at the woman prostrating on the ground, quickly helping her up: “What did you call me?”

Her eyes flickered as she smiled bitterly: “You said it yourself—that I’m not allowed to call you A Che anymore, that I must address you as Your Majesty…”

He was stunned, knowing she spoke of the real Liu Che. His heart ached as if ants were gnawing at it. He clearly recognized that he was nothing more than a substitute.

Very well—an actor’s duty is to perform the play the audience wants to see.

His audience was always only her.

“Don’t call me Your Majesty. You know that in this world, only you can call me A Che.” He embraced her, whispering low in her ear, just as he had said the night of his coronation ten years ago.

She leaned obediently against him, her hair fragrant and pleasant.

“A Che, why don’t you love me anymore? Why do you love others? Didn’t you say you’d build a golden house for me?” she murmured in question.

He stood there dumbly, not knowing how to answer her accusations. Because the person she was asking wasn’t him.

He could only imitate that person’s every word and deed, every movement and gesture, but could never perform that person’s heart.

He had tried so hard to play the person she hoped for—was it still not enough? He didn’t want this. At least… this time, he didn’t want to lose again!

He bit his teeth secretly, not noticing that Pei Ying in front of him had put down her bowl and chopsticks, looking at him with some concern.

“Xi, you seem different lately.” She frowned in confusion, asking softly.

“Oh? Different how?” He changed smoothly, curving his lips in a perfect, flawless smile.

She lowered her head, fidgeting with the tablecloth, mumbling somewhat timidly: “Lately… you’ve been too good to me…”

His smile deepened. He knew what she meant. According to Mu Xi’s personality, seeing her twice a week was already quite good, but now he came almost every day.

Mu Xi used to be unwilling to accompany her shopping—now he was willing to walk with her until her legs hurt. Mu Xi used to be unwilling to stay for dinner—now he was willing to eat and even wash dishes afterward. Mu Xi used to be unwilling to listen to her complaints—now he was willing to listen to her talk endlessly…

He knew he was overdoing it. What she needed was her previous happy life, someone exactly like the former Mu Xi.

But he was overdoing it.

“What? You’re not satisfied with me being good to you?” He sounded somewhat aggrieved, but his heart held undisguised triumph.

This time, he would never let go easily. He didn’t want to be Liu Che, and even less did he want to be Mu Xi.

If trying hard to become someone else couldn’t bring happiness, then let him be himself and seize the happiness that belonged to him from those he impersonated!

“No, it’s just that I’m too happy… and a bit… at a loss…” Her eyes showed confusion and unease, as if remembering something while not wanting to remember it.

He stood up, gently separating her intertwined fingers one by one.

“Don’t be at a loss. From now on, think only of me, okay? Don’t talk to others anymore. I’ll always be with you, okay?”

She looked up, staring steadily into his eyes, and slowly nodded.

He began to wonder—the more he accompanied her, the more curious he became about why that A Che could leave her alone in an empty palace without a care.

For several nights in a row, after she fell asleep, he quietly came to Xuan Room Hall, standing there, gazing at the figure seated on the dragon throne.

Clearly they had identical faces, clearly everything about him was the same, but watching him review bamboo scrolls that would exhaust several palace attendants just to carry, working sleeplessly for days handling state affairs, he became confused.

Watching him strategize and send troops against the Xiongnu, watching him summon worthy and upright scholars for personal examination, watching him practice benevolent governance while using strict laws to govern the country…

The person in Weiyang Palace was no longer the youth who would throw tables and chairs after court, cursing officials who gave him trouble. Now he need only glance coldly, and everyone would fall silent as cicadas.

He was also no longer the man who would nestle in her arms insisting on personally drawing her eyebrows. Now he need only crook his finger, and several palace maids would come forward to serve.

The current him was a truly qualified emperor.

High above, alone and solitary.

How deep is the night? The night is not yet over.

In Weiyang Palace, there would always be long-lasting, brilliant lights.

The person who had made the “golden house” vow had grown up. His world had become broader, while she remained trapped in past beauties, unable to extricate herself.

Ha, what a foolish woman… clearly knowing the real him would never return to her side, yet still awakening him to exchange for a beautiful but illusory dream.

But this wasn’t bad either. Since that Liu Che had chosen grander goals, let him guard her instead.

Thinking this, he walked with light steps from Weiyang Palace back to Pepper Room Palace, eager to return to her side.

However, when he pushed open that imposing palace door, he was greeted by a cold question.

“Where did you go?” She sat in Pepper Room Palace, using those slender phoenix eyes to glance at him indifferently.

This gaze was how an empress who commanded the realm looked at her maids and attendants—that condescending, contemptuous look.

Touching her emotionless gaze, he instantly felt ice-cold all over. She looked at the man identical to Liu Che, but her eyes were so clear it frightened him. The one who had been immersed in illusion all along wasn’t her—it was him.

“Why can you tell the difference?” he asked bitterly. He had performed so perfectly. He had the same face, same build, same memories. Except for having no shadow, except for others not being able to see him, in her eyes he should be indistinguishable from that Liu Che.

She slowly approached, stopping just inches away, saying flatly: “He now refers to himself as ‘Zhen’ when speaking to me, though he never used to.”

“Then I’ll also… no, then Zhen will also…” he said urgently.

She looked up, her eyes containing a sorrow he couldn’t understand or fathom, then her gaze suddenly softened.

She raised a finger, gently pressing it to his lips, saying tremblingly: “Don’t change, don’t change how you address me. I know… he’s the one who changed, but I don’t want you to change too. You just need to always be the him from back then… that’s enough.”

He suddenly fell silent. He understood—he was actually imitating the Liu Che she loved, but she still hoped that Liu Che would change his mind.

She said in a ethereal voice: “You and he are easy to distinguish… his eyes when looking at me never held such undisguised passion as yours…”

He wanted to reach out and embrace her, so close within reach.

But he couldn’t.

Because he knew that in her heart, it was never him.

Precisely because of this, this time he wanted the “him” in Pei Ying’s heart to be completely, truly him.

He heard Pei Ying’s phone ring. She answered and seemed to be talking with someone. After a while, she put down the phone, looking at him as if wanting to speak but stopping. She timidly called: “Xi…”

“What’s wrong?” He leaned back on the sofa, looking up at her. This timid expression would never appear on Ajiao’s face. She had always been proud, clear-headed, and cold.

Two thousand years ago, he couldn’t win her heart. But Pei Ying, this weak and incompetent girl—he felt confident of victory. These days, he had appeared beside her even more frequently, deliberately taking up all her time, not letting her attend classes, not letting her shop with friends. When going out, it could only be with him. No wonder her friends felt puzzled.

“They… they said I might have mental problems and advised me to see a doctor…” She looked anxious and uneasy.

“Nonsense! What right do they have to say that about you?” He frowned.

“They said you’re someone I imagined.” She looked at him apprehensively, not daring to come close.

That’s because your stupid friends can’t see me! He sneered, reaching out to pull her to his side: “Imagined? Then pinch your face and see if it hurts.”

She actually pinched her face hard, then winced in pain and smiled at him embarrassedly.

“Good girl, don’t think nonsense. Your friends are jealous of your happiness.” He said the lie with a straight face.

Since she couldn’t distinguish between reality and illusion, why let her figure it out? Making her happy—wasn’t that his duty?

“Really?” She was half-believing when the phone on the coffee table began playing beautiful music.

He picked up the phone, his eyes catching the name displayed on the screen—it was actually Mu Xi. It seemed rumors about her had reached his ears. But what use was that? Who had personally pushed her away? Why bother her again? He naturally pressed the reject button and removed the battery. The music stopped abruptly.

“Don’t mind them. Didn’t you say you’d make something delicious for me today?” He smiled.

“Hehe, that’s right, I’ll go make it now.” She jumped up without any suspicion, tied on her apron, and headed to the kitchen.

His face showed a smile. Just then the landline rang. He reached over and unplugged the phone line without changing expression.

“Whose call was that?” she asked from the kitchen.

“Wrong number,” he said.

“…The Empress has lost her way, bewitched by shamans and sorcerers, unable to bear Heaven’s mandate. She shall surrender her seal and retreat to Changmen Palace.”

The herald’s voice echoed ruthlessly in the empty palace, the echoes rising wave after wave, making it seem even more desolate. She knelt on the ground, still holding her face up, maintaining her final dignity as empress.

Years of waiting had only earned this imperial decree. Years of affection couldn’t even merit a final meeting.

Why? He saw her eyes asking this of him.

He knew she wasn’t really asking him, but looking through his face to ask the emperor who wasn’t present.

He had countless reasons to answer her: willfulness, childlessness, powerful relatives… But that emperor had used witchcraft as an excuse to placate the world.

How ridiculous—was it precisely because of his existence that she was banished to Changmen Palace?

He didn’t want this… he only wanted to give her happiness. No… actually it was quite good. From now on, her world would no longer have that emperor—only him.

“Ying Ying! It’s me! Mu Xi! Are you home? Ying Ying, come out quickly, everyone’s worried about you!”

The pounding on the door startled him from his memories. Pei Ying was cuddled with him on the sofa watching TV. Hearing the knocking, she looked up blankly.

“Xi, you’re here, so who’s knocking outside?” Her face was full of confusion.

“Good girl, no one’s there. It’s your imagination.” Seeing her unease, he smiled at her gently.

“Really? But that person’s voice sounds so much like yours, Xi!” She tilted her head, listening carefully.

“Good girl, you’re ill. Don’t go to school tomorrow—rest well at home. I’ll always stay with you, okay?”

“…Okay…” She closed her eyes contentedly, her lips curving beautifully, though a crystal tear hung at the corner of her eye.

He held her in his arms, gently covering her ears. If she was willing, he could accompany her for a lifetime.

“…The night is long as if lasting years, harboring depression that cannot be changed. I wait weakly for dawn, the pavilion standing alone yet bright again. I secretly pity myself, passing years without daring to forget.”

She lay in bed, her young pale face like a withered, fragile flower.

He put down the “Changmen Rhapsody” in his hands—this rhapsody bought with a thousand gold had only earned Emperor Wu’s praise for the composition. He hadn’t even come to see her again.

He reached out to touch her cold cheek with the face of the man she loved most.

She could no longer smile. Or rather, he had never seen her truly smile. She had stopped smiling long, long ago.

He had thought monopolizing her could make her happier, but she clearly knew everything was just illusion.

Born noble and pampered from childhood, she had never bowed to please anyone or lowered her pride, never experienced such treatment. In the five years since moving to Changmen Palace, she had been melancholy and despondent. Despite all his efforts, he couldn’t make her smile again.

“Ajiao, actually witchcraft isn’t just about creating illusions. The most important function of witchcraft is actually cursing.” He spoke, looking gently at this dying empress in the cold palace.

“I know you would never let anything happen to him. Even though he treats you this way, you’ve never thought of harming him in the slightest.”

She looked at him weakly, but her gaze remained heartbreakingly clear.

“It’s alright. I won’t curse him to die young. He can live long and then personally watch all his closest people betray him. He’ll personally kill everyone he cares about and die alone, just like you…”

“Ajiao, you still don’t know my name…”

His figure slowly faded, seeming to merge into the air, carrying an unsettling aura that quickly spread through this vast palace.

At the very end, he finally leaned down to kiss her forehead: “Ajiao, my name is Yansheng. If… we ever meet again, please don’t get my name wrong…”

In the darkest corner of the palace, a wooden doll fell to the ground without wind.

At the same time, a fragrant soul also dissipated in the cold palace.

“Xi, why did you bring me here? Wasn’t it nice at home? I don’t really want to go out.” She squinted, unaccustomed to the bright sunlight outside.

“We should go out occasionally.” He led her toward the commercial street. He had calculated that Mu Xi’s natural lifespan would end today. If he could seize the body just as the soul departed, then he could truly become Mu Xi and rightfully stay by her side.

He didn’t think himself despicable. He wanted her happiness, wanted to give her happiness—that was all.

He had missed his chance in the previous life. This lifetime, he would never let go again.

Everything under the sunlight was so beautiful. He walked beside her, looking down at her shadow.

Soon, he would stand beside her openly and honorably as a real, living Mu Xi who would love her forever.

Lost in thought, he suddenly felt her shake off his arm.

“Xi!” Her heart-rending cry seemed to come from another world. She wasn’t calling him—she was rushing toward Mu Xi, who was about to be hit by a truck.

He stood dumbly in the sunlight, watching his world collapse bit by bit.

History was infinitely cyclical. In the previous life, Ajiao hadn’t won back Liu Che’s heart. In this life, Pei Ying hadn’t won back Mu Xi’s heart either. But she would rather die herself than save him.

Everything was the same as before.

He was forever a substitute, forever a puppet, forever an actor performing a play only one person could see. It turned out the one immersed in illusion all along wasn’t her—it was himself.

“Eh? How did this doll come back?” The doctor sitting at the counter immediately noticed the paulownia wood doll in the brocade box. He leaned over for a look and was amazed: “How did it crack? Didn’t that girl take good care of it? My God! Isn’t this a Han Dynasty antique? How could she be so careless?”

The owner was gently polishing a copper-red glazed vase, glancing over indifferently: “I heard it was a car accident. This voodoo doll blocked something for her and cracked.”

“Car accident?”

“Yes, apparently another rich kid driving drunk, running a red light. But no one was hurt—both people are safe. Just this voodoo doll cracked.” The owner narrated calmly.

“Such a pity…” The doctor felt somewhat sad for reasons he couldn’t explain. Perhaps from staying at Dumb House so long, he vaguely sensed that most antiques here had their own lives.

When this voodoo doll was first brought out, he distinctly felt that kind of historical resonance, but now it was completely gone, leaving only an indescribable sadness.

Someone beside him was even sadder—the curator leaning on his cane sighed repeatedly: “This is Chen Ajiao’s voodoo doll! This is craftsmanship comparable to the jade-carved ‘Han Eight Cuts’! This is made from thousand-year paulownia wood! This is…”

“It’s yours.” The owner bluntly interrupted the curator’s rambling.

The curator immediately beamed. Since the King of Yue’s sword incident, he often came to sit at Dumb House, hoping to acquire some good items.

“Cough, though it’s a pity it cracked, after proper restoration it won’t show. Look, this voodoo doll even has Liu Che’s birth date and time carved on the back… Oh my, looks like the Han Dynasty exhibition hall will need to clear the largest space for this voodoo doll…”

The doctor couldn’t stand his chatter and asked the owner puzzledly: “This voodoo doll—you’re just donating it to the museum? Didn’t you mention before that this puppet was actually quite extraordinary? It seemed to have a name—what was it called?”

The owner lowered his eyes, saying flatly: “Puppet Yansheng. But now, it’s just a doll.”