The last trace of sunset disappeared at the horizon before Yan Sanhe woke as from a dream.

Qi Ming—the case files recorded this as Old General Zheng Yu’s courtesy name.

Wenzhong—Grandfather’s courtesy name.

So Zheng Yu and Yan Xing knew each other, met at Peach Blossom Pool in Anhui Prefecture, drank together for three days and nights, considered each other confidants, then each went their separate ways.

On the Winter Solstice of Yonghe year one, Zheng Yu wrote to Yan Xing asking him to look after a child. This child—was it me??!!

Yan Sanhe was completely shocked.

The Winter Solstice of Yonghe year one—she had just turned five months old.

A baby only five months old—why would Zheng Yu ask someone to look after her?

Why was she so important to Zheng Yu?

And more…

Why did Zheng Yu say worldly affairs are unpredictable?

Yan Sanhe’s hands clenched into fists, nails digging deep into her palms, feeling no pain whatsoever.

The room gradually grew dim.

She still sat motionless. That hypothesis that had flashed through her mind days ago surfaced once more.

Hypothesis—

That person had long prepared a substitute of similar build to rescue her at the most critical moment.

Then what was the conclusion?

At this thought, Yan Sanhe’s heart filled with dread to the point she could no longer sit steady.

She shot up, walked urgently to the window, banged it open, then gasped for breath in great gulps.

Outside the window, Han Xu stood with hands behind his back, looking surprised.

One letter, read for a full two hours. He’d waited left and right for the door to open with no luck, so could only stand guard by the window.

“You…”

Yan Sanhe raised her head, opened her mouth wanting to say something, but found she couldn’t say anything.

Zheng Yu.

Yan Xing.

Parents.

Huaizuo.

Haitang Courtyard.

Ghost fetus.

Confinement.

Slaughter.

Great fire.

Substitute.

Lost soul.

Nujiang riverside.

Yan Sanhe felt the world spinning. Everything before her eyes became chaotic, blurred, twisted.

What was the truth? She couldn’t see clearly.

Who exactly was she? She didn’t know.

“Han Xu.”

She gasped while calling softly, “Help me up—I can’t stand steady.”

Han Xu climbed through the window to support her, patting his shoulder. “Come, lean on me.”

Yan Sanhe truly leaned over, all her body weight resting on Han Xu’s shoulder.

She’d always been calm and strong. The only time she’d felt unable to support herself was after learning she was from the Zheng family.

And now, she once again felt unable to support herself. Her breathing and heartbeat were in chaos.

Because she’d deduced she very likely wasn’t from the Zheng family, and the one hundred eighty souls of the Zheng household very likely died because of her!

One hundred eighty corpses—how heavy a weight was that!

She’d seen them with her own eyes, grave after grave standing there, stretching endlessly into the night.

If they truly died because of her, it meant she had to carry all one hundred eighty lives on her back.

She was a seventeen-year-old girl—how could she bear it?

“How can I bear it!”

Yan Sanhe asked herself over and over in her heart, until consciousness gradually blurred.

…

Yan Sanhe fell ill.

The illness came on fiercely, burning until Yan Sanhe began speaking deliriously.

Aunt Shi, Old Uncle Wu, Old Granny Xiao and the others were all frightened. They immediately sent the village’s fastest young man to fetch the Lisu tribe’s witch to treat the illness.

Han Xu also sent a carrier pigeon to the branch, asking them to find the best local physician.

When the witch saw it was Yan Sanhe who was ill, she didn’t even prescribe medicine. Tossing down the phrase “heart illness requires the heart to cure,” she left singing mountain songs cheerfully.

This enraged Old Granny Xiao, who bent down, pinched a handful of her little grandson’s snot, and flung it at the witch’s back.

The physician also came.

Fingers on her pulse, finding no pulse pattern, he loudly clamored, “The person is done for, done for! Quickly prepare for the funeral!”

Han Xu punched him, roaring, “If you can’t cure her, you’ll die first.”

From the physician’s nostrils, two trails of blood slowly flowed. With a mournful face he said, “I’ll write a prescription, I’ll write one right away.”

All this, Yan Sanhe could see and hear.

She felt her soul floating in midair, watching people come and go in the residence.

Aunt Shi was brewing medicine, holding a broken fan, fanning while chanting Amitabha.

Old Uncle Wu was setting up an altar to summon souls. Several sons helped on the side, complaining that Old Uncle Wu was getting old and his hands and feet weren’t nimble anymore.

Old Granny Xiao stood with both hands on her hips, scolding Yan Xing’s memorial tablet, telling him to bless his granddaughter more from below instead of neglecting proper business to flirt with female ghosts.

Beside the bed, Han Xu wrung out a hot towel, wiping the cold sweat from her forehead.

His face wore a skin mask, showing no emotion, but his eyes were threaded with bloodshot veins.

She also saw Yan Xing.

Yan Xing brought over a long ladder and climbed it step by step. At the highest point, he placed the book in his hand on top.

After placing the book, he pulled out the letter from his robes and carefully tucked it between the pages.

Then step by step he climbed down from the ladder. When both feet touched ground, he let out a long sigh of relief, as if laying down a heavy burden.

Yan Sanhe shouted “Grandfather.” Yan Xing seemed to hear, raising his head.

The instant their gazes met, she saw his expression darken. He bellowed, “Little beast, hurry back where you belong! This isn’t a place for you!”

A tremendous force pulled at Yan Sanhe. She felt her body plummet sharply downward, her soul returning to its place.

Opening her eyes, she saw Han Xu. This person’s eyes were threaded with red blood vessels.

“Awake?”

Yan Sanhe blinked.

“How do you feel?”

She blinked again.

Han Xu patted his chest. “You nearly scared half my life away.”

Yan Sanhe smiled at him weakly like a scoundrel, forcing out two words: “Sorry.”

Han Xu: “Because of that letter?”

Yan Sanhe nodded.

Han Xu asked no more, only patted her shoulder, saying softly, “There’s no obstacle in this world that can’t be overcome. You are Yan Sanhe.”

Yan Sanhe’s eyes grew hot. She thought—Yan Sanhe is also human!

Illness strikes like a mountain collapsing, illness departs like silk being drawn.

Yan Sanhe was pressed into bed by Aunt Shi to rest for a full three days before being allowed to get up.

The first thing after getting up—she took two jin of wine and went alone to Yan Xing’s grave.

Pouring the wine before the grave, Yan Sanhe kowtowed three solid times.

“Grandfather, you truly went to great pains to hide this from me, yet I still found out. I suppose this is fate.

I know you hid it from me because you didn’t want me to face ‘unpredictable worldly affairs,’ but people need roots. My roots aren’t at Peach Blossom Pool, aren’t with the Zheng family. Where they are, I must find a way to discover.

This too is fate—my own fate. You always said people must comply with Heaven’s mandate.

Don’t worry, don’t be afraid. At worst I’ll come keep you company sooner. It’s nothing.”

Yan Sanhe took a deep breath.

“Grandfather, you should have seen Old General by now. Give him a message for me—say…

The one hundred eighty souls of the Zheng family won’t have died in vain. Even if it takes my entire life, I’ll drag out the true culprit. When that day comes, I’ll bring five jin of wine to his grave and let him drink his fill.”

After saying this, she leaned closer.

“By the way, that person you’ve been thinking about—she’s doing well, holds a high official position, very impressive. She bore three sons. I think every one of them is no simple matter.

The old madam is also well, indulges me in everything, but I just can’t bring myself to like her. I still prefer Old Granny Xiao—her guts are straight, without so many twists and turns.

Grandfather, once I find my roots, I’ll return. This place isn’t my root, but you are my root.”

She paused, saying softly, “Thank you, old man.”

Finishing, Yan Sanhe stood up, brushed the dust from her clothes, turned and left without looking back.

She felt the old man was behind her, watching her.

And would always be watching her.