The winter sun’s warmth sank down degree by degree, while the wind carried up the night’s cold air layer by layer.

The sky darkened, pedestrians on the street grew sparse, and the night watchman struck his wooden clappers with a desolate sound.

With a creak, the waiter at the small tavern on Tianshui Street lowered the bamboo prop supporting the window, smiling toward an even more shadowy corner of the dim little shop: “Guest… the shop is closing…”

In the corner, a small figure sat huddled against the wall, several bottles of crude, thin wine on the table. Hearing the waiter’s apology, she softly acknowledged with “mm,” slowly stood up, set down a bit of broken silver, and casually took with her the two remaining bottles of unfinished wine from the table.

The waiter watched that person’s thin back wrapped in a light cotton jacket, silently shaking his head—those who lingered outside as night fell were all homeless people, weren’t they?

Walking out the door, she faced a sharp wind. Feng Zhiwei pulled her light cotton jacket tighter, her fingers near her lips, her breath like frost.

She carried a pot of wine, aimlessly walking against the flow of people, gradually passing beyond the poverty-stricken Eastern District, heading toward the city center.

After walking for a while, she suddenly saw a river ahead, reflecting lantern lights in a hazy glow. Unmelted snow dotted the bluestone along the riverbank, looking like crystal jade and ice.

Feng Zhiwei sat down on the snow-covered bluestone, facing the river water.

She fumbled and drew out the wine from her bosom, drinking slowly from the bottle mouth, sip by sip. The wine quickly diminished. She tilted her head back, pouring it straight into her mouth.

The crude ceramic wine pot was roughly made, its rim uneven. Clear wine leaked out, spilling onto her face, flowing down past the corner of her eye.

She carelessly wiped at it, her finger coming away wet—there was the smell of wine, and some other liquid. She stared at her finger in a daze. After a very long time, she gently raised her hand and covered her eyes.

The snowy night was silent, the cold wind vast and empty, the river water flowing mutely past. On the bluestone, the girl’s figure was solitary and alone, her hand covering her eyes gleaming with moisture in the night.

In the distance, rouge fragrance filled the air, faint delicate laughter skimming across the waves. By the time it reached this quiet corner of the riverbank, only desolation remained.

Yet a voice suddenly broke this moment’s desolate silence.

“Young master…”

The voice was soft and sweet, drawing out a long, coquettish tone. Then came the sound of miscellaneous footsteps—someone approaching.

Feng Zhiwei lowered her hand, frowning. Only then did she notice the lamp lights and flower reflections in the river water—if she remembered correctly, this seemed to be the Rouge River in the city, famous for bordering the ten-mile stretch of rouge houses and brothels. Both banks stretched endlessly, all houses selling laughter.

This was probably some brothel patron who had a sudden whim to bring a nightingale to the riverside seeking wild pleasures.

Feng Zhiwei sat without moving—if the patron wasn’t afraid of being seen, why should she fear watching others patronize brothels?

The footsteps approached. The woman gave a delicate cry, “Oh my, there’s someone…” Yet her tone held not much concern. She turned to the man at her side, continuing to act coquettish: “Young master… you said you would show Yin’er something novel…”

Faintly, someone gave a light “mm” in response, a throat sound that somehow conveyed a slight coolness, the tone somewhat familiar.

Feng Zhiwei stroked the wine pot, glimpsing a corner of an elegant silver-patterned brocade robe. On the deep black cloak, pale golden mandala flowers danced almost flamboyantly in her peripheral vision.

Ornaments jingled, and a brilliant colored skirt turned around, back to the river water, walking before that brocade-robed man. She raised her hands to encircle the man’s neck, laughing coquettishly: “Then… Yin’er will wait.”

That person seemed not to move, his tone carrying a trace of amusement as he said, “Today I witnessed a fine show—truly felt it was wonderful. If I don’t share it with someone, I truly cannot bear it.”

Feng Zhiwei’s heart stirred, and she turned her head.

She then saw that elegantly brocade-robed man, smiling in the snowy night as cool as frost and snow. He glanced at her lightly, then, smiling faintly, embracing that woman, walked forward one step, then another.

Walking all the way to the river’s edge.

That Yin’er was intoxicated by the man’s extraordinary bearing, completely unaware that she was backing toward the river water, retreating step by step.

Nearly at the river’s edge.

The man bent his face down, smiling faintly.

The woman cooed softly, leaning her lips closer.

The man gently extended his hand and gave a light push.

“Splash.”

Feng Zhiwei clutched her head, groaning.

So it really… was like this.

Yin’er never dreamed she would actually be pushed into the water. She was so shocked she forgot to struggle. Fortunately, the river water wasn’t deep—this was after all just an ornamental river. In just an instant, her face and lips turned white, whether from fright or from the freezing river water was unclear.

She stared blankly at the pair of man and woman on the riverbank. The man stood with hands clasped behind his back, smiling as he gazed into the distance, not even glancing at her. The woman held her pot, elegantly yet stubbornly just drinking her own wine.

In that instant, Yin’er felt she was about to collapse.

There were actually such people in the world—one who pushed someone into the water for no reason, another who saw someone fall into the water and offered no rescue.

She shook in the water for quite a while before struggling to slowly approach the shore, extending her hand to the man pleadingly, asking him to pull her up, “Young master… young master…”

Her extended fingers were frozen bluish-white, trembling pitifully like a flower about to break.

The man looked at her fingers, slowly drew his hands into his sleeves, and smiled: “Don’t—your hands are dirty.”

Feng Zhiwei, who had been taking small sips of wine, suddenly coughed.

“Young master… Yin’er knows she was wrong… Yin’er will never again fight to cling to you…” The woman in the water cried tears like pear blossoms in rain. “Yin’er understands now… she shouldn’t have liked you…”

Tears washed away her brilliant makeup, revealing youthful features. This woman was still very young. Precisely because she was young, she didn’t know proper limits. Now, after being soaked in winter night’s cold water, she finally realized in alarm that according to legend, this person was sinister and merciless, disliking entanglements.

She soaked in the winter night’s river water, shivering, yet didn’t dare seek help again, didn’t even dare climb out of the water herself.

Feng Zhiwei suddenly set down her wine pot.

She stood up, not looking at that man, walked to the river’s edge, and extended her hand toward Yin’er.

Yin’er was still timid and fearful. Feng Zhiwei smiled: “Come up. No one wants to leave you for dead.”

Pulling that dripping wet woman out, Feng Zhiwei saw that she was wearing only thin skirts and light clothing to begin with. Now that the water had soaked through, her curves were fully exposed—she wasn’t even wearing undergarments. After thinking for a moment, she removed her own light cotton jacket and wrapped it around the woman.

Even if this woman selling laughter didn’t mind parading naked through the streets herself, as a woman, Feng Zhiwei was unwilling to let her walk past that man in such a state.

Yin’er looked at her gratefully, saying in a low voice: “I’m at Orchid Fragrance House over there… if elder sister ever has need, you can come find me.”

Feng Zhiwei smiled and patted her shoulder. The woman didn’t dare glance at that man again and slowly walked away wrapped in the light cotton jacket.

The cold wind blew. Feng Zhiwei, left in only a single layer of clothing, shivered and hugged her shoulders tightly facing the river water.

A pot of wine was suddenly extended toward her.

The hand holding the pot had slender, clean fingers, the posture steady—steady to the point of an almost eternally unchanging indifference.

Feng Zhiwei looked down at the wine, frowning: “This is my wine.”

A cloak was extended toward her.

“In exchange for your wine.”

Feng Zhiwei accepted it without ceremony. “Then you’ve made a loss.”

“No matter.” The man smiled, his slightly upturned eye corners instantly charming as peach blossoms. “Today I learned a move from you—consider this the tuition fee.”

Feng Zhiwei said nothing, looking at this person’s reflection in the river water. This person had a thousand faces and ten thousand changes, unfathomable. Even his appearance and temperament changed three times a day. When she first saw him, he was an elegant and refined mountain hermit. When pushing someone into the river, his expression was like those pale golden mandalas—flamboyant and unrestrained. But his smile at this moment was beautiful as peach and plum blossoms, almost seductive.

Such a person could only be described with two words: dangerous.

Yet the man seemed unaware of her thoughts, suddenly smiling: “The wind is strong by this riverside—be careful of catching cold. Let’s change locations.”

Feng Zhiwei was noncommittal and followed him forward. Ahead at the turn, a stone arch bridge suddenly appeared. The bridge body was very large and tall, though the bridge surface was mottled—it appeared to have been abandoned.

The two ascended the bridge. The stone railings on the bridge were made of whole uncut stones—an excellent windbreak. The two sat down on the ground. The man took Feng Zhiwei’s wine pot, drank a mouthful, and passed it to Feng Zhiwei.

Feng Zhiwei was somewhat stunned—first, she wasn’t accustomed to sharing one pot of wine with a man; second, she couldn’t imagine that this person, who looked at a glance to be a noble young lord, would actually be willing to drink such crude wine; and moreover, clearly disliking people clinging to him, yet willing to share wine with her.

She thought for a moment, wiped the pot’s mouth with her sleeve, and carefully took a sip.

Thinking that person would be angry, she was surprised when he didn’t look at her but only raised his head to gaze at the heavens. Feng Zhiwei lifted her head to look and only then discovered that this bridge was extremely high and open. From the bridge, not only could one see the long sky and cold moon with particular clarity, one could also see most of the imperial capital. And at the end of the crisscrossing roads, the majestic imperial palace stood clearly visible.

Feng Zhiwei slowly swallowed that mouthful of harsh wine, her eyes brightening a bit. She suddenly asked, “You seem very familiar with this place.”

“This bridge was originally the number one bridge of Great Cheng’s capital, Wangdu. Legend says it was built by the founding emperor of the Great Cheng dynasty for his empress.” The man half-closed his eyes, his tone leisurely. “The empress liked grand, expansive things, so this bridge was built exceptionally high and wide, overlooking the four wilds, called the number one bridge of Great Cheng. Six hundred years ago, the emperor and empress often traveled here incognito in private visits to the bridge, which became a celebrated tale.”

Feng Zhiwei smiled, saying, “Very beautiful.”

Yet in her heart, she didn’t believe that such a man would linger and be moved by legends of a former dynasty.

“After Great Cheng’s fall, the Tiansheng Emperor led his troops into the capital, gained Wangdu, renamed it Imperial Capital, and settled the realm under heaven. His Majesty first received former ministers in the capital right here on this bridge. That day, Great Cheng’s former ministers prostrated themselves like falling grass, all beneath our Emperor’s feet.”

The man’s tone was calm, yet naturally carried an air of proud contempt. Feng Zhiwei wiped the wine from her lips, suddenly feeling somewhat irritable. She couldn’t help but smile coldly, saying, “They bowed only to bloodstained swords and spears.”

The man abruptly turned his head. In an instant, his gaze was like a blade. Feng Zhiwei met his eyes calmly, her smile gentle under that blade-like gaze.

After a long moment, the man’s gaze gradually withdrew. He actually began to laugh, saying, “Yes, nothing more than victors becoming kings and the vanquished becoming bandits. When you get down to it, those former ministers had good fortune—changing emperors but remaining ministers. What’s most fearful is not even having the chance to be a bandit.”

Feng Zhiwei said nothing. Not even having the chance to be a bandit—naturally, only death remained.

She smiled, drawing the conversation back: “If this bridge has such splendid scenery, why was it ultimately abandoned?”

“Once the realm was settled, His Majesty brought his palace dependents into the capital. When the most beloved Princess Shaoning was carried onto the bridge, she suddenly burst into loud crying. Officials from the Bureau of Astronomy privately said this matter was inauspicious.”

“Three years later, right on this bridge,” the man paused, taking the wine pot from her hand and drinking a mouthful before continuing, “the Third Prince launched a military coup, attempting to force his way into the palace. In that battle, three members of the imperial family died, four were injured, and one was maimed… From then on, this bridge was abandoned.”

The thrilling history of imperial family strife, spoken lightly from his mouth in simple description, yet seemed to instantly unfold a sky full of bloody storms and rain. Feng Zhiwei suddenly felt somewhat cold and pulled the cloak tighter.

On this exceptionally high and wide number one bridge, the footprints of the founding emperor and empress of the former dynasty walking side by side once remained, and the desolate wails of the new dynasty’s princes once echoed. Who knew whether in the wind circling at midnight, the undying souls of those who died unjustly still stealthily walked?

And why did this sharp and mysterious person have such extraordinary feelings for this bridge?

He was so familiar with this bridge—did he often linger and pace here during sleepless nights?

But this ultimately had nothing to do with her. That she could share wine and talk through the night with this strange man tonight was already an anomaly of life—but it was only because in a lonely moment she feared loneliness, then happened to encounter another lonely person.

Just as he didn’t ask why she appeared here, she also wouldn’t ask about the loneliness and cold gloom in his eyes.

When the remnant wine was nearly exhausted, the sky grew faintly bright. In the dawn’s first trace of light, Feng Zhiwei poured out the last drop of wine from the pot, smiling: “The last drop of wine, I toast to this lonely bridge—worldly affairs rise and fall with great changes, yet only this bridge endures through the ages.”

Then she stood up, shook her wrist letting the cloak slide off, and descended the bridge without looking back.

The morning’s first trace of light penetrated the snowy color, shining on her shoulders. The slender girl’s back was straight.

The man sat cross-legged without moving, watching her resolutely descend the bridge and depart, a faint light flickering in his eyes. After a long while, he said, “Ning Cheng, where do you think she’ll go?”

A guard with ordinary features emerged from beneath the bridge, seriously watching Feng Zhiwei’s back, saying, “Two possibilities: first, burning her bridges, returning to the household to resist; second, yielding to indignity and submitting to the Qiu household’s will.”

He smiled, pointing behind him at the ten-mile stretch of brothels, saying, “In any case, she’ll immediately return and definitely won’t linger too long in this pleasure district. The longer she stays, the more her reputation is sullied. She surely won’t make a joke of her entire future.”

“Is that so?” The man smiled, drawing out his tone.

“I’ll bet you.” Ning Cheng enthusiastically moved closer.

The man was noncommittal. The two stood on the bridge and saw that woman proceed straight ahead, seemingly with a goal, showing no hesitation. Then she stopped before a gate hanging an orchid flower lantern, tied up her hair in a man’s topknot, and then, decisively knocked on the door.

Ning Cheng’s face turned pale.

That woman’s face was slightly turned, smiling as she said something to the person who opened the door. The person inside seemed to freeze there. And Ning Cheng, who could read lips, standing far away on the bridge, suddenly staggered violently.

On the bridge, the man suddenly laughed softly.

His obsidian-like pupils flashed with a novel and sharp light, like a long-stilled abyss stirred up layer upon layer of waves by wind from beyond the long sky carrying the hint of snow.

He stood at the bridge head in the ten-thousand-zhang red sun, the pale golden mandala flowers on his black cloak flying in the wind. That fierce cold wind brought distant voices. He seemed to hear in the wind that slender girl, inquiring of the madam of Orchid Fragrance House who opened the door, her question calm yet mad.

“Do you need a male servant here?”