Ling’ai gazed with vacant devotion at the face before her, trying hard to commit every inch and detail of it to memory. In the long years to come, this face would be forever imprinted in her heart, never to be forgotten for all eternity.

At that moment, behind him, snowflakes began to fall in flurries — great, thick flakes like pure white sprites in the dark night, tumbling one after another from the sky.

Ling’ai watched the falling snow and could not help but give a bitter smile.

The two of them were like these drifting snowflakes — so beautiful as they fell, yet once they touched the ground, they would become nothing but a pool of dirty water.

“Zheng Yun.” Ling’ai let the tears flow freely down her face, her voice choked with grief. “Go. Please go.”

Zheng Yun shook his head, refusing to leave.

The snowflakes fell one by one onto his shoulders, gradually whitening them — yet he stood there still, motionless, in the same posture as before.

Zheng Yun knew she was sacrificing her own happiness for her father’s sake. He had no right to take her away and flee to some distant place.

He could only stand there helplessly, watching him, utterly at a loss.

He despised his own powerlessness — unable even to protect the woman he loved most.

Failing to protect her, and yet having to watch her marry a man she did not love — that was a fire pit, and once she fell in, she would be beyond all redemption.

“Ling’ai.” Zheng Yun spoke slowly. “I, Zheng Yun, will marry no one but you in this life. Even if you have married another, I will still hold to the promise we once made. If one day there is a chance to look back, then you must look carefully — I will still be there, still in that same place, spending my entire life waiting for you.”

Ling’ai looked at him, her tears breaking through once more like a dam.

“You don’t have to do this — you fool, you don’t have to do this.” Ling’ai shook her head, weeping. “Find a good woman who loves you and live a happy life with her. You deserve something better. Zheng Yun, forget about me. Forget everything between us. Start over.”

Seeing that Zheng Yun said nothing, his gaze still steady and fixed upon her, without the slightest wavering.

“Go.” Ling’ai furrowed her brow. “Please, go now.”

The snow fell heavier and heavier. The snowflakes accumulating on him grew thicker and thicker — his hair, his eyebrows, his shoulders were all a blanket of white.

And yet he stood as though he could not hear her words, motionless, utterly still.

Knowing she could not persuade him to leave, Ling’ai steeled herself, turned, opened the door of the room, and walked out.

No one knows what she called out to those outside, but the courtyard immediately filled with several guards — all subordinates of Huicun, who in normal times were responsible for protecting Huicun’s safety. Huicun had gone alone to the front border town, leaving behind not a single possession or person.

Hearing the commotion rising all around him, Zheng Yun knew that Ling’ai had called for people — she was trying to force him to leave.

Ling’ai stood in the center of the room, her gaze filled with sorrow as she looked at him. When those guards appeared, she strode to the window and pulled the curtain shut with force.

There came a clamor of shouting from outside the window — but this window and its curtain had severed all connection with everything beyond.

She stood quietly before the window, staring blankly at the curtain in front of her, until the noise and clamor had faded and disappeared entirely. Then she slowly sank down to the ground, buried her face in her hands, and wept out loud.

With Zheng Yun’s skills, he could come and go freely — she had no reason to worry he would be caught by the guards. But for her, this might have been the last time she would ever see him. From here on, the mountains would be high and the rivers long, and for the two of them, life and death would lie in separate, unknowing darkness.

~

On the day Shi Guang held his wedding celebration, Yan Qing received word from a servant that Qian Lan had died in the abandoned courtyard.

Qian Lan had fallen into madness, and every day she would bang her head against the walls in frenzied fits of self-harm. Though Er Yitai had brought a physician to treat her, her body could not withstand the accumulation of day after day of self-inflicted wounds.

When Qian Lan died, her body was covered from head to toe in unhealed wounds, with swarms of flies buzzing around her.

And after Qian Lan died, Zhang Mama hanged herself with a length of rope.

These two — mistress and servant — stayed together until the very end, honoring the bond between them. Zhang Mama died without regret; Qian Lan, however, carried her hatred to her grave, her eyes unable to close in peace.

Er Yitai had originally intended to give Qian Lan a proper burial. Though she had committed countless evil acts in her lifetime, the dead deserve respect — it was no good letting her become a wandering ghost.

But the Marshal’s view was that since Shi Guang was taking a bride, no ill omens could be allowed to taint such a joyful occasion. So Qian Lan’s body was left lying in the courtyard.

Fortunately, with the freezing cold, there was no immediate decay or stench — yet she had to suffer the humiliation of having her corpse left exposed. The Marshal’s hatred of Qian Lan had not diminished even the slightest after her death. It was clear that his grievance toward Shi Guang had also become a tightly knotted thing, not easily loosened.

“If you don’t want to go, I’ll tell them you’re feeling unwell.” Er Yitai comforted Yan Qing. “No one will blame you.”

Yan Qing shook her head. “Mother, I must go. This mansion is unfamiliar to Ling’ai. I think that when she sees me, she’ll feel more at ease.”

“When you think about it, this isn’t like walking into a den of tigers. You’ll be sisters-in-law from now on. With you looking out for her in the Shi Mansion, no one will dare make things difficult for her.”

“The ones who can make things difficult for her have never been outsiders.” Yan Qing sighed quietly. What happened inside Shi Guang’s courtyard was beyond her reach to influence — all she could do was spend time with Ling’ai when possible and help guide her through things.

“How is Zheng Yun doing?” Er Yitai asked with concern. “That young man is a good person, and he was also the one Xing Yi personally promoted. If it weren’t for all this, the two of them would have been an enviable couple. What a pity.”

“Shi Ting says that Zheng Yun has been at the Military Police Bureau every day recently. He hasn’t gone home in a long time — eating and sleeping there.”

“He’s numbing himself with work. Poor child.”

As the two of them spoke, the sound of firecrackers had already begun outside. Luo Huaimeng rose to her feet. “Let’s go — the bride has arrived.”

The wedding was held with great fanfare. All the prominent figures of Shun Cheng had come, and with Prince Wenren of the Di Kingdom personally presiding over the ceremony, Shi Guang’s influence rose steadily with the tide.

This was Shi Guang’s second marriage, and the proceedings were ones he had gone through with practiced ease. He looked radiant and full of spirit, sweeping away all the dejection of recent times.

Shi Guang and the new bride entered the main hall together. Seated in the place of honor above were the Marshal, Elder Madam Shi, and Prince Wenren.

The moment Ling’ai, dressed in a scarlet bridal gown, stepped through the door, she spotted a familiar face. Seeing him sitting there safe and unharmed, her eyes instantly filled with tears.

Huicun suppressed his stirring emotions of excitement and guilt, and with tear-reddened eyes gazed unblinkingly at his daughter.

He had originally planned to go to Prince Wenren and atone with his own death — but partway there, he had been intercepted by Nagase’s men. Nagase told him that Ling’ai had already agreed to marry Shi Guang: first, for Huicun’s sake; and second, for the great cause of the Di Kingdom.

Of course, Huicun did not believe a word of Nagase’s justifications. That she was doing it for him was true — but the claim that it was for some grand national cause was false.

Ling’ai, though born in the Di Kingdom, had spent more time in Xin Guo than in Di Kingdom — the memories of Xin Guo made up fully two-thirds of her entire life.

She held deep affection for this country and would absolutely never make such a decision for the sake of any so-called national cause.

Huicun was filled with remorse and regret, yet utterly helpless — he could only watch as Ling’ai walked toward him step by step.

The gazes of father and daughter intertwined in the air between them, until the wedding matron came forward to preside over the ceremony, and only then did Ling’ai turn away.

Whatever the wedding matron said, Ling’ai mechanically did as she was told. When it came to the part where the couple bowed to each other, Ling’ai looked at the man standing before her and could not bring herself to lower her head, no matter what.

Until her gaze met Yan Qing’s — and Yan Qing’s eyes were filled with pain, the hands hidden within her sleeves clenched tightly into fists.

She had originally hoped that her dearest friend would find the finest match. Yet in the end, they had still been defeated by fate.

The dear friend standing before her was clearly dressed in bridal finery, her face beautiful and radiant — yet looking at her, Yan Qing’s eyes had already misted over.

Ling’ai did not want to see Yan Qing so heartbroken. So she bowed her head and knelt before Shi Guang in the ritual bow.

Once the ceremony was complete, the newlyweds were escorted to the bridal chamber. The banquet outside began in earnest.

After the rituals within the bridal chamber were concluded, the groom went out front to attend to the guests. The room was left to the female guests.

Ling’ai had not notified anyone she knew, so all who sat in the room were relatives of the Shi family.

They tried every manner of approach to get close to this new Second Young Mistress — but she sat there with neither a smile nor tears, her face expressionless. She seemed utterly oblivious to the pleasantries of those around her.

After talking among themselves for a while to no avail, everyone found excuses to leave one after another.

When Yan Qing entered, the room was already empty — only a maid stood there listlessly cracking sunflower seeds.

This maid, called Yan Zhu, had been brought in by Shi Guang to serve Ling’ai. She had previously been a favored maid at Shi Guang’s side and had long harbored feelings for him, making repeated attempts to climb into his bed.

However, Shi Guang was not a man given to lust, and he paid no attention to Yan Zhu’s many attempts at seduction — so to this day, Yan Zhu remained merely a maid, never having risen to the status of concubine as she had imagined through some son born of her.

Yan Zhu knew that Shi Guang did not truly like the new mistress, and that their marriage was nothing more than a political alliance. As a result, she was not diligent in attending to Ling’ai — Ling’ai had been sitting there for half the day and not even a cup of hot tea had been poured for her.

“Is this a new rule in the Shi Mansion?” A calm voice rang out, carrying an edge beneath its surface. “Servants are permitted to crack sunflower seeds in their mistress’s room?”

Seeing who had entered, Yan Zhu immediately jumped up from her chair, swept the sunflower seeds off the table onto the floor beneath it, and called out respectfully: “Young Mistress.”

In the Shi family, no one dared look down upon this Young Mistress. Once the Seventh Young Mistress, she might appear gentle and smiling at all times — but she was the last person one should ever provoke.

Moreover, now that Er Yitai managed the household — though it was said to be Er Yitai managing it, in truth most affairs were handled by the Young Mistress. Within the Shi Mansion, this Young Mistress’s word carried absolute weight, and the servants all held her in great awe and reverence.

“Go outside.” Yan Qing said coldly. “Go and recite the rules of the Shi Mansion a few more times — until you’re certain you’ll never violate them again.”

Yan Zhu was displeased in her heart, but still withdrew obediently.

After Yan Zhu left, Yan Qing strode quickly to the bedside and seized Ling’ai’s hands.

The room had a floor heating system running, yet her hands were icy cold.

“Ling’ai.” Yan Qing bit her lip, tears falling at once. “I’m sorry.”

“You fool — what are you apologizing for? It has nothing to do with you.” Ling’ai smiled. “This was my own choice. It has nothing to do with anyone.”

Ling’ai knew that Yan Qing and Shi Ting must have tried their best. But this situation was one that neither of them could change. Even if the Marshal had agreed, she would not have agreed herself.

～～～

[Author’s note: Starting today, the author will begin replying to everyone’s messages. The updates have been scattered and inconsistent lately — my apologies to you all! Also, here is a ghost story: in just one more day, it seems you’ll all be heading back to work and school…]