Ling’ai forced out a strained smile in Yan Qing’s direction. The red of her bridal gown made her face appear even more striking, yet her eyes held not a single glimmer of light. Even that smile was stiff and awkward.

“Yan Qing, how is Zheng Yun doing now?” As she spoke his name, a sharp pain gripped Ling’ai’s heart, as though ten thousand blades were slashing back and forth.

“He’s been at the Military Police Bureau every day, hasn’t gone home in a long time. The last time I saw him, he had lost a good deal of weight.” Yan Qing sighed softly. “He’s trying to numb himself with work.”

“Time heals all wounds.” Ling’ai looked out the window, where great red lanterns hung bright and dazzling. She wanted to care about him — yet what right did she have?

She was already another man’s wife, while he remained that same Zheng Yun — to her, he was like those lanterns hanging high above: shining, brilliant, while she could only admire them from afar.

She loved him. That was something she could only seal away alongside the memories of the past, then tuck away carefully in her heart — in that corner that was both most obvious and most hidden.

“Yes, time heals all wounds. Rest easy — Shi Ting has already instructed the people at the Military Police Bureau. They will take good care of him.”

“Without me, he still has a group of good brothers, and the work he loves. With those things to sustain him, he’ll come through this quickly.”

“And you? How will you come through this?” Yan Qing asked, her heart aching.

Ling’ai gave a faint smile. “Take each day as it comes.”

Yan Qing understood — the lively, always-smiling Ling’ai of before was gone. That radiant, captivating smile would never again appear on her face. She would never again be like that simple, a little silly girl who followed her about asking question after question.

Everything — all of it — was different from before.

“Ling’ai, you haven’t finished your studies yet. Wasn’t it always your dream to become a forensic doctor?”

At those words, Ling’ai’s heart gave a sharp tremble. She had loved medicine, and later, through Yan Qing’s influence, had enrolled in forensic medicine as a specialty. After meeting Zheng Yun, the desire to become a forensic doctor had grown even stronger within her.

She had wanted to be at his side, as his capable assistant, just as Yan Qing stood beside Shi Ting.

But now it seemed that dreams were, after all, only dreams. Perhaps the day they came true would never arrive.

“I have many books at my place. If you have idle time, you’re welcome to come and read them.” Yan Qing did not know what else she could do for her at this moment. If Ling’ai still wished to continue studying, perhaps it might help dispel some of her unhappiness and add a little color to her otherwise bleak days.

“All right.” A faint glimmer seemed to appear before Ling’ai’s eyes. “Will you charge me tuition?”

“You fool.” Yan Qing laughed — though tears shimmered through the laughter.

Outside, the banquet proceeded with great noise and festivity. By the time night had fallen, the feast had still not ended.

Yan Qing stayed with Ling’ai in the room the entire time, until the clamor outside gradually died down and she knew that most of the guests had already departed.

“Yan Qing, go back.” Ling’ai said. “Don’t worry about me — I’ll be fine.”

Yan Qing offered words of comfort. “If anything happens, come and find me. Whatever occurs, I will stand by your side and face it with you.”

“Mm.” Ling’ai breathed in deeply. With Yan Qing here, she felt much more settled.

Not long after Yan Qing left, the main door was pushed open again, bringing with it a gust of cold air and the smell of liquor.

Ling’ai looked up and saw Shi Guang standing there in his bridal clothes, his gaze deep and inscrutable as he looked at her.

She lowered her eyes, refusing to meet his.

There was a creak — the sound of the door being shut again. As that sound came, Ling’ai’s heart leapt instantly to her throat. The hands she had tucked into her sleeves could not help but clench tight.

Shi Guang walked with a light footstep, and in an instant his shadow loomed over her head.

Her body tensed involuntarily, her breath coming faster and faster.

“Ling’ai.” Shi Guang carried the smell of liquor on him, yet he was not drunk. On the contrary, his eyes were sharp and bright, fathomless.

Ling’ai said nothing, eyes downcast, staring at her own sleeve.

“No need to be like this.” Shi Guang moved with the speed of lightning, suddenly seizing her wrist and lifting it upward. The wide sleeve fell away, revealing a hand white as fine jade — and within that hand, a sharp dagger.

Ling’ai looked at him in shock. She had not expected the dagger she had hidden in her sleeve to be discovered so quickly.

Shi Guang applied force, and the dagger passed into his hand. He turned it over and played with it for a moment, then with a casual flick of the wrist, hurled it — and the dagger buried itself deep into the nearby window frame, sinking all the way to its hilt.

Ling’ai watched all this, cold sweat forming on her brow — yet her eyes still carried a stubborn, unyielding defiance.

Shi Guang released her hand and walked to the table on one side, pouring himself a cup of tea.

“I know you were unwilling to marry me.” Shi Guang took a sip of tea. “Rest assured — I have no intention of forcing anything upon you. I, Shi Guang, do not lack for women. If I wished, there are plenty of women who would flock to me eagerly. You and those women, in my eyes, are not so very different.”

Ling’ai looked at him coldly, biting her lip.

“I have a narrow heart — room enough for only one person.” He swirled the cup in his hand. “All you need to do is recognize your own position: be a proper Second Young Mistress of the Shi Mansion. Within the household, don’t cause me trouble. Outside, don’t embarrass me. As for the rest, I won’t interfere.”

Ling’ai looked at him in some astonishment, and Shi Guang had already risen from his chair. The teacup was set on the table with a crisp click, and his voice sounded at the same moment: “I have no interest in sharing pleasures with a woman I do not like. From now on, I will not be staying here.”

“You… you’re really not going to stay here?” Ling’ai asked with some hesitation.

“Tomorrow morning there is still the early tea ceremony to attend — best not to be late. Yan Zhu is here to serve you. If you need anything, call for her directly.” Having said this, Shi Guang turned and pushed the door open without looking back.

As the cold draft that had rushed in with the opening door dissipated, Ling’ai had not yet come back to herself.

She had kept the dagger hidden as a means of threatening Shi Guang — she had never intended to actually harm him. But now it seemed she would have no use for her plan at all, because Shi Guang had never intended to share a room with her.

As she gradually regained her senses, Ling’ai let out a long, heavy breath of relief.

Knock knock!

When the knocking at the door came, Ling’ai’s heart tensed up again, her instinct driving her to reach for that dagger — but the voice that followed let her relax once more.

“Second Young Mistress, the hot water is ready.” It was Yan Zhu’s voice.

Ling’ai was not fond of being waited upon, but the rules of a grand household were what they were — the Shi Mansion had few masters and a multitude of servants.

“Bring it in.”

Yan Zhu pushed the door open and came in carrying a bucket of hot water. She first scanned the room, and the absence of Shi Guang surprised her greatly.

“Take it to the washroom.” Ling’ai spoke. “You don’t need to attend on me.”

“Yes, Second Young Mistress.”

Seeing that Shi Guang was not there, Yan Zhu felt a private surge of delight in her heart. No doubt the Second Young Master didn’t care for this new mistress, and so was spending his wedding night at one of the concubines’ quarters.

If that were the case, then she might still have a chance.

“Your name is Yan Zhu, isn’t it?”

Yan Zhu came out of the washroom, and Ling’ai called to her.

Yan Zhu stood to one side with her head lowered. “Yes, Second Young Mistress.”

She knew that Ling’ai was Huicun’s daughter, and that Huicun was a man even the Marshal sought to please. Though her heart was unwilling, she still had to be respectful and deferential toward her.

Ling’ai could clearly see what was going on in Yan Zhu’s mind — but to her, it was of no consequence.

“From now on, aside from these kinds of tasks, you don’t need to be at my side every moment attending to me. I’m accustomed to being alone and don’t like being disturbed.”

“But the Second Young Master instructed me to attend to the Second Young Mistress well.”

“Since you serve in my quarters, you should listen to me — not to the Second Young Master.” Ling’ai looked at her calmly. “Prepare tomorrow’s clothes and you may go rest.”

“Yes, Second Young Mistress.” Yan Zhu was privately pleased — she was quite glad to be free of the work, since no one ever liked laboring for nothing.

After Yan Zhu set out the clothes, Ling’ai asked her a few more things, and only after she had answered each one did Yan Zhu finally leave.

Ling’ai looked at the red garments before her, a bitter smile settling in her eyes.

Since she had already made her choice, there was no point wallowing in self-pity. At the very least, she could not let Huicun know she was unhappy.

Huicun had given everything in his life for her — and in the same way, she wanted him to live peacefully and safely.

After putting away her clothes, Ling’ai removed her bridal gown and bathed. When she lay down on the bed, she pulled the doll she always carried with her tightly into her arms.

Only when she held it did she feel settled. This was her attachment, the courage that kept her going forward in life.

Farewell, Zheng Yun. Farewell, all the beauty of the past.

Zheng Yun stood beneath the bare tree before the entrance of the Shi family home, gazing at the great red lanterns hanging on the gates. The lanterns still bore bright red characters for happiness.

At this moment, those two lanterns swayed gently in the cold wind.

No one knew when he had come to stand here, nor how long he had been standing. Like a statue, he simply stood there, watching — until the bustle before him faded away, until the street had returned to a stretch of cold silence, until the girl he loved had stepped out of his world from this day forward, and they had each let the other down.

“Hey.” Someone patted his shoulder. Zheng Yun did not react.

Bai Jin moved to stand in front of him, blocking his line of sight. “She’s already married. Even if you stand here until you wear a hole through the ground, what use is it? Brother, if there’s anything to blame, blame this turbulent age — blame the fact that the two of you weren’t born in a peaceful and stable time. Stop looking. Stop thinking.”

Yes — in a time of upheaval, where even basic peace was absent, how could there be any talk of love lasting forever and life flowing by in quiet tranquility?

“Come on, let’s go get a drink.” Bai Jin slung an arm around his shoulder. “I’ll find you a couple of girls.”

Zheng Yun gave him a cool sidelong look.

Bai Jin stuck out his tongue. “Fine, fine — I won’t, I won’t. You really have inherited everything your seventh brother has.”

“No need for the drink.” Zheng Yun said quietly. “There’s still work to do tomorrow.”

“Work, always work. Have you even looked at yourself lately? You’ve thrown yourself headlong into work, barely eating, barely sleeping — you’re nearly losing your mind.” Bai Jin couldn’t help but roar in frustration. “Zheng Shushi, what kind of look is this? Who are you putting it on for — for us? For Ling’ai? If she knew, do you think she’d be happy?”