Even long after a great deal of time had passed, whenever Mu Fulan closed her eyes, the same image would rise up again and again in her mind:

The man, seemingly afraid she would refuse him on the spot, did not wait for her to speak. He climbed out of the carriage and rode away, turning back the way he had come.

On that autumn night, above the Western Pass, the sky was like an upturned Lake Dongting, vast and profound. The Milky Way stretched bright and cold, scattered stars crossed its arc, and the moon was white as frost. That retreating figure grew smaller and smaller in the moonlight, until it became a dark speck and finally dissolved entirely into the hazy depths of the night.

He passed through the Western Pass. She returned to the palace.

It was as though nothing had happened at all. Every day she assisted the Crown Prince in handling affairs of state, deliberating on policy and administration, fulfilling her duty as regent with perfection. Just as the ministers marveled at the sharpness and decisiveness that the Crown Prince had come to display far beyond his years, so too did they heap praise upon the Empress.

Yet no one knew that as the days passed one by one, beneath her seemingly calm exterior, her confusion, bewilderment, and even dread were growing heavier with each day — until this particular day, when the court received another dispatch of good news from Hexi: His Majesty the Emperor had personally led the campaign, military morale had been greatly bolstered, and the battles had been won one after another. It would not be long before the northern frontier was pacified and His Majesty returned in triumph.

This day was already half a year since Mu Fulan had parted from that man at the Western Pass. The calendar had turned to the second year of Yuanan.

Such glad news naturally sent the entire court into jubilation. But that night, Mu Fulan once again could not sleep.

He was coming back.

Yet she still did not know — if they met again, when he raised once more what had been said that night at the Western Pass, how was she to answer?

She felt she had thought it through clearly. Even that very night, she had already made up her mind.

She would tell him: she could let go of everything, hatred included — but she had no intention of renewing what they once had between them.

Of this she had once been so certain. But as time passed, and the news of his return grew ever more frequent and ever more clear, for reasons she could not quite grasp, she seemed to be growing muddled — even anxious.

And on this very day, that feeling, which had been tormenting her without cease, reached its peak.

She dismissed all the palace attendants, lit no lamp, and alone in the vast, deep bedchamber of the Ziwei Palace, drifted like a ghost, pacing endlessly back and forth.

When she grew tired of walking, she would lie down, and naturally drift off to sleep — this had gradually become her late-night habit over the past half year.

Tonight was no different. She wanted to fall asleep early.

But unfortunately, this method suddenly stopped working.

She wandered through the darkness for a long while and still felt not the slightest drowsiness. Her heart grew increasingly restless. At last she ceased walking and sat down, settling in the main hall by the south-facing window, gazing out at the blurry shadow of the magnolia tree in the night, slowly falling into a trance.

“Mother, what is wrong? Do you have something on your mind?”

At that moment, from behind her came the soft sound of a voice asking.

Mu Fulan turned her head. She saw Xi’er holding a candle, walking slowly toward her.

Mu Fulan quickly rose and went to meet him, without answering his question, and only asked: “It is so late — why are you not yet asleep?”

Xi’er stopped. “Mother, I have noticed that these past few days you seem to have something weighing on you. I heard from the palace attendants that you cannot sleep well at night. Mother, what is wrong?”

Mu Fulan looked at Xi’er before her.

He was growing quickly taller, his build and outline carrying the particular slenderness of a youth.

As she looked at him, in his features, she seemed to faintly glimpse the shadow of that white-clad young man who, years ago, had harbored ten years of resentment and solitary bitterness, and in the end drew his sword and took his own life.

Her heart grew even more unsettled.

She stood before this young boy for a long moment in silence, then said quietly: “Xi’er, let Mother ask you something — would that be all right?”

Xi’er nodded. “Mother, go ahead.”

“Mother will tell you a story first.”

Mu Fulan took the young boy’s hand and led him to sit down. Mother and son sat side by side.

“A long time ago, there was a father who harmed his child. The child could not dissolve the hatred he felt for his father, and in the end chose to take his own life before his father’s very eyes. Before he died, he swore an oath to his father, saying he hated him, and that in the next life he would never wish to be his son again.”

Mu Fulan closed her eyes briefly.

Xi’er listened quietly, without a word.

Mu Fulan steadied her emotions as best she could and continued: “Later, the child was reborn into the world, but he had forgotten everything from before. And his father, in this lifetime, also loved this child dearly. When he learned of what had happened in the past, he was overwhelmed with remorse, and did everything in his power to give this child all that he could, hoping to be forgiven.”

“Xi’er, Mother wants to ask you — if you were in this situation, would you forgive this father?”

Having asked the question, her fingers unconsciously tightened slightly, as she looked at the small young boy sitting beside her.

Xi’er said: “Mother, if I were that child — if I did not know, so be it. But if I did know what happened before, I would not forgive him. No matter what the father did to make amends in this lifetime, even if he gave his life, it could not cancel out what he did in the past. Wrong is wrong. It does not deserve to be forgiven.”

His tone was utterly firm.

Mu Fulan, holding his hand, let her fingers slowly loosen.

“Xi’er, let Mother ask you one more thing — if this father were your imperial father, would you still refuse to forgive him?”

She asked, her voice very low.

A gust of night wind suddenly surged in through the window, extinguishing the candle.

The hall once more fell into deep darkness.

In the boundless dark of the night, the young boy was silent. At last, he slowly shook his head.

“Mother, even if this father were my imperial father, I think… I still could not forgive him.”

Mu Fulan sat quietly in the darkness for a long while. Then, slowly, she tightened her grip once more on the small young boy’s hand beside her.

“Mother understands now. Come, let Mother walk you to bed.”

She said, her voice warm and calm.

“Mother, I can go back to sleep by myself. Mother has worked so hard — let your son escort you to rest.”

He stood up, walked to the extinguished candle, re-lit it, held it in one hand, and walked back to her. Like a little adult, he extended his other hand and held hers, leading her inside.

Mu Fulan was walked back to her bedchamber by the young boy.

“Mother, don’t let your thoughts run away with you. Get some good sleep.”

The young boy’s voice was infinitely gentle, coaxing Mu Fulan along.

Mu Fulan smiled and nodded, watching him turn and leave.

He walked a few steps, then suddenly, as though remembering something, stopped and turned back around.

“Mother, your son also has one thing to request of you, and I hope you will agree.”

“Say it.”

“The good news from Hexi arrived today, did it not?” he said, his eyes sparkling with a joyful light.

“Imperial Father has worked so hard, putting himself through great toil for the sake of the realm. When he returns in triumph, your son would like to go out of the capital personally to welcome him. I ask for Mother’s permission.”

Mu Fulan hesitated.

The young boy dropped to his knees.

“Your son truly wants to go personally to welcome Imperial Father’s return. Please, Mother, grant this!”

Mu Fulan looked at the young boy’s face before her, full of eager expectation. She pondered for a moment, and at last nodded: “Very well. When the time comes, we will arrange things according to the circumstances.”

The young boy’s face broke into a look of delight. He kowtowed to thank her and then withdrew.

He stepped out of the main hall of Ziwei Palace, but did not immediately return to the side hall where he lived. He stood on the palace steps outside the hall, lost in thought for a moment, then went to the palace gate and ordered the attendants on night watch to open the doors.

He walked out, wandering alone through the deep-night palace. Several palace attendants followed behind him, daring neither to press too close nor to fall too far back. They followed the Crown Prince until at last they arrived at the Imperial Stables. They watched him stop before the door of a particular stable.

Inside this stable was tethered the Crown Prince’s horse, Little Dragon Horse.

Little Dragon Horse was a Hexi horse, and was nothing exceptional in terms of bloodlines or rarity. In the Crown Prince’s stables stood several other horses gifted as tribute from distant lands — some capable of covering a thousand li in a day, others swift as lightning. But the horse the Crown Prince loved best was still this Hexi horse. He frequently fed it himself and washed it with his own hands, and everyone in the palace knew this.

The attendants, seeing that he could not sleep in the deep of night and had come to this place, were puzzled — but could only wait at a distance.

The young boy opened the stable door and went inside. Cupping both hands together, he picked up a handful of grain and held it to Little Dragon Horse’s mouth.

After feeding the horse, he picked up a grooming brush and carefully combed through its mane.

Little Dragon Horse turned its head affectionately, stuck out its tongue, and licked his hand.

The young boy let out a few low, soft laughs.

He patted Little Dragon Horse’s head fondly, pressed close to its ear, and whispered: “Let me tell you — Mother agreed to my request. In a little while, you will come with me, and together, the two of us will go and do one more thing.”

When he finished speaking, he slowly straightened up and turned his head, gazing out toward the northwestern sky beyond the Upper Capital.

His gaze seemed to pierce through the boundless night and reach toward somewhere a thousand li away.

A thousand li away: the Great Cheng Emperor Xie Changgeng had led his forces in a personal campaign. Half a year later, in the second year of Yuanan, the northern frontier was pacified, and Hexi was secured.

As was customary, a portion of the army remained stationed there. The rest would return with him to the capital.

On the eve of their departure, the old chieftain of the local people held a banquet to see them off in honor. The Emperor celebrated with the people, and the feast did not conclude until deep into the night. The place where the imperial party rested was the former office of the Military Commissioner — the very residence where he had lived back when he was Military Commissioner of Hexi.

Everything here remained just as it had been in those days.

He stepped through the gate of this compound he knew so well, passed around the spirit wall, crossed the courtyard paved with green flagstones, and lay down to sleep in that old bedchamber.

That night, he had not touched a drop of wine — yet he seemed intoxicated nonetheless, as though time were flowing in reverse, and he found himself back in those years long past, when she was still here, sharing this room with him.

So many years had passed, yet this room still seemed to hold a trace of the fragrance she had left behind.

He drew a deep breath, and slowly closed his eyes. In the drift between waking and sleep, he suddenly felt himself transported to a mountainside — birdsong melodious around him, light dancing on water, surrounded on all sides by water, an island like a leaf floating upon it. With a start of realization, he understood he had wandered in his dreams all the way to Junshan Island on Lake Dongting.

“Hey! Stop right there!”

From behind him came the sound of a bright, crisp young girl’s voice.

He turned his head and saw a cliff, an old cypress tree, and a small young girl — beautiful, with hair like clouds and a face like a flower — lifting her skirts and running toward him.

He froze, his heart pounding fiercely. Coming to his senses, he immediately turned and went toward her.

At that very moment, mist suddenly rose up before him. She was on one side; he was on the other. No matter how he pursued, he could not find the path that led to her side. Just as he was turning in bewilderment, burning with anxiety, the mist before him slowly dissolved.

He could finally see clearly — she was in the center of the lake, like an immortal beauty in the moonlight, sculling a boat toward him.

Without a thought, he flung his arms out and swam toward her with all his strength. She sat at the prow of the boat, smiling a full, bright smile, as though laughing at his foolishness. He swam to her side, pulled himself up over the gunwale, and at last lay down beside her, at the hem of her skirt.

In the center of the lake, the night breeze rippled gently, the small boat rising and dipping softly. She sat quietly beside him, her face like a lotus bloom, her garments like drifting cloud.

Moonlight poured down like water, as though it had washed even the dream clean — moist, yet perfectly clear.

Xie Changgeng knew that in this moment, the dreaming man thought only one thing.

He thought: if the rest of his life could be like this, leaving him foolish with her laughter, what more could a man ask for?

His eyelashes stirred slightly. A moment later, he slowly opened his eyes, turned his head, and looked at the figure standing inside the room.

“Xi’er, have you come to welcome Imperial Father home?” he asked.

“I came to tell you that governance is stable and I am ready to rule myself. You need not return.”

The young boy answered him. His tone was calm, as though speaking of the most ordinary of matters.