Xiao Nanhui helped Li Yuanyuan transplant the plum tree to a stretch of hillside at the front of the valley.

It was a small sunny slope on the south face of Taozhi Mountain that caught the wind and faced the sun. The pit was dug into a patch of sandy soil, with a few crooked little pine trees nearby, facing directly toward the mountain gate.

Plum trees are best transplanted at the end of autumn and the beginning of winter, but Li Yuanyuan’s tree was already half dead. Xiao Nanhui decided it was time to try even a desperate remedy.

At first, the other woman felt the spot she had chosen was wrong — all that sandy, half-stony ground, catching the wind directly, and she feared that when winter came the north wind would come funneling right through there.

But Xiao Nanhui told Li Yuanyuan: plum trees do not fear poor soil or cold wind. What they fear is overfeeding, waterlogging, and being hemmed in. Only the tree that survives a harsh winter can put forth blossoms.

Li Yuanyuan was certain this was some absurd theory that Su Pingchuan had absorbed from his idle pursuits and then poured into her head. But in the end she still approved of the tree’s new location — she left the sword where it was.

Plum blossoms on Taozhi Mountain — a good omen. That was how Xiao Nanhui consoled her.

She said they would find out by the time snow fell the following year whether this plum tree had taken root. Li Yuanyuan only shouldered the hoe in silence and walked down the hillside without a word. Xiao Nanhui followed along, and when she stepped once more onto the muddy little path leading back to the valley, she noticed that the sun had already tilted to the west.

The sunlight was warm and soft. Everything in the valley was golden and downy. Luo He and Ding Weixiang were busy at the earthen stove in front of the stone house. Steam rose in billowing clouds and gathered without dispersing before the mossy stone steps.

Li Yuanyuan glanced over and gave a cold snort.

“Useless.”

Xiao Nanhui kept her mouth shut and said nothing.

She did not know Luo He well. As for Ding Weixiang — he had spent years traveling with his master, so surely his cooking skills were at least passable? Yet judging by the current state of things, he apparently did not measure up to this old woman’s standards either.

“What? Do you think I’m bullying the young just because I’m old?”

Xiao Nanhui instinctively shook her head, then could not help nodding. Li Yuanyuan was unruffled, and declared as a matter of course:

“I’m not bullying the young because I’m old. If you’d known me a few decades earlier, you’d have known I was just as likely to bully my elders when I was young.”

She did believe that. Only — Ding Weixiang was not exactly an ordinary junior.

“Adjutant Ding is, after all, from the Andao Institute. If it weren’t for Senior’s insistence on having him feed the chickens, he would probably rather take a few blades than stoop to something like this.”

Li Yuanyuan deftly secured the chicken pen gate and counted the hens returning to their enclosure.

“Stoop to what? Xie Li, that old schemer, has always been full of tricks for building his reputation. Does that make the blade-masters of his Andao Institute more noble than a chicken keeper? Let anyone call themselves a hero or a master — in the end, don’t they all have to eat, drink, relieve themselves, and sleep?”

Xiao Nanhui chimed in with a dry laugh of agreement. Thinking it over, she realized the other woman had a point, though hearing it said aloud somehow made one feel a bit uncomfortable.

She quietly stacked the kindling she had gathered in neat piles, then turned to go help at the stove — only to be called back by Li Yuanyuan.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Remembering what had become of Ding Weixiang, she made her position clear at once.

“Senior said this house keeps no idle people. I’ll go lend a hand—”

“No hurry.” The eccentric old woman gave a crafty grin, beckoned her to come closer, and said, “You helped me with something. You’re allowed to name a condition.”

“Helped?” Xiao Nanhui’s tone turned slow and puzzled. “What help?”

“The tree, obviously!”

Li Yuanyuan’s eyebrow shot up — she was only scolding lightly, but she looked as though she were in a towering rage.

Not far away, Ding Weixiang glanced up at her from behind the stove. Xiao Nanhui drew her neck in awkwardly, suddenly feeling rather like a scheming villain who had been sneaking gifts and currying favor in private, only to be caught red-handed by a colleague.

This was the greatest injustice imaginable.

She had not had any ulterior motive to begin with. She had simply felt moved by the other woman’s story and, as the former owner of Pingxian and one who shared some inexplicable bond with the late Mei Ruogu, now that she had met the woman’s old friend, it felt right to offer what comfort she could — a gesture of mutual respect between those who shared the way of martial arts.

Yet now she realized the other party placed far more weight on that half-dead tree than she had ever expected.

After a moment of silence, she ventured carefully:

“Whether that tree lives or dies is still uncertain. Senior, you should keep an eye on it for a while first—”

Li Yuanyuan clearly had no interest in hearing this.

“You had better pray it lives. If it dies, I will certainly hold you accountable. Either way, you can’t wriggle out of this. You may as well name your condition now — better than letting me be accused of taking advantage of you later.”

What kind of logic was this — where helping someone turns into owing someone a debt? Yao Yi had been right: people who meddle in other people’s business are always the ones who end up dying young.

Bitter taste rose in her heart. She had nothing she could properly say, and certainly could not brazenly put forward demands. She could only mumble:

“This junior doesn’t really have any wishes…”

The other woman seemed to have made up her mind not to let her finish. She suddenly spoke:

“Have you ever learned swordsmanship?”

Xiao Nanhui was taken aback. She had not expected the conversation to take such an unexpected turn.

Those who came out of the military, unlike martial artists from the rivers and lakes world, could not afford the luxury of mastering a single weapon. They needed the ability to pick up whatever was at hand and use it to kill an enemy. So one could not say she was expert in all eighteen types of weapons, but she had at least a passing familiarity with most.

But to say in front of an elder of the Sword-Breaking Sect that she had learned swordsmanship — that, she truly could not bring herself to say.

“A little.”

The old woman said nothing, tossed her an iron sword, casually pulled out a branch of roughly similar length and width, and indicated with a gesture that she should strike first.

Xiao Nanhui could not help but smile despite herself. She remembered that Su Pingchuan had also thrown her a tree branch that day and demanded a sparring match — a true disciple of the master in every way.

“I invite Senior’s instruction.”

Before the words had fully left her mouth, the woman had already launched her attack. The style was the same swift and unpredictable movement as Su Pingchuan’s that day, yet noticeably more restrained — the shifts more elusive, more difficult to read.

Xiao Nanhui gathered her focus. After three exchanges, a turn, a diagonal sweep with a pursuing thrust, and her iron sword was sent flying to the ground.

She bowed in acknowledgment, not yet able to concede defeat, when the other party had already delivered her verdict.

“That doesn’t even count as ‘a little.'”

Such words, if heard by someone of standing in the martial world, would certainly leave them unable to keep their composure.

To say nothing of sparring and exchanging pointers — that was a ceremony of mutual respect and exchange. Elders would generally give their juniors some face. Even in a contest between masters, the proprieties were observed; otherwise, even if you won, you would invite criticism for arrogance and disrespect — getting a bad reputation for being overbearing and without martial virtue.

But some people simply did not care about any of that, and certainly did not care about so-called reputation. The person before her was exactly such a one.

Xiao Nanhui composed her expression and swallowed her pride.

“My skills are rough and crude. I have made Senior laugh.”

The other party clearly felt no satisfaction at her concession either, yet did not seem inclined to let her go.

“But if I were to instruct you for a few days, you could at least call yourself a sword-user when you go out into the world.”

Li Yuanyuan spoke slowly, and as she spoke she stole a sideways look at her expression — with a childlike curiosity.

Xiao Nanhui had not yet processed this, when not far away Ding Weixiang suddenly coughed, and gave her a rapid, meaningful look.

She had never known this stone-faced, expressionless guard to have such fluid eyes. She understood at once what he meant.

This Li Yuanyuan was going to pass on her sword technique.

She was surprised, and more than that, baffled.

All her life she had thought about learning the blade, the bow, even the lance. It had never once occurred to her to learn the sword. Because she wanted too badly to win. To find her footing in the barracks, she had to win. To survive on the battlefield, she had to win even more.

So her best skill was the spear, and second to that was archery. The former had been taught personally by Xiao Zhun; the latter was the skill to which she had privately devoted the most effort.

A sword is not the weapon that wins most quickly. And those who master it do not typically do so for the purpose of killing enemies.

She had thought she would never have a day when she wished to learn the sword.

Li Yuanyuan could certainly see the conflicted look on her face. She stepped forward, hooked a toe, and sent the fallen iron sword back to Xiao Nanhui’s hand. Then with a flick of her wrist, that rusted iron sword let out a crisp sword-cry and sank into the trunk of a camphor tree beside them.

“The swordsmanship of the Sword-Breaking Sect has change and transformation as its strength. From entry to minor mastery takes no fewer than ten years. Even those who begin training in childhood, nine out of ten abandon it partway — very few ever reach completion. You are not one of my sect’s disciples, and I have not taken you as a pupil. Consider it repaying a debt I owe you — I will pass on a sword technique I created myself. That doesn’t violate the sect’s rules. I have little patience, and I will give you only ten steps. Miss this village and you won’t find this shop anywhere else. Think it over for yourself.”

With that, Li Yuanyuan turned and walked toward the courtyard.

One step, two steps, three… Xiao Nanhui clenched her fists.

Since the day Pingxian had broken, she had been like a hawk that had lost its wings, a mountain goat that had lost its horns — stripped of her ability to fly and leap.

Perhaps a sword was not the weapon best suited to her. But her hand could not be without a weapon.

Four steps, five steps, six… Her palms grew damp with sweat.

That night on the mountain road at Dou Chen Ridge — if she had possessed a superb and consummate sword technique, could she have killed that Yan Zi, and avenged Bolao?

She knew Bolao, Dujuan, and Uncle Chen would never return. But there were others she still wanted to protect. If one day she were to face that situation again, was she going to stand by and watch everything happen a second time?

Seven steps, eight steps, nine… She closed her eyes. Her heart found a deep, enduring calm.

Not every day from here forward did she have to live by the sword. But at this moment she needed the ability and the courage to hold a sword.

The reason for holding a sword was not to kill. It was to protect. She wanted to have the power to protect others.

The setting sun was perfect. Beside the small stone house, chimney smoke curled upward. The fed chickens clamored in the pen. On the distant hillside, a flock of sheep drifted slowly down like a patch of cloud…

She stepped forward, pulled with all her strength, and drew that iron sword out of the camphor tree trunk. With her sleeve she solemnly wiped away the thin layer of dust on the blade.

“I am in Senior’s care.”

Li Yuanyuan finally stopped, and turned back with an expression full of meaning.

“Your mind is made up?”

She held the iron sword before her chest, her gaze firm and steady.

“My mind is made up.”

The old woman smiled. She stepped forward in a few strides, rested a finger lightly on the iron sword — and the sword split into two, becoming a pair of slender, razor-sharp twin swords.

“These twin swords have no name, yet they were made according to the design of the Sword of Laying Down Armor. The Laying Down Armor sword is two chi and seven cun in blade length, three cun and five fen in hilt length, yet weighs only eleven liang and four qian. The edge is thin as a cicada’s wing — at once supremely firm and supremely yielding. When no force is channeled into it, it can rest against a woman’s skin without cutting her. Charge it with inner power and it can shear through gold and sever stone.”

Li Yuanyuan’s smile faded. The air around her changed in an instant. That plain iron sword, held in her palm, seemed to breathe out a terrifying killing intent.

“Watch closely. I will do this only once.”

“This sword technique is called Soul-Severing. It consists of thirteen moves in total. Of those thirteen, only one is the killing strike — the very soul of the technique. It must be achieved by retreating in order to advance, and sacrificing oneself to seize the greater good.”

Her words done, the old woman raised the sword and began to move.

As her footwork grew faster and the sword shadow in her hand swept more and more swiftly, the idle, pastoral countryside around seemed to slowly blur and recede, replaced by a vast and boundless sweep of mountains and rivers, seas without shores.

Thirteen moves in all — each one seemingly plain and unremarkable on the surface, yet each one returned to the primal, great craft concealing itself in simplicity. From move to move, head and tail joined seamlessly, every passage open and flowing. The sword energy coursed with a smoothness that seemed almost born of nature itself.

Xiao Nanhui watched without blinking, marveling silently within.

This was not even the Sword-Breaking Sect’s own sword technique, and its refinement was already something Su Pingchuan might not have grasped even a tenth of.

When she reached the final move, Li Yuanyuan’s footwork shifted — and in an instant she was before her. That rusted sword grazed two cun beneath her throat, three fen below her ribs, along her inner thigh and ankle, then traveled up the length of her spine, pierced the crown of her head, and finally returned to her hand — where it rejoined the other half of the iron sword, becoming one.

From swift movement to stillness — nothing more than a single instant.

Li Yuanyuan slowly lowered her hand and wiped the sweat from her brow against her hem, reverting to that village countrywoman. She found a chopping block to use as a seat, plopped herself down, and took up a palm-leaf fan.

“Come.”

Xiao Nanhui steadied her breath and raised the sword.

She flew through the moves from memory, terrified that a moment’s lapse would cause her to lose the exquisite nuance she had just perceived. Sweat fell as she moved, and she entered a state of complete absorption.

Without her knowing when, the last rays of dusk had also sunk below the mountain’s crest.

A man’s low voice rose from amid the sound of the sword.

“Why did you teach her?”

Li Yuanyuan glanced sideways and saw the man standing by the woodpile dressed in rough cloth — right in the middle of this rustic wilderness, yet with an air somehow entirely incongruous with his surroundings.

Li Yuanyuan disliked that air, and disliked his identity even more.

“They say Tiancheng’s emperor is precocious and adept at calculations. Can he truly not guess so simple a reason?”

She knew he was the Emperor, and yet there was not a trace of reverence in her tone — no better treatment than when she had sent Ding Weixiang to feed the chickens.

And yet even though she was deliberately provoking and testing him, he showed not the slightest irritation — not even surprise. At first she had assumed he was merely concealing his reactions. But then she realized: he had genuinely not taken the emotion in her words to heart. His tone was gentle and mild, as though he were simply chatting with an elder.

“This junior would not dare presume to guess Senior’s intentions.”

She at last put away the prickly edge in her voice, though the deep furrows between her brows remained, impossible to smooth away.

“Can’t guess? That’s right, because there is no reason.” The old woman finally withdrew her gaze, lazily swatting mosquitoes off herself with the palm-leaf fan. “Even if her eyesight is a bit poor and her aptitude merely average, I, old woman that I am, have always taught whoever I liked and refused whoever I didn’t — she could crack her head open on the floor and it wouldn’t help.”

Su Wei gave a light nod, clearly having heard something in that.

“She holds no disrespect toward you. She simply grew up and was honed on the battlefield from an early age. In the midst of a thousand soldiers and ten thousand horses, a few feet of a blade’s edge are entirely useless — nowhere near as effective as a long spear for killing enemies. It was inevitable that she would look down somewhat on swordsmanship.”

“What’s good about wielding a spear? It breeds nothing but ferocity and killing energy. And when the moment truly counts, it’s not even any use — otherwise how would…” Li Yuanyuan stopped herself there suddenly. After a long silence she forced her emotions back down and said wearily, “People need to look forward. Besides — the teacher who taught her the spear died long ago, didn’t he?”

Su Wei, rarely caught off guard, paused briefly, then shook his head gently.

“He is still alive. Only… it is no different from being dead.”

The old woman gave a rough snort and made no effort to probe the meaning behind those words.

“That’s what I thought. Look at her — she hesitated for a while, but in the end she didn’t refuse. That told me she had already taken her leave of her former master’s door. She’s a wild pigeon with no one watching over her.”

The man’s brow lifted slightly and his tone suddenly turned cool.

“She is a soldier of Tiancheng. Naturally, Tiancheng will watch over her.”

Li Yuanyuan caught his change of manner and turned to meet it.

“My disciple was also a Tiancheng soldier. When he was captured and taken to that western ridge settlement, why did no one from Tiancheng watch over him?”

Su Wei held Li Yuanyuan’s gaze with eyes that held a depth of cold, immovable indifference.

“Then one must ask — how did he come to be so incapable that he was schemed against and ended up in that state?”

A moment of silence settled in the air. After a long pause, Li Yuanyuan was the first to look away.

“I, Li Yuanyuan, have had only one disciple in my entire life, and that is Su Pingchuan. No matter how incapable he may be, he is still my pupil. You granted him the title of Left General — most likely out of regard for his father’s face. But do you truly think him stupid?” She said this with a short, quiet laugh that held a hard-to-describe sadness. “He is Ruogu’s child. How bad could he be? It’s just that his father harbored his own intentions and made me swear on my life never to teach him everything I knew. Otherwise, with his natural gifts, he would long since have been the master of the Sword-Breaking Sect.”

Su Wei also lowered his gaze and turned the page lightly.

“A sword that is too sharp will be drawn from its sheath. It will always break before a sword ground down a little duller. Only an edge that has been blunted somewhat makes the hand that holds it think carefully before using it. It may never be the most capable blade, but at least it can rest safely in the scabbard for a lifetime. This is the reasoning of a father — not the reasoning of a prince.”

Li Yuanyuan gave a soundless laugh again, with a corner of her lip pulled back in mild mockery.

“You do know how to talk.” She paused, then turned to look at the silhouette of the woman practicing with the sword beneath the camphor tree in the distance. “I just don’t know how someone like you who talks so well came to take a liking to that straightforward and stubborn girl.”

Su Wei said nothing. The corners of his brow held a faint and gentle smile.

He stood quietly there, watching the woman practicing her sword beneath the camphor tree, until nightfall, and the stars spread across the sky in their thousands.

Inside the small timbered courtyard, half-dry mugwort crackled in the stove, sending up wisps of blue-green smoke to drive away the summer-ending mosquitoes, which had grown frantic in the heat.

Xiao Nanhui rubbed her stomach and sighed in lingering contentment.

She thought again that Li Yuanyuan had truly been right. Raising chickens was a skill worthy of deep respect. Whatever celebrated blades and peerless swords, whatever supreme martial techniques — none of it could compare to this pot of freshly simmered mushroom-and-chicken broth.

Luo He was still scraping at the bottom of the pot with that wooden ladle. As he scraped, he seemed to sense something and looked up, meeting the eyes of the man across from him. He could not help but drop his gaze at once, and his ladle stilled sheepishly.

Something was clearly off between these two, only she did not know what they had talked about during the day.

Xiao Nanhui was squinting and speculating when a bowl of chicken soup suddenly appeared before her — nearly full.

She looked up in surprise. He said with easy indifference:

“I’m not drinking it. You have it.”

Ding Weixiang, seeing this, hurriedly pushed his own bowl toward the man. Before he could open his mouth, Li Yuanyuan interrupted with impatience.

“It’s only a bowl of soup. Passing it back and forth — who are you putting on a show for? Word will get out that the Sword-Breaking Sect treats its guests badly.”

Ding Weixiang immediately bowed his head and said no more. Li Yuanyuan glanced at Luo He, who quickly stood and retrieved the bamboo flask that had been cooling in the well, pouring out the clear, settled wine within.

Li Yuanyuan raised her wine bowl. The clear, bright liquid reflected the stars and moon overhead.

“Drink this round, and you’ll be my guests of the Sword-Breaking Sect. Henceforth, whenever you pass through Zhongtian, you need not take the long way around. I’ll give you passage — it’ll save you no small amount of trouble.”

She said this and drained the bowl in one go. Luo He followed her lead without hesitation. Xiao Nanhui also drank along good-naturedly.

Ding Weixiang did not move. His anxious and worried gaze slid toward the silent man beside him.

Across the table, Li Yuanyuan had already furrowed her brow.

“Good wine, good food — what more could anyone ask for? Dragging your feet — how dreary!”

Ding Weixiang still hesitated. Xiao Nanhui, quicker than anyone, reached out and drew the cup in front of the person beside her toward herself.

She still remembered who it was that, back in the Dream Grotto, had sooner been willing to die of thirst than drink a single jar of fruit wine. And the current situation was unusual — how could she know that after he drank, he would not lose control the way Zou Sifang had?

Even if Ding Weixiang lost control, that was preferable to him losing control.

Xiao Nanhui nodded emphatically to herself. What she had experienced at Seqiu was something she had no wish to go through again.

“His drinking capacity is poor. Let me stand in for him.”

The words were barely out when a hand reached across beside her, snatching the cup from her grasp.

She turned in astonishment, just in time to watch him drain the cup clean in one swallow.

Ding Weixiang went pale with shock. Luo He’s half-stolen chicken wing fell from his mouth and hit the floor. Only Li Yuanyuan seemed entirely unperturbed — and burst out laughing.

“That little Su Pingchuan always complained that my wine was hard to get down, and in all these years never once sat down to drink with me, his own master. I was starting to think all the men in the Su family were this difficult and hard to please — but looking at it now, that isn’t so at all!”

Li Yuanyuan’s big booming voice rattled her skull, and before her eyes the plain little wine counter of Baishi Village flickered up, and then Dan Jiangfei’s food box — the one he had tested for poison eight times over.

This evening was truly bewitched. First, a bowl of chicken soup was passed back and forth between them; now a cup of poor wine was being snatched back and forth. What on earth had come over everyone?

Feeling somewhat tense and unsettled, she glanced at him and asked in a low voice:

“Aren’t you not supposed to—”

Over on the other side, Li Yuanyuan was still laughing with Luo He and saying something about digging up more wine from somewhere underground.

The wine cup hit the table with a clank. The person beside her suddenly stood.

“Tonight, many thanks to the Sect Master for her generous hospitality. I shall certainly repay it in future. For now, please excuse me.”

They had been sitting and drinking perfectly well. Now he was excusing himself — where on earth was he going?

Xiao Nanhui was thoroughly baffled. In the next instant she was pulled to her feet. She seemed to watch her bewildered soul remain behind at the table amid the scattered cups and dishes, while her body was already carried three or four strides out of the courtyard, moving off into the night.

“Taking you somewhere.”

She looked at the figure ahead of her, then twisted to look behind her.

After some time had passed, he still had not stopped walking, and neither had Ding Weixiang or the others come running after them.

“Where are we going?”

He still said nothing. His silhouette merged with the distant mountains and the stars.

Gradually, the farmhouse lights faded away, and the sounds of chickens and dogs fell behind. All around was starlight and the call of insects.

She saw the distant mountain peaks closing together at the far end like a folding screen, standing upright side by side. And before the mountains, out in the open wilderness, was an ancient pagoda bathed in moonlight.

He finally stopped briefly and turned to look at her.

“To the place where I spent my childhood.”

She looked into those eyes and confirmed that their owner was truly drunk.

She had thought he would become simpler than usual — perhaps even grow talkative the way Bolao did once the wine went to his head. Instead, he had grown even more silent than usual.

That cool, self-controlled body seemed unable to conceal any longer the complex, turbulent soul within — like a storm raging beneath the surface. Something deep in his bones, something dark, seeped out through those pitch-black pupils: dangerous, carrying a kind of invasion, like invisible hands stirring at every nerve of her perception.

Then he took her hand and walked toward the ancient pagoda at the edge of the darkness.

The night wind on the mountain plain was cold and harsh through the thin cloth. Yet for some reason, as they drew close to the tower, it suddenly fell still. A familiar, bone-chilling floral fragrance rose slowly, enveloping and enfolding her.

Xiao Nanhui looked down. Clusters of pure white flower buds hung heavy, nodding softly in a night without wind. This was a sea of mandala flowers, and she stood in the midst of this flowing tide.

At the end of the flower sea was the stone pagoda, its outer relief carvings battered by wind and rain into mottled ruin, only the bare tower body remaining, its crevices stuffed thick with layers of moss.

At the center of the pagoda’s west-facing side was a dark hollow — barely wide enough to squeeze half a person through.

He stepped forward, lightly brushed the stone tiles at the hollow’s edge, and with a dull, heavy sound, the stone slab there slowly sank downward, revealing a stone door.

He stood in the darkness and held out his hand to her. Moonlight danced on the Buddhist relic bracelet on his left wrist — sacred and bewitching, full of contradictions, drawing one irresistibly toward it.

She reached out at last, took his hand, and followed him into the dark and decayed space ahead.

“What kind of place is this?”

Her voice bounced off the darkness and spiraled upward, circling for a long time without settling to the ground.

He still said nothing. Only the breath carrying a faint trace of wine drifted before her in the dark.

In the next instant, moonlight poured down from a small window far above, illuminating half a stone platform at their feet. The platform was low, and on its surface sat an oil lamp covered in dust. He walked toward it, studied it for a long moment, then slowly bent down and blew — struck a fire-starter and held it close.

The dried, congealed oil dissolved under the heat, and at last a faint flame flickered to life.

She followed that light and raised her head to look around — and her whole body suddenly went still.

Narrow, crumbling stone steps wound upward along the inner wall of the pagoda, all the way to the small window where half a moon was visible. Outside the window, the Milky Way moved slowly, like another world beyond all reach.

“I feel like… I’ve been here before.”

Yes. She must have been here before.

Otherwise why would everything here feel so familiar? Yet if she had truly been here before, how could she fail to recall exactly when or where she had seen a scene like this?

“Do you know why I arranged to meet Wei Xiang here?”

His voice came without warning from behind her — very close. So close that she did not dare breathe too loudly, did not dare speak too loudly.

“Is it not — is it not because of the Sword-Breaking Sect’s Li Yuanyuan?”

“That is part of the reason. But fundamentally, it is because of this place.”

Dimly, some deeply buried memory began to well up from within.

In a trance she glimpsed some broken fragments — a boy of seven or eight in clothes slightly too large for him, whiling away days and nights among scroll after scroll of abstruse, difficult sutras…

“Other people study Buddhist teachings in a temple. I studied Buddhist teachings here.”

Yes. She had been here in a dream. And in that dream she had seen him.

“From childhood I had to learn to control my own emotions. Things like wine, which cause a person to lose control, were something they never permitted me to touch. But even so — I am human. There were times I could not control myself. And so they thought of this tower.”

“So you brought me running here because you were afraid you might lose control after drinking?” Her heart softly clenched — she did not know if it was for what he had just revealed, or for the strand of destiny she had dimly grasped. “How do you feel right now? Will you…”

“Right now — no. But what comes next, I cannot say.”

His voice stopped in the dark, damp air.

Then, a lean body pressed forward, pinning her against the rough stone wall.

Time and space seemed to warp and blur in that instant. She fell into a strange state of being — her thoughts still her own, but her body entered a different frequency entirely.

The air around him was so cold — yet the temperature was such fire.

This world should not contain a feeling so full of contradiction.

At once cold and burning, both distant and close, both reluctant and longing.

She thought of when she had been stationed in Beizhi long ago, and had once found a hot spring in a lone mountain during her night rounds. It was the twelfth month and Beizhi was still dusted with snow. She had immersed herself in that warm spring water, breathing in the cold, bone-cutting air, while warm softness enclosed her body.

She thought again of the great fields of mandala flowers outside this ancient pagoda. Those flowers that bloomed in spinning fullness were so beautiful. The tendrils they extended were so soft. Yet they could drive away all other plants and claim an entire stretch of earth. If any living creature passed through them, those flowers would use their most ardent fragrance to hold that creature there — even when what they could offer was often only an illusion.

And now, this was precisely how she felt.

The stars overhead receded. She could only hear his low murmur, could only see the line of his brow, could only feel his breath.

Xiao Nanhui had never imagined there would be a day like this.

This day, her world held only him.