◎ Never Lacking ◎

Outside Linfeng Pavilion, the rain poured down in torrents; the moon sank, the sky darkened.

Before the rain grew heavy, Su Chaoci had smashed his wine cup and taken his leave without another word. Bai Shating hurried after him, carrying the oiled-paper umbrella he’d left behind, sighing heavily before he left as well.

“Does it truly have to be this way?”

Zhou Tan shook his head gently, and gave a light laugh. “If there were a better way…”

Bai Shating fell silent, opening his own umbrella. “I intend to resign my post and take Liuchun to travel through these beautiful mountains and rivers.”

Zhou Tan paused, then answered, “That’s good. The court is unstable right now—as my mother’s family relation, you can’t avoid being drawn into it.”

“I don’t know how much longer Eleven can stay at the Imperial Academy of Medicine. If you need help, go find him.”

“I will.”

Once both men had vanished into the misty rain beyond Linfeng Pavilion, Zhou Tan removed his outer robe and draped it over Qu You’s shoulders.

She sat beneath the corridor pillar, lost in a daze. Rain poured from the eaves in sheets, mingling with the ripples splashing up from the lake to soak the hem of her skirt. Zhou Tan’s fingers brushed against her cheek—icy cold.

He stiffened slightly, as though he’d done something wrong, and called to her softly. “A’Lian…”

Qu You raised her eyes to look at him.

Perhaps because she’d drunk too quickly, her cheeks were flushed faintly pink, her eyes tender and moist—whether from the rain’s reflection or unshed tears, it was hard to tell. Zhou Tan lowered his gaze, feeling his heart pound rapidly.

He felt somewhat nervous.

Ever since emerging from the imperial prison that year, he had rarely felt nervous about anything at all—not before the treachery and intrigue of court politics, not before the unpredictable schemes of those in power, and not even later, facing thousands of soldiers beneath the city walls, with fortunes shifting in an instant.

He had been calm and composed since childhood, and only when facing her did his defenses ever truly crumble, no matter how hard he tried to guard them.

He walked this turbulent world alone and solitary; if he were truly without feeling, he could at least have mocked himself as daring to follow the example of the ancient solitary sages. But as it happened, there were simply too many things weighing on his heart.

He couldn’t let go of his attachment to family, couldn’t let go of his teacher’s dying words, couldn’t let go of a love he’d once believed he would never have in this lifetime—having tasted it once, it had cut too deep, until he could no longer free himself from it.

“Back when I was in the imperial prison…” Zhou Tan sat beside her, taking her hand, his voice hoarse, as though every word cost him great effort. “The master of the ‘thirty-two implements,’ acting on the late Emperor’s orders, personally came to interrogate me—I was my teacher’s most cherished disciple, his affection for me plain for all to see. To force him to speak, they had to make an example of me first.”

Qu You looked at him, eyes reddening, stunned. “When I first asked you about the origin of those scars, you deflected, saying you’d tell me at night instead. In the end, you simply forgot.”

“I remember. I simply didn’t wish to speak of it,” Zhou Tan said, the corner of his mouth curving, though it never quite became a smile. “Back then, the jailers had orders not to actually kill anyone. Most of my fellow disciples, unable to bear the humiliation, took their own lives when they found the chance… Once dead, their deaths were kept quiet—the bodies simply piled there, until, after a few days, they were carried out wrapped in straw mats, with the official explanation being suicide out of fear and dread. My teacher had many disciples from humble backgrounds, without the standing of the great clans of the capital—some didn’t even have anyone left to collect their bodies. Their corpses were left bare beneath West Flower Gate, rotting until stray dogs dragged them away, with no one caring at all… The capital was gripped with terror at the time. You must have heard something of it yourself.”

Just hearing his simple account made Qu You’s heart pound with fear, cold sweat gradually beading down her back. “What you endured must have been no lighter than theirs…”

“Naturally—only heavier,” Zhou Tan said, his expression unchanged, speaking flatly, as though describing events that had nothing to do with himself. “The one who administered my punishment was a notoriously cruel official from the previous reign. Even the most upright officials couldn’t withstand even a single round under his hand—either they broke down entirely, begging for mercy with all dignity lost, or their minds shattered completely, leaving them wishing only for death every waking moment. I was young then, proud and arrogant, unable to see any way to compromise—I thought, it’s only death, what is there to fear in that?”

His grip on her hand suddenly tightened. Even after all this time, recalling these memories still brought unbearable pain.

Qu You turned her head away hastily to hide her reaction, but couldn’t wipe away the tears at the corners of her eyes in time.

“They took nails this long, this thick, made of black iron,” Zhou Tan said, gesturing with his hand, recalling with deliberate care. “They found the most vital points on my body and drove them straight in—cleverly done, in a way. It never broke bone, yet left the body paralyzed, unable to move. Even lifting a single finger sent pain tearing through every joint and limb—truly terrifying. I’d read so many books, yet only through experiencing it myself did I come to understand even a fraction of it—how many kinds of torture exist in this world, beyond what any person could imagine.”

Qu You wanted to speak, but Zhou Tan gave her no chance, continuing on. “The day you fell into Song Shiyan’s hands, my old illness returned. I lay bedridden like a useless invalid, rarely lucid, reliving old nightmares each time I closed my eyes, cold sweat soaking through the bedding entirely, as though I’d fallen into an icy abyss… When no one was watching, I forced myself out of bed, yet couldn’t even make it to the door. I crawled to the window and heard a rhythmic knocking sound… Chaoci later told me they had been building my coffin.”

So he had truly fallen that ill back then in Lin’an.

The rain gradually eased, yet she felt colder than before, and could only huddle closer to the man beside her, seeking whatever faint warmth she could find. “Fortunately, neither of us was lost. Here we both are, safe and well.”

Zhou Tan smiled and nodded, but didn’t confirm her words. “That nail driven into my body was meant to eliminate any possibility of my taking my own life—with the joints unable even to bend, what else could I possibly do? Driven half-mad with pain, unable even to grip a dagger to end it myself, I begged my fellow disciple, my senior brother, to kill me and spare me the suffering.”

“My senior brother, his legs already crushed and broken, crawled over to my side, but wouldn’t grant my request. He leaned against the wall and recited a passage from Mencius—’When Heaven is about to place a great burden on a person…’ After he finished, he turned to me and said that although the punishment I’d suffered was terrible, once the nails were removed and I recovered properly, I would eventually heal completely. That they’d handled me this way was on specific instruction—otherwise, I too would have ended up like the other senior brothers and officials, either dying unnaturally or left permanently crippled, living a fate worse than death.”

He raised his hand and drew her into his embrace, his voice trembling slightly. “Later, my teacher came to see me, weeping bitterly, saying that even exhausting every ounce of his effort, he’d only managed to save me alone… My senior brother, hearing this, felt neither resentment nor bitterness—quite the opposite, he seemed comforted. He held my hand and talked on and on, from the carefree days of youth galloping on fine horses to the bleak moonlight of the present. I lay there on the ground, and the blood of my fellow disciples, men as upright as my senior brother, slowly seeped through my hair. I heard him say…”

“‘Since you still have the chance to live, don’t harbor thoughts of death any longer. A true gentleman does not abandon his integrity even in the face of great crisis—but what few realize is that the harder thing is to hold fast to one’s principles without fear… Our blood has been shed, but our work remains unfinished. The current sovereign is cruel beyond measure, the crown prince incapable of benevolent rule. The Tanghua Decree at the border remains unrepealed, military unrest continues unabated, the laws are riddled with flaws, unable to earn the people’s trust. And within the court itself, factional strife runs rampant, promising storms yet to come.'”

“Indeed,” Qu You said, lost in thought, echoing his words. “From that moment on, you could no longer live merely for yourself…”

“For a long time after leaving the prison, I drifted in a daze, still uncertain of the path ahead. That assassination attempt before our marriage, from which I nearly didn’t recover—perhaps that too was because some part of me had already resigned itself to death, afraid of continuing to live.” Zhou Tan looked up at the night sky, the drizzle nearly cleared. Qu You felt something warm fall against her neck. “You… you never knew how grateful I am to have met you. Meeting you pieced me back together from all my scattered fragments into who I am now, gave me a reason to live, gave me the chance to finish what they left unfinished… It was for my own sake too—so that in the dead of night, waking from dreams, I could feel no shame, could truly fulfill the vow I made the day I became my teacher’s disciple. Before the crisis with the Crown Prince, I thought countless times—what would happen to you, with what was coming being so dangerous, so treacherous, while I walked alone into the storm? It wasn’t until we were in Lin’an, when Physician Bo told me…”

“Just from hearing you describe what happened in that prison, I already understood how dangerous it truly was. You were frail and sickly from childhood, hadn’t even fully recovered, then suffered an assassination attempt on top of it, exhausting yourself entirely—how could your body possibly sustain that?” Qu You cut in, feeling a metallic taste spread through her mouth. “You already knew, from the very start, that you didn’t have long left to live. And before your death, you found a way to trade your reputation for peace in the court. I suppose that was worth it to you, wasn’t it?”

Zhou Tan said nothing.

“And you simply couldn’t bear to tell me—or perhaps, you knew that if you told me, I’d have no way to stop you, that stopping you would be useless regardless, that this was simply fate’s design, and all we could do was accept whatever heaven had willed.”

Heaven, it seemed, delighted in playing cruel jokes on mortals. Through countless trials and tribulations, across every lifetime, crossing the gaps between time and space, they had struggled in vain, again and again—stories of lovers torn apart were common enough; in the end, they too could not escape the same fate.

If he hadn’t made that wish, she would never have lived to this age. And if she had remained perfectly healthy, he would have died back in that spring rain and apricot blossoms of Lin’an.

It was impossible to say who owed whom more.

Qu You suddenly rose to her feet, and, nearly in despair, gritted her teeth and said in a low voice, “Do you remember—I once told you that I come from another place entirely…”

Zhou Tan said, “Of course I remember.”

“That wasn’t a world from my dreams. I know you always assumed I’d seen some Western novelty and simply imagined the rest myself… I was afraid that if I told you the truth, you’d think me mad. But it’s true—that place is here, a thousand years from now.”

“A thousand years from now… here?” Zhou Tan murmured, repeating her words. The moment they left his lips, he seemed to believe them instantly, and asked with a faint smile, “Then do you know what’s to come? Ziqian… how does the future treat him?”

“Wonderfully,” Qu You said, nearly biting through her own tongue, speaking each word deliberately. “Little Yan helps him win several legendary battles known throughout history. The court and provinces both find peace, the realm settles into stability. His reign becomes an unprecedented golden age for Great Yin.”

Zhou Tan’s smile deepened. He narrowed his eyes, savoring her words for a moment, seeming thoroughly satisfied. “And… Chaoci?”

“The foremost figure in our dynasty’s ‘Biographies of Famous Ministers’—just as Little Yan becomes a legendary general for the ages, Thirteenth Master leaves his name in history too. A thousand years from now, even children just starting school can recite his poetry by heart.”

“When you first met Chaoci, you gasped aloud. When you met Little Yan, you recited ‘Ballad of Joining the Army.’ And Thirteen… you were so excited, as though meeting an old friend,” Zhou Tan recalled. “No wonder—you should have told me sooner. You know I would never doubt you.”

“I’ve told you so much already…” Qu You cut off her own words, her voice trembling badly. Zhou Tan’s faint smile grew increasingly blurred through her tears. “Don’t you want to ask about yourself?”

Zhou Tan said nothing, only tilting his head back to look up at the hazy, dim night sky. Though the rain had stopped, the gloom remained, blotting out sky and sun alike, leaving everything empty and void.

After a long silence, Qu You finally heard his low voice.

“There’s no need to ask. My heart holds its own bright moon… Eternity’s reunion, never once incomplete.”