“She should have arrived by now,” the man suddenly said softly, his tone revealing neither joy nor sorrow, neither anger nor happiness—just a faint, lasting quality tinged with threads of concern and worry. “Otherwise, she’ll get caught in the rain.”
With a creak, the door was pushed open. Bi’er glanced around and suddenly saw Qin Zhiyan standing by the window, immediately calling out: “Your Highness, how can you stand there in the wind?”
The little maid hurriedly walked forward, closing the window with a snap and draping an outer robe over Qin Zhiyan. Somewhat angrily, she said: “Your Highness doesn’t care for your own health at all. If Miss were here, she would surely be angry.”
Qin Zhiyan was truly the most unassuming master in the world. Being scolded by the little maid, he showed no annoyance, smiled faintly, and slowly walked back to his desk.
On the desk were piled mountains of documents: military appointment orders, treasury financial settlements, disaster relief proclamations from the grain department, several years’ worth of dam construction plans from the works department, Hanlin Academy editorial appointments, detailed character assessments of all officials, detailed information on various clans, and emergency measures for all kinds of sudden incidents…
Packed full, when he sat down, his head and face were almost completely obscured. His body had grown increasingly thin, and the crow’s feet at his eyes had deepened even more.
Bi’er’s eyes reddened, nearly bringing her to tears. She bit her lower lip slightly, forcing herself to swallow the sourness in her throat. Placing the tray in her hands on the table, she said: “Your Highness, please eat something. This is fritillary and snow pear soup—please drink at least a little.”
Qin Zhiyan’s hand holding the brush paused slightly. He looked up, a gentle smile suddenly flashing in his eyes—so tender and compliant. He set down the documents and slowly picked up the bowl. Opening the lid, a faint, clear fragrance drifted out. The pale man gently closed his eyes, took a deep breath to inhale the scent, and smiled softly: “I didn’t expect to still be able to taste this. Bi’er, you’re so thoughtful.”
The little maid’s eyes grew even redder. She sniffled and turned her head away.
Qin Zhiyan took a gentle sip, then suddenly frowned and shook his head: “This isn’t right.”
Bi’er was startled and hurriedly asked: “What’s wrong? Is the taste wrong? Bi’er will go make it again immediately.”
Qin Zhiyan shook his head and stopped her hand, saying: “There seems to be too much fritillary—it’s masking the fragrance of the snow pears and lotus seeds.”
“Really?” Bi’er hurriedly rummaged through her sleeve pocket, pulled out a piece of white paper, and said while looking at it: “I might have made a mistake. I really can’t understand what Miss wrote.”
Qin Zhiyan took it and glanced at it. He could clearly see written there: fritillary 2 qian, snow pears 2 pieces, lotus seeds 3 qian, followed by a bunch of Chinese herbs. He couldn’t help but smile, saying: “Naturally you wouldn’t understand.” Then he picked up his brush and changed all the Arabic numerals to written Chinese numerals, smiling as he handed it back to her: “Fortunately, she taught me.”
Bi’er received it with great joy and was about to take the bowl from Qin Zhiyan’s desk, saying: “This is wonderful! Your Highness, I’ll go make it again.”
“No need,” Qin Zhiyan shook his head lightly and said: “Leave it as it is. You may go.”
“Your Highness?”
Qin Zhiyan waved his hand, his voice carrying a trace of exhaustion he couldn’t hide: “Go.”
The door slowly closed once again. Qin Zhiyan leaned back in his chair somewhat weakly, closed his eyes, and felt large patches of black fog before his vision. The medicine’s effectiveness was gradually fading, and he increasingly felt his body’s weakness. It seemed that even talking for a while would consume too much of his strength. His slender fingers gently massaged his temples, and he suddenly remembered the eye exercises Qing Xia had taught him, unconsciously beginning to do them. Whether it was his imagination or not, her gentle, sweet voice seemed to echo in his ears.
“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight; two, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight…”
In the end, I still don’t have this blessing.
A light smile gradually appeared on his face—slightly bitter, slightly self-mocking, slightly unwilling, yet slightly helpless.
Time passed so quickly, yet so quietly. He had always faced life with such tranquility, faced all setbacks and pain with such calm, bearing everything from a transcendent perspective. However, at life’s end, looking back once more, he finally saw the turbulent waves hidden beneath those calm ripples. So he had once been impulsive, so he had once been confused, so he had once been unable to control himself.
That pure white lotus blooming in his life was like the clear spring water of the River of Forgetfulness, washing away all the shadows of his past life, making him willingly forget all pain and devotedly immerse himself in that illusory yet warm and substantial hot spring.
So he too could be like this—selfish, striving, wanting to love just once.
He thought his power was great—great enough to shelter her under clear skies, great enough to open a bright and beautiful path for her, great enough to give her a warm and happy life.
However, he was ultimately wrong—so ridiculously wrong. Only at the end did he discover his power was actually so small, so very small. Those things ordinary people could easily accomplish seemed so difficult in his eyes. No matter how hard he tried, he still couldn’t obtain that life he dreamed of. Thus, he finally understood—happiness wasn’t power, wasn’t money, wasn’t being above all others, wasn’t being the richest in the world, but rather the ability to keep promises, to remain unharmed, to have eternal, warm companionship.
The handsome man smiled faintly. So wielding power over the world, receiving worship from all people, grand ambitions and hegemonies, brocade canopies and splendor—all couldn’t compare to one bright, happy smile from her.
What a pity, what a pity—even understanding this, he was willing but powerless.
In this lonely room, her fragrance still lingered everywhere. That brilliant smile like morning sun could finally only exist in dreams.
Fate’s cruel tricks—in the end, he still couldn’t give her peaceful happiness. If so, it was better to let her go. The world was vast—there would surely be a life that belonged to her.
Even if she resented him, she shouldn’t feel regret or sorrow, and shouldn’t let his miserable, defeated life hold back her forward steps.
Suddenly, gentle knocking came from the door. Qin Zhiyan slowly opened his eyes and said: “Come in.”
Mu Lian, wearing gray clothing, slowly walked in. Her left foot was slightly lame, but it didn’t affect her walking.
Qin Zhiyan smiled slightly, pointed to the chair in front of the desk, indicating for her to sit, and said with a smile: “You’ve come. Are you feeling better?”
Mu Lian nodded, her voice slightly low but still speaking slowly: “Your Highness, I’ve come to bid you farewell.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Yes,” Mu Lian’s expression was calm, still her usual demeanor, but her smile seemed to carry a trace of release as she said softly: “I’ve been at the prince’s mansion too many years—I can barely remember what the outside world looks like. The Grand Elder is also gone, and if I stay here any longer, it would be meaningless.”
Qin Zhiyan’s lips curved in a faint smile, his expression gentle as he said: “That’s good too. Go out and walk around, see the sights everywhere. I’ve prepared two banks for you in Twin Cities—they’ve been operating for over two years now and should be enough to support you worry-free for life. When you’re tired, go have a look.”
Mu Lian’s eyes slightly reddened, but she still held back her tears, slowly nodding and saying: “Thank you, Your Highness.”
“No need for thanks,” Qin Zhiyan said. “You’ve been by my side for so many years—this is all I can do for you.”
Mu Lian pressed her lips together, took a deep breath, then said sincerely: “Your Highness, Mu Lian is leaving now, and there may never be another chance to meet again. You must take good care of your health, don’t overwork yourself, when the weather turns cold, wear more clothes. Those court matters—delegate what you can to others. In dealing with people and affairs, don’t be stubborn, don’t just think of others—think of yourself too.”
Qin Zhiyan smiled and said: “Mu Lian, you make me sound like a child of a few years. Are you afraid your prince will be bullied by others?”
Mu Lian smiled bitterly and said: “Everyone says Your Highness is formidable, everyone says Your Highness is deeply hidden and the empire’s greatest master of strategy. But only Mu Lian knows that Your Highness is a candle—when illuminating others, you’re also burning yourself.”
“Your Highness, Mu Lian owes you a great debt for this lifetime. Without you, I might have died long ago in the military brothel camp. Mu Lian has nothing to repay you with, so let me kowtow to you before I leave. I hope the stars in heaven can bless Your Highness to live a hundred years, can bless Your Highness to obtain what you desire, can bless Your Highness to live happily and never be so alone again.”
The lame woman slowly knelt on the ground. Her complexion was snow-white, her eye sockets deep, her form thin and frail, but her spine was perfectly straight. She slowly kowtowed—once, twice, three times—finally standing up and saying: “Your Highness, Mu Lian is leaving now.”
Qin Zhiyan nodded, his smile clear and distant, with a serene expression that was so peaceful and far-reaching.
The door opened, and in an instant, the woman’s gray clothes vanished from sight. She seemed to always be like this—coming and going in thin mist, wearing gray clothes, so unremarkable, disappearing into the vast expanse.
As soon as the door closed, the woman’s tears fell. She had forgotten how long it had been since she last cried. It seemed that after escaping from that place, she had forgotten how to cry. Her life had been one of obsession, yet she could never obtain what she wanted. Those people who shone with sacred light could ultimately only be a dream, existing in her admiration, forever beyond the reach of her hand—even touching their robes would be an extravagant wish.
No one knew what heart-piercing pain it was to gaze up at an impossible light from filthy darkness. After telling herself over and over again that it was impossible, she still couldn’t stop the fervor, those deep feelings of inferiority, that uncontrollable pain that occupied her entire life. How could a humble life that could only survive in the mire deserve to love that bright divine presence? Her love was fierce and painful, repressed and heavy—almost devoutly observing that lifelong faith.