Qing Xia raised an eyebrow, not understanding his meaning. Mr. Liang smiled and said: “Let me take you to see someone first.”

Qing Xia’s entire body shook. She immediately stood up, eyes wide, saying in a low voice: “What person?”

Mr. Liang’s gaze dimmed, quiet ripples slowly flashing through.

“Someone you’ve been searching for all along.” Qing Xia had imagined hundreds of ways of meeting Qin Zhiyan.

She thought perhaps it would be at some famous scenic spot, atop mountain peaks. She would climb up with great effort to find him sitting quietly under ancient pines playing the qin, occasionally looking up at her with a quiet smile, as if he had been waiting for her for a long time.

She thought perhaps it would be in some desert, just like many times before. She would be exhausted to death, thirsty, hungry, powerless, when suddenly clear camel bells would ring ahead. He would be riding on a snow-white camel, slowly approaching, then hand her a bulging water pouch.

She thought perhaps it would only be in some very ordinary place – by a lake, at a wine house, in a restaurant, at a snack shop, maybe in some street corner. She would be bargaining with vendors buying things, when suddenly she’d notice someone nearby bargaining even louder than her. Unconvinced, she’d stand up, then see his shadow.

She thought…

She had thought of many scenarios, but had never imagined this way. Or perhaps she had thought of it long ago, just didn’t dare face it.

But at this moment, looking at the green tombstone before her, looking at those few characters carved on it, Qing Xia suddenly felt somewhat numb. She thought perhaps she should cry, but why were her eyes only dry and gritty, unable to shed a single tear? She stood in a vast sea of bamboo, looking at the green grave mound before her, reaching out trembling fingertips that could only touch the cold stone tablet. Wanting to say something, her throat seemed blocked, unable to make even half a sound.

On the stone tablet hung a small silver chain that had turned somewhat black under air corrosion. Qing Xia reached out to lift the chain, holding it in her hand. That feeling of it all being a great dream finally howled away. She slowly closed her eyes, repeatedly telling herself this was real, this was real, but her heart was in tearing, splitting pain. Breathing gradually became difficult, her fingers ice-cold, her cheeks also beginning to flush red.

Mr. Liang gently patted her shoulder, then turned and slowly left.

Before even leaving the bamboo forest, a low, suppressed cry with a hint of hidden broken sobbing suddenly rang out, startling countless birds in the bamboo forest into flight, fluttering and taking wing together.

Mr. Liang’s footsteps paused slightly as he looked toward a distant dense forest, finally shaking his head helplessly.

The woman’s voice was broken and desperate, intermittently carrying undisguisable hoarse coughing, like someone terminally ill, echoing sound by sound in the air. Faintly, there was even a bloody smell.

“Zhiyan?” The hoarse voice slowly rang out. A pale hand gently brushed over the cold tombstone, silently reading the characters on it. His grave was as simple as the man himself – a cup of yellow earth, a green burial mound, a simple stone tablet with five thin characters carved on it: “Tomb of Qin Zhiyan.” The only offering was this blackened silver chain.

This chain was given to her by that group of foreigners led by Erix when they first met on Pengyang Street. That very night by Honghu Lake, she had hung it around Qin Zhiyan’s neck, hoping the Jesus and God who had blessed millions could also bless her beloved. Unfortunately, perhaps her faith wasn’t devout enough – the omnipotent deity had forgotten them. Time passed hazily, from youthful beauty to white hair. The deepest, coldest nightmare had finally come howling.

Qin Zhiyan, I should have known you were here all along.

Qing Xia smiled bitterly, her smile full of unstoppable loneliness and vicissitudes. She sat down leaning against the stone tablet, fantasizing about leaning in the man’s embrace. Past years flowed like water – slow yet swift, impossible to grasp or retain.

I know that in this vast world, the most likely place you would be is here. But I didn’t dare come. I’d rather carry the illusion that you were still alive and travel to the ends of the earth, across deserts and plateaus. I was afraid of this place, afraid that coming here, I would see only a memorial tablet, only bones, or as now, only a green grave.

Wind suddenly rose in the bamboo forest, lifting Qing Xia’s white garments, just like that evening eight years ago when she lay on the man’s back, carrying a pair of shoes in her hand, barefoot, swaying drowsily. The wind was so good then, with fresh fragrance. The moonlight was so good then, with quiet warmth. The flowers were so good then, blooming brightly without vulgarity. Everything was so good then – the world was completely quiet with only the two of them, no war, no bloodshed, no killing, nothing standing between them. They nestled together in that ancient, mysterious underground place, chatting about various past events like two butterflies dependent on each other for survival, without a care in the world.

She still remembered they had said this place was so beautiful – how wonderful it would be if they never had to leave.

But at that time, they still carried too many heavy burdens on their shoulders. She had to go out to search for Yang Feng, while he had such deep, heavy national hatred and family vengeance.

If everything could start over, surely she would really hide forever in this small space and never go out again. That way, Qin Zhiyan wouldn’t have departed from this world like this, and she wouldn’t have dragged Chu Li down so cruelly, nor would she herself have suffered such hardship and exhaustion unto death.

If possible, she really wanted time to flow backward to that second, then reach out and tightly embrace that frail, thin body, keeping him by her side.

Tears fell like raindrops, one by one hitting her white garments, instantly disappearing without trace. Her heart felt as if it had been hollowed out. Even that last tiny hope was declared shattered. She didn’t know how to express her feelings. Her tears seemed to have dried up, but why were tears still rolling out? Everything before her eyes was hazy. She couldn’t see the distant trees clearly, couldn’t see the clouds in the sky clearly. Only those five characters on the tombstone were like awls, stabbing deep into her heart.

Qin Zhiyan, isn’t it cold down there? It’s already December. Snow has fallen outside – vast white snow, bone-chilling cold. You’re lying there without hand warmers, without charcoal braziers, without thick clothes. Don’t you feel cold?

I thought I could be very strong. I thought I could be very brave. You used six years to give me this psychological preparation, but when I learned the truth, I still couldn’t control this tremendous heartache. Qin Zhiyan, my heart has been hollowed out. The blood inside keeps flowing out, and I’m so stupid – I can’t plug it up.

Qing Xia suddenly pressed her head against the green stone tablet, tears streaming down, crying aloud and inconsolably. Her fingertips turned white. Those past years rushed around her like torrential river water, surging over her calves, waist, neck, scalp, swallowing her entire being. So after all these years, those vivid memories were still as fresh as new. So she was such a persistent and nostalgic person. So some things truly were eternal at first sight, never to be forgotten.

Qin Zhiyan, your Yima’er has come. She’s been so tired all these years – living has been more exhausting than dying. If possible, would she really follow you in death? You’re no longer here – how can your longevity survive alone? This lonely mortal world, this vain life, these difficult years – let them all pass away together. She wants to accompany you, watch over you, hold you when you’re cold…

But ultimately, she cannot. Some things, some thoughts, have changed in these silent years. I cannot kill them, cannot break free from them, and finally must acknowledge them. Without you, that door in my heart has ultimately been occupied by someone else.

Those are responsibilities, feelings, irresistible forces. Please forgive me – even having found you, I still cannot accompany you. Outside, the kingdom’s rivers and mountains are in turmoil. There’s still someone struggling with difficulty, waiting for me with difficulty. I must leave, even if it means dying on the road.

The woman’s voice gradually grew smaller. Hot liquid flowed from her mouth like warm spring water, drop by drop spilling onto the green stone tablet. Those cold winds blew gently, stirring up dust everywhere, lifting her hair and garment corners. From afar, one could only see a thin, gaunt back.

The sky gradually darkened. The woman remained motionless. Chaotic footsteps hurried over. Several white-bearded, white-haired elders clumsily lifted her up, placed her on a stretcher, and hurriedly left.

A man in elegant blue robes stood outside the bamboo forest, his posture lonely. As his robes fluttered, he appeared so ethereal and otherworldly.

Mr. Liang slowly walked up from behind, saying in a gentle voice: “If you regret this now, there’s still time.”

The man smiled slightly – a bitter, indifferent smile – but didn’t speak.

Mr. Liang continued: “Golden needles into the brain, drug implantation. From now on, even sitting face to face, she will no longer recognize you. Have you thought this through?”

The man suddenly turned around, his features gentle as jade, his gaze peaceful as the sea, saying lightly: “Why is teacher so talkative today?”

Mr. Liang smiled: “Old people inevitably become a bit nagging. I just fear you’ll regret it bitterly later.”

“Teacher knows full well what fate I will fall into. Why involve others in suffering?” The man took a deep breath, suddenly turned away, saying in a low voice: “Moreover, someone is more suitable than I am.”

The bamboo forest rustled, light and shadow hazy, as a low voice slowly rang out.

“He should be arriving soon.”

Thousand autumns of snow and cold, ten thousand li of frozen plains. The Southern Chu Great Emperor’s million-strong army had crossed the Helan Mountains, leaped over the northern grasslands, penetrated deep into the desert in a thousand-li raid, pursuing and killing relentlessly. Guli A’shu’s Xiongnu main forces suffered countless casualties with no possibility of rising again. However, just when they were about to eliminate this threat, the Chu Emperor suddenly ordered the entire army to return to the Central Plains. No one knew why. Except for a few close attendants, everyone simply regarded this as another wise decision by the Great Emperor and followed with unwavering loyalty.