The north wind howled across the earth. It was already December, and the Baichuan River outside the capital city had formed thin icicles. Withered trees stood side by side, their branches and leaves scattered, yet they stood tall and unyielding, displaying their steadfast character. Today was December 27th, Southern Chu’s ancient festival of Frost Return Day. In previous years at this time, the people of the capital would leave the city to come to the banks of the Baichuan River and drink a sip of the frost-covered river water, praying for health and family peace in the coming year. But today, the banks of the Baichuan River were completely quiet and silent, with only the occasional restless snort of a horse, showing this was not an uninhabited land.

From before sunrise this morning until now, a full eight hours had passed. The Southern Chu former ministers, originally resplendent with banners and dressed in fine clothes, gradually lost their initial vigor. Their stomachs began to rumble, their legs began to weaken, and even their wide-open eyes began to sting from the north wind. Yet the person they waited for still showed not the slightest trace, and as the sky darkened and cold pressed in, an elderly minister stepped forward, tugged at Sang Yanghong’s sleeve, and said softly: “My lord, could the message have been wrong?”

Sang Yanghong’s expression was gloomy, his aged back bent, hands tucked in his sleeves, eyes glaring unwillingly as he said in a deep voice: “Continue waiting.”

This day was the day of Southern Chu’s Great Emperor Chu Li’s return from expedition. The banks of the Baichuan River had assembled Southern Chu’s civil and military officials, stretching over ten li along the capital’s official road. Banners fluttered, armor gleamed bright, and colorful auspicious divine birds were painted lifelike on crimson brocade as if about to take flight. Musicians and drummers from the Ministry of Rites, dressed in festival robes, sat high on the Mingfeng Platforms on both sides. The Ministries of War and Works had worked through the night to build the Pingxi Orchid Tower to commemorate the Chu Emperor’s glorious achievements in defeating enemies. For the first time, the hundred censors of the Censorate stopped chanting their golden rules about public service and frugal governance, instead donning fine robes to stand at the front of the imperial welcoming party, awaiting the Chu Emperor’s return to court.

However, five hours past the scheduled time had already passed, and the Chu Emperor’s army still showed no sign.

“Report!”

A deliberately drawn-out voice suddenly rang out. In the distance on the ancient road, a fast horse rapidly approached. Sang Yanghong frowned, lifted the hem of his deep red official robe, stepped forward, and looked at the blue-clad scout who dismounted before him. He said in a deep voice: “What’s the matter?”

The young scout had no time to wipe the sweat from his forehead. His heavy armor stirred up the yellowish sand on the ground as he knelt with a clang, his voice hard as broken metal and stone: “His Majesty led the Black Guard around Mount Bailan toward the west gate.”

“What?” The many ministers behind immediately burst into commotion. Sang Yanghong’s brow furrowed deeply, wrinkles at his eyes carved like knife marks. He suddenly turned around, mounted his warhorse first, and said to the assembled ministers: “Come, follow this old man to the west gate to welcome His Majesty!”

Sang Yanghong was over seventy, having served three reigns. When the previous emperor ascended the throne, he had donned armor and taken the field as a civil official – he was Southern Chu’s famous scholar-general. Today, riding to welcome the imperial carriage showed his true anger.

The elders of the Elder Council wore various expressions. Zhuge Shangqing’s mouth curved in a slight cold smile as he said to his sedan bearers: “Follow Minister Sang.”

The magnificent procession slowly began, stretching dozens of li. Those in front had already rounded the birch forest while those behind had not yet received the order to detour to welcome the emperor. About two hours later, the sky filled with fiery red flowing clouds, the setting sun slanted west, and cold crows took flight. The jade carriages for the welcoming finally arrived at Taikang West Gate. However, what they saw were wide-open city gates and horse dung scattered all over the ground.

Elder Council Master of Ceremonies and Editor Cao Maoyong stumbled down from his carriage with servants’ support. The capital city covered vast ground, backed by mountains and facing water. To detour from the east gate to the west gate along mountain roads was bumpy and exhausting, nearly claiming the old life of this white-haired old man. At this moment, Minister Cao, who usually spouted classical phrases and was called Southern Chu’s greatest literary master, pointed at the city guards cleaning up horse dung with trembling, unclear speech: “What… what… what is this? Where is His Majesty?”

The lowest-ranking city guard among the capital’s garrison, seeing these court officials with disheveled caps and rumpled clothes who looked like they’d run several li, spoke almost stammering. He plopped down on his knees and stuttered: “His Majesty… His Majesty brought the great army… entered… entered the city.”

As soon as he finished speaking, clamoring arose. The Southern Chu ministers who had waited bitterly all day widened their eyes like copper bells, crying out in disbelief.

His Majesty had entered the city? Without meeting the regent elders, without summoning meritorious ministers, without rewarding achievements, without hosting banquets, without even seeing the ministers who had waited for him so bitterly – he had just quietly entered the city like this?

Three days ago, Southern Chu’s civil and military officials had just received news of the Chu Emperor’s return to court. General Song Yang, who had returned to the capital first, reported the general situation of the western expedition to the Ministry of War, completely shocking the Southern Chu court.

The emperor was returning to court.

The Southern Chu ministers, who had submitted memorials and remonstrations daily, nearly writing in blood, cheered and celebrated. The emperor was finally returning to court, no longer wielding swords with those crude barbarians in western wilderness lands. This was even more exciting than Northern Qin’s destruction or Xichuan’s fall.

But immediately after, news that Empress Zhuang would also return to court completely stunned them.

Though the emperor had established an empress five years ago, this empress was after all in name only. Everyone had stubbornly persisted to this day with the belief that the emperor would someday come to his senses. But three days later, that woman who had been Eastern Qi’s crown princess, then the Chu Emperor’s discarded consort, later fled the country to marry Prince Xuan of Qin, causing two wars between Eastern Qi and Southern Chu, and nearly causing chaos among four nations at White Deer Plain, was about to return to Southern Chu and ascend to the empress position. How could these Southern Chu ministers, with no psychological preparation, handle such a bolt from the blue?

Thus, the Southern Chu court erupted in complete fury. Led by the Elder Council, the Shanglin Garden, Chamberlain’s Office, Censorate, Capital Academy, Supervisory Pavilion, and Hanlin Department all acted like students rushing to imperial examinations, citing classics day and night. Impeachment articles bloomed like flowers, memorized thoroughly, deliberated and revised through multiple drafts, determined to make that fickle, promiscuous, nation-destroying woman disgracefully retreat in shame.

So this morning’s welcoming ceremony was especially lively. Not only stationed generals in the capital attended, but even Hanlin scholars and censors who shouldn’t have come to welcome the emperor all came to join the excitement. Everyone was fully prepared, just waiting for that woman to appear so they could attack with words and writing. However, from morning to noon, from noon to evening, they still hadn’t seen even her shadow. Finally getting news, they were told the Great Emperor had already led people into the capital.

Everyone had built up such momentum, yet punched cotton with their fists – anyone would be in a bad mood. The elders of the Elder Council were so angry their beards bristled and their feet kicked skyward. After the Battle of Loulan, the secret that Xia Qing was actually Zhuang Qingxia had long spread. The noble ladies of Eastern Qi’s great families who had admired Xia Qing were in agony, with poisoning and hanging occurring repeatedly. Remembering her previous misdeeds at Eastern Qi’s Haishi, the elders grew even angrier, nearly departing this world. Originally planning to give the emperor, bewitched by the demonic woman, a wake-up call today with tearful remonstrations, swearing not to let this seductive woman step foot in the capital, but faced with the current situation, what could they do?

Sang Yanghong, bearing the responsibility of regent minister, naturally had no good impression of Zhuang Qingxia. Seeing this scene, he snorted coldly and said to the assembled civil officials who were either furious, weeping, or heartbroken: “Gentlemen, please follow this old man to the front gate of the Sacred Hall. Today, if we don’t see His Majesty, we won’t give up.”

The Southern Chu civil officials’ morale soared. Each held their chests high and heads up as they followed behind Sang Yanghong, marching spiritedly toward the capital’s imperial city, leaving behind a group of military generals staring at each other, not knowing what to do.

“General Wang, what should we do?”

A third-rank general stepped forward and spoke to Capital Defense Commander Wang Tinghe.

Wang Tinghe watched the civil officials disappearing in the distance, curled his lip disdainfully, spat, and said: “What else can we do? Those who should guard the city guard it, those who should be on duty stay on duty, the rest all roll home.”

The general frowned: “Aren’t we following them?”

“Follow them for what?” Wang Tinghe laughed coldly: “You’ve at least been on battlefields. Could you hold Loulan with ten thousand men against three hundred thousand for a month? Those old fellows don’t know life from death, but we shouldn’t join their blind excitement. The eastern Chu army has long been sharpening their blades. Our empress is definitely not a simple person.”

The sunset reddened the sky’s edge. The great army welcoming the imperial carriage gradually retreated, and the area outside the city gates gradually returned to deathly silence. The north wind swept through, leaving desolation.

Just as the Southern Chu civil officials wept and remonstrated at the Sacred Hall’s front gate, in the lakeside pavilion south of the city, a blue cloth pleasure boat swayed quietly on the water. Chu Li had changed from battle armor into light purple brocade robes. His black hair was bound behind him as he reclined on a couch, left hand holding a cup, right hand propping his head, eyes slightly closed. Outside the cabin, serving maids played qin and sang, and he appeared leisurely and content.

Qingxia flipped through intelligence reports Le Song had delivered while constantly making marks and corrections. Time passed, and after a long while, feeling her neck stiff, she suddenly looked up to see Chu Li listening to music while tapping rhythm on his knee with his finger. Anger rose in her heart, and her voice turned cold: “You’re quite good at enjoying yourself.”

Chu Li opened his eyes, looking at Qingxia with playful expression, mouth corner lifting obliquely as he smiled: “No one’s making you work.”

Qingxia snorted coldly, lowering her head to flip through the documents: “Your devoted ministers are about to cry themselves to death at the Sacred Hall’s front gate. If you don’t go look, someone really will die.”

Chu Li leaned on the couch, arms crossed over his chest, eyes slightly closed, indifferent: “When they’re tired of crying, they’ll naturally go home.”

Qingxia looked him up and down suspiciously. Seeing Chu Li calm and composed, she silently thought she was truly worrying unnecessarily. If he wasn’t anxious, why should she meddle? Putting the documents on the table, she picked up the fruit wine and took a small sip.

The entrance was mellow and sweet-tasting – this was Southern Chu’s famous brew. Not strong in alcohol with some sweetness, it quite resembled Cheng Xiao’s homemade fruit wine.

The boat was completely quiet. Chu Li leaned on the couch, seeming about to fall asleep. These past days, he had indeed been exhausted. Upon hearing in the great desert that Qingxia was at the Qin Mausoleum, he had traveled day and night, covering what should have been half a month’s journey in five days, running five horses to death without even closing his eyes. Today after returning, he had summoned Mingyuan, Xu Quan and others, discussing until late into the night, only then having time for some food. At this moment, he still couldn’t return to the palace and could only rest in this villa – no wonder he was so tired.

With a light bump, the boat reached shore. The handsome man’s brow furrowed as he opened his eyes, seeing Qingxia bent over at the boat’s entrance, speaking softly to someone outside. Chu Li sat up, and Qingxia, hearing the sound, turned back: “Are you awake? Rest a bit more – we’ll go ashore in a moment.”

Chu Li flicked his robe and stood: “Let’s go.” Then he left the cabin.

The man walked ahead, not using servants to set up a gangplank, just jumping down in one leap. Then he turned back and very naturally extended his hand to Qingxia.

The distance wasn’t very far – with Qingxia’s abilities, she could easily leap five times this distance. She stood at the bow, bright yellow palace lanterns illuminating her body, black hair dancing in the wind. She slightly lowered her head, looking at the man’s hand, then reached out and placed her palm in his.

With force, he gripped it, then gently pulled.

Chu Li half-embraced Qingxia’s waist, setting her on the ground, then extended slender fingers to tighten her cloak’s shoulder straps, his voice slightly hoarse and low as he said softly: “Your body just recovered – don’t catch cold.”

Though it was a caring remark, coming from his mouth it sounded somewhat stiff and serious. Time had passed, and he was no longer that romantic, dissolute prince who had moved among flowers. Even saying a tender word had become unfamiliar.

The lakeside pavilion remained as it once was – sparse bamboo groves, fragrant orchid grass, paths paved with pebbles, exquisite wooden houses. Chu Li walked ahead, holding Qingxia’s hand, slowly moving forward.

Clear breeze gently blew past their ears like mischievous children. Le Song rarely saw Qingxia so docile, leading with a lantern ahead while walking and secretly smiling with pursed lips.

Seeing this, Qingxia’s brow furrowed slightly, her cheeks showing faint flush. She tried to withdraw her hand from Chu Li’s, but couldn’t manage it no matter what. In annoyance, she actually pinched hard in his palm.

Chu Li winced in pain, sucking in cold air, but gripped Qingxia’s hand even tighter, not letting her move around.

In a moment, they entered the inner courtyard. Chu Li took the lantern from Le Song and waved to the servants: “All go down first, no need to follow.”

Everyone quickly dispersed. Chu Li held the lantern in one hand and Qingxia’s hand in the other, continuing forward.

“Those old ministers are just making a fuss – you needn’t worry too much.”

Chu Li’s voice was very low, carrying a mature man’s flavor. Qingxia walked behind him, hearing these words floating through the wind, her mouth corner lifting slightly: “You brought back a nation-destroying, calamitous jinx – naturally they’ll make a fuss. I expected it long ago.”

“Ha,” Chu Li chuckled softly: “Those are your own words – I didn’t say it.”

Qingxia glared at him, suddenly seeing bright lights ahead and an elegant room, immediately feeling strong familiarity in her heart. Under clear moon and wind, time passed swiftly – in a blink, eight years had gone by.

With a creak, the room door slowly opened. The finest orchid grass fragrance dispersed in the air, entering their nostrils. Qingxia, in blue-green lake gauze with a snow mink cloak, followed behind Chu Li and walked in.

In a daze, she even experienced a sense of space-time confusion. Those bygone years were like rushing water, roaring past her. Standing at the door, for a moment she didn’t dare step inside.

Everything remained unchanged – nanmu wood desks, colorful brocade stools, bookshelves full of scholars’ travel records, several volumes spread open on the desk as if just browsed. Clear wine simmered in a small charcoal pot, wine fragrance spreading, warmth inviting. Several light dishes sat on the table, flavors drifting – just one glance aroused appetite.

Chu Li removed his outer robe, walked to a chair and slowly sat down, head lowered, pouring wine while smiling faintly: “All these years, every time I came here I thought – if one day you could sit in this room with me again, drinking and eating, how wonderful that would be.”

The man’s voice was mellow, his gaze carrying the vicissitudes of worldly experience. Those past years, bloody wars, all settled in the depths of his increasingly wise eyes, gradually retreating from his former sharpness and naivety. He turned his head: “I always regretted – if you hadn’t left back then, perhaps everything afterward wouldn’t have happened. But if that were so, I might never have realized that someday I would become so crazy for a woman, so lose my reason.”

“Qingxia,” Chu Li raised his head, gazing at Qingxia with calm eyes, mouth corner lifting slightly. His hard facial lines gained some gentle radiance as his gaze fixed on the woman’s eyes like frozen light, saying word by word: “It’s all past now, isn’t it?”

A trace of sourness suddenly struck Qingxia’s heart. Those past events hidden deep in her heart that she was unwilling to speak of, those struggles cycling day and night in pain, so many years of loneliness and solitude, like heart-devouring parasites, burrowed bit by bit into her heart. Their first meeting in Lanting Hall, now thinking back, seemed like something from a previous life. The woman then was sharp and decisive, hating evil like an enemy, always confidently believing she could overcome everything. The man then was dark and suspicious, carefully guarding against everyone in this world.

When they met in such a doubt-filled environment, they were destined for tragic separation in different places. Only through the grinding of years and time could they recognize what was truly most important in each other’s hearts. Those days of mutual suspicion, those years of mutual harm, those years of struggling through wind and rain, braving snow and cold, desperately fighting for survival in life and death – finally washed their suspicious souls, tightly locking fate’s chains together, unable to cut, unable to let go.

Qingxia released her fingers that had been gripping the doorframe, slowly walked forward, crouched before Chu Li, rested her head on his knee, reached out to embrace his waist, and deeply exhaled, her voice weary yet carrying the emotion of dramatic changes.

“It’s all past now.”

This was an embrace waited for too long. Chu Li’s spine was even somewhat stiff for an instant. His palms were full of calluses as he gently stroked the woman’s hair. Black strands passed through his fingers in wisps, like a dense net, and he had long been caught within it.

Who still remembered that long ago, there had been a man in this room who said softly to a woman: I haven’t trusted anyone for a long time. This time, I want to try.

Time must have made some error in coordination, making things develop unexpectedly yet irreversibly. Those faces drowned by time’s great tide weighed increasingly heavily between the two. These strange and bizarre events made them take many detours, retreating tragically again and again, yet setting out anew after healing.

Fortunately, they finally had a chance to try again.

Some people’s lives are monuments, destined to advance in tribulation, to grope in darkness. He experienced too much darkness and pain, yet never easily spoke of giving up or surrender. This person was like a thousand-year-old tree planted in her heart – no matter wind and rain’s erosion, no matter fierce fire’s burning, never removed, yet gradually surrounded by halos, branches and leaves flourishing, finally becoming her bodhi.

Lamplight burned softly, light and shadow swirled. The man slowly bent down, placing scattered kisses on the woman’s white nape, his voice soft and small, carrying three parts hoarseness, three parts carefulness, three parts testing, and one part uncontrollable emotion: “Qingxia, marry me. Stay by my side and don’t leave anymore, alright?”

Qingxia suddenly felt somewhat stunned. Memories surged like overwhelming mountains and seas, her thoughts drifting far. She remembered in that thick imperial city of the far north, in deep palace courtyards, in fragrant orchid chambers, someone had once said similar words to her: “Yima’er, if you stay by my side, you are my greatest support.”

Her heart suddenly began to ache so much, scattered tears about to fall. Those years covered by dust, those people cruelly toyed with by fate, those past events turned to ruins by memory, ultimately became a great storm, howling through her life, falling into endless sleep in that mausoleum drifting with ancient atmosphere.

Those who left had left; those living must continue living. If she couldn’t do everything well, then she would firmly do this one thing well. Life had never given her choices from beginning to end. This time, she would tightly grasp it in her hands, controlling her own fate. Using a lifetime to commemorate that silent past and the perseverance in rolling yellow sands.

The man sat quietly, eyes dark, expression calm as he waited for an answer.

Qingxia’s tears fell on the man’s wrist. Her chin nodded lightly, voice small yet so firm: “Alright.”

Chu Li let out a long breath, then lowered his head, hand brushing Qingxia’s hair, eyes tightly closed.

Candlelight burned softly in the lakeside pavilion. Wind gently swept across the water surface, floating toward the distant capital imperial city.

This night was destined not to be suitable for peaceful sleep. On Baiwei Square at the eastern gate of Chu Palace, Southern Chu civil officials gathered, weeping and remonstrating that the Chu Emperor was acting willfully, bringing in a calamitous beauty. Zhuang Qingxia lacked virtue and talent to bear Southern Chu’s empress position – charges could line from the Sacred Gate all the way to Donghua West Temple. The elders of Southern Chu’s Elder Council once again displayed their immensely powerful eloquence and sharp words, speaking like flowing rivers outside the Sacred Gate, yet unfortunately, their Great Emperor was currently in distant southern city, not hearing a single word of their loyal service to the country.

However, compared to Southern Chu civil officials, the capital’s military officers rarely maintained unified silence, resolutely not joining the civil officials’ verbal attacks, instead quietly fulfilling their duties without expressing any opinions about the capital’s turmoil.

However, just at dawn, the many military officers of the territories Southern Chu had designated as Eastern Qi Province, led by Minister Lu Zhongyong, delivered large quantities of goods for Eastern Qi Grand Governor Xia Qing, directly sent to the Ministry of Rites’ office hall as foreign princess dowry.

The next morning, Ryukyu, Luzon, Japan, Korea and other nations all sent envoys to Southern Chu’s capital, delivering large gifts to congratulate the Chu Emperor’s wedding joy.

Throughout the capital streets spread tales of Qingxia single-handedly leading ten thousand troops against three hundred thousand allied forces for a month. In corners no one noticed, the former calamitous beauty leaped to become the empire’s first goddess of war, with unmatched prestige.

Just as all Southern Chu civil officials were caught off guard by this series of changes, Southern Chu Grand Marshal Mingyuan suddenly returned to court. Before the Sacred Temple’s imperial ancestors, he announced the imperial edict of the Chu Emperor who had not appeared since returning: in three days, the empress coronation ceremony.

Across Southern Chu’s great land, north wind swept through, all grass bent and broken. In the stormy Great Chu court, another wave of turbulent tides arose. That pair of weather-beaten man and woman were once again pushed by fate to the storm’s eye, only this time, their hands were tightly clasped together.

Winter was about to pass. On southern lands, green grass had already begun sprouting – mountains green, waters clear, in the not-distant tomorrow.