He stood at the doorway, watching as sunlight gradually devoured the shadows of the eaves. Sheng Fengze pressed his hand against his chest, remembering how it had once embraced a woman he loved.

When she was first brought to Nanzhao, he had wanted to keep her here. Her feet still walked on Nanzhao soil; she lived in his country. He could see her without crossing thousands of mountains and waters. But these were all just his foolish dreams.

The crying from behind gradually weakened, and the room slowly returned to silence.

As the sun moved westward, the shadows on the ground grew lighter. Without realizing it, he had stood at the doorway for an entire day. Sheng Fengze mechanically turned around. Ji Yingying sat numbly in the shadows, her thin frame looking somewhat pitiful. He walked back into the room and lit a lamp.

The lamplight startled her. She suddenly widened her eyes and shrank back slightly.

“Help me dress my wound,” Sheng Fengze said directly. He paused before adding, “So you’ll be more comfortable on your journey back.”

Ji Yingying’s mouth opened slightly in surprise, not quite understanding his meaning.

Sheng Fengze had already ordered the guards to bring medicine and his clothes.

He sat on the bamboo couch and removed his cloak. Fresh blood trickled down his chest. That stab had been delivered with bitter intent, and the wound was not light.

The guard brought the items. Seeing Ji Yingying still frozen in place, Sheng Fengze smiled self-mockingly: “Once I send you away, we’ll be even.”

Ah, he meant to let her go? Ji Yingying came back to life. She nimbly undid the white cloth wrapped around him, peeling away layer by layer. She rolled up her sleeves and wrung out a cloth to wipe away the blood.

Sheng Fengze sat straight and dignified with his hands on his knees, staring straight ahead. His thoughts wandered with her movements. Her fingers were a bit cold, occasionally causing an itch where they touched his skin. Her chin seemed sharper than before—back in Tang, she would surely grow plump again. Yang Jingyuan would treat her well, wouldn’t he? She had married him while still in mourning; she hadn’t consummated with Yang Jingyuan. He should be able to trust in her purity.

The warm lamplight enveloped them both. A hint of tenderness permeated the silence.

Sheng Fengze stared at their shadows on the wall, reluctant to see the merged shadows separate.

“Done.” The delicate figure finally moved away from him.

“Thank you.” Sheng Fengze stood and put on his clothes. He didn’t look at Ji Yingying again, saying softly: “I’ll have food sent over. Eat well. Tonight’s moonlight is beautiful; I’ll take you out of the palace to enjoy it.”

Ji Yingying felt excited yet awkward, and after a while softly said: “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me.” Sheng Fengze reflected, “Ever since I first saved you at the Zhao estate, I’ve wondered why you were so clever, steadfastly refusing to agree to pay me any reward.”

Back then, he had wanted her to dye and match silk for him and wanted to request three years of her time. But she hadn’t agreed. Sheng Fengze thought this must be fate. From the very beginning, she had known to avoid his trap.

Ji Yingying had nothing to say.

Sheng Fengze sighed lightly and quickly left.

Yes, from the first time, she had sensed she couldn’t afford the reward he would ask. Yet he had still saved her again and again. Ji Yingying murmured to herself: “This is fate—we truly have no destiny together.”

Once again, he planned to let her go. Ji Yingying sat numbly on the bamboo couch where he had sat. She wanted to cry yet also laugh.

Suddenly darkness fell before her eyes as a figure leaped in through the window. Ji Yingying was startled, looking up to see Yang Jingyuan. She blinked hard—how could she be seeing Yang Jingyuan?

Upon entering the room, Yang Jingyuan naturally concealed himself in the shadows behind the lamplight, preventing his silhouette from being seen from outside. His throat moved as if swallowing back words he wanted to say.

Her mind was a bit dazed as she looked at him in confusion. Had she seen it wrong? He was darker, much thinner. But that face still held its flying sword-like eyebrows, handsome as the moon—it was him, Yang Jingyuan, her Yang San Lang whom she had longed for day and night, whose image she had recalled countless times in her heart!

“Ah, San Lang!” Ji Yingying came to her senses and cried out in excitement, throwing herself into his embrace without thinking.

“I… I traveled a long way, crossing mountains and ridges, fearing I would be too late. Yesterday, I arrived here.” Yang Jingyuan suddenly burst into tears.

Ji Yingying hugged him tightly: “San Lang, San Lang!”

Her tears fell too. Along the way, she had thought that when she saw Yang Jingyuan again, she would surely give him a brilliant smile, and tell him she had been waiting for him. She didn’t know why, upon seeing him, she could only cry.

Yang Jingyuan raised his arms, hovering in the air for a moment before finally lifting her face. He lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers. He tasted her falling tears, salty. His heart felt as if stabbed by a knife, cold and painful. How could he blame her? She was just a fragile woman after all. He had truly feared he would be too late, that he would never see her again. It was enough that she was alive.

He lifted his face as Ji Yingying’s arms wrapped around his neck, making it slightly difficult to breathe.

Her face pressed against his chest as she called to him softly. Yang Jingyuan steeled his heart and removed her arms, saying quietly: “You take care… I have matters to attend to, I must go now.”

“San Lang.” Ji Yingying wanted to ask him to take her with him. But after calling out once, she held back. White Cliff Palace wasn’t her family’s back garden that she could just stroll out of. He could come and go freely alone, but with her, they would become living targets. She needed to be sensible. He had come; he would surely find a way to take her away. Oh right, Sheng Fengze said he would send her away tonight. But she couldn’t tell Sheng Fengze that Yang Jingyuan had found her. Though Sheng Fengze was willing to let her leave, he might not let Yang Jingyuan go. He was a Tang general after all. She could wait for him on the road. This way, he wouldn’t need to risk entering White Cliff Palace again.

Ji Yingying’s thoughts turned rapidly, feeling she had found the best solution. She grew excited: “San Lang, you don’t need to come to White Cliff Palace to find me again…”

She didn’t want him to come again. Yang Jingyuan gritted his teeth.

The courtyard gate opened with a creaking sound. Yang Jingyuan quickly hid behind the door, drawing his sword.

“It’s just the food being delivered,” Ji Yingying told him softly, quickly walking to the door.

Two maids entered carrying food boxes and a bundle.

Ji Yingying stood at the door, trying to speak calmly: “Leave them here. The moonlight is bright; I’ll eat in the courtyard.”

Seeing she wouldn’t let them enter the room, the maids didn’t insist, placing the food boxes and bundle on the stone table in the courtyard.

“Miss Ji, the master said to please change into new clothes; he invites you to view the moon at the hour of Xu,” the maid delivered Sheng Fengze’s message, then bowed and withdrew.

“I understand.”

At the hour of Xu, Sheng Fengze would send her away. Ji Yingying smiled. She turned to enter the room but didn’t see Yang Jingyuan. She called out to him softly several times but received no response. Ji Yingying felt confused and muttered: “Having matters to attend to, he wouldn’t even say goodbye before leaving.”

She had been greedy to stay with him longer—each extra moment brought more danger. Ji Yingying sighed helplessly.

Yang Jingyuan left White Cliff Palace silently. He descended the back mountain in silence, walking to the depths of the valley where water burbled in streams. Moonlight turned the flowing water to silver. He crouched down and plunged his face into the icy water, throwing punch after punch at the ground.

He had never known Ji Yingying and Sheng Fengze were so familiar. Before, he had only known that Sheng Fengze had schemed to obtain the Ji family’s silk-dyeing secret, only known that Sheng Fengze was her family’s enemy. It turned out she and Sheng Fengze had shared so much history, even before he knew her.

He had thought he would find her in the palace dungeon, never expecting her to be staying in White Cliff Palace’s guest quarters. She hardly seemed like an assassin—she was there as a guest.

Lying on the roof ridge, looking through a window, he had watched her tenderly dress Sheng Fengze’s wound. The lamplight was so bright he could see the joy she couldn’t hide in her eyebrows and eyes. He was truly foolish. How had he only now understood the look in Sheng Fengze’s eyes when he gazed at her?

Yang Jingyuan lifted his face from the stream, his pupils slightly reddened from the icy water’s sting. He lay down by the stream. His mind echoed with nothing but her soft voice.

The moonlight was too bright. Staring at the bright moon, all he could think of were images of Sheng Fengze and her viewing the moon on the mountaintop. Yang Jingyuan covered his eyes with his hand. He didn’t hate Ji Yingying. He only hated himself for not being strong enough, for failing to stop the Nanzhao army at the Dadu River, and for failing to snatch her back from Nanzhao’s soldiers.

“I don’t blame you. I don’t blame you, no blame.” Yang Jingyuan dared not imagine what Ji Yingying had endured. Perhaps Sheng Fengze had been the last piece of driftwood she could grasp.

How could he blame Ji Yingying for changing allegiance? He only wanted her to live, to live well—that was enough. Yet he knew he still harbored resentment in his heart. Seeing her in such intimate interaction with Sheng Fengze had pained him so deeply, as if trapped in a pot, unable to breathe.

If she had died, he could have righteously avenged her. Better that than watching his wife submit to Nanzhao’s bandit prince.

“I don’t blame you. I will destroy Nanzhao and kill Sheng Fengze.” Yang Jingyuan’s voice echoed softly.