The days seemed stolen.

When alone, Chu Qiao often found herself lost in thought. She quietly watched the sunrise in the east and set in the west, night falling again and again. The new year came and went, time silently flowing through her fingers, its pulsing rhythms visible like clear water.

The initial excitement gradually subsided. Life began to turn again. She looked at the sky, where birds flew from the north with fluttering wings, traversing the distant heavens, winding through blue or white traces. She thought they must be heading home.

She had moved into Zhuge Yue’s separate residence in Xianyang. There was no excuse or reason—Zhuge Yue had simply asked if she would like to spend the new year with him, and after some thought, she agreed.

It was truly a simple new year.

There were no extravagant palace dances, no lingering melodies from court musicians, no sumptuous delicacies. Instead, there was a rare tranquility, a genuine peace of mind.

These days, she and Zhuge Yue have visited many places together. They walked through long, quiet alleys, visited old, dilapidated temples, ate street food, squeezed through crowded temple fairs, and on New Year’s Eve, set off firecrackers for a long time together.

The firecrackers popped and crackled, just like that night two years ago. She stood on the bustling street, eyes filled with fireworks and lights.

A long-forgotten happiness quietly enveloped her. Amidst the dim lights around them, he stood before her, shielding her from the pressing crowd, occasionally turning back with furrowed brows to scold her, like a petulant child.

Fireworks bloomed in the sky above his head, gorgeously colorful, their reflecting light illuminating his face—so beautiful.

Yes, beautiful indeed.

Chu Qiao, at a loss for words, could find no other adjective to describe all she saw. She seemed suddenly swept from the battlefield into this dazzling, kaleidoscopic world. She saw gentle sunshine, warm lake waters, joyful crowds, and Zhuge Yue—stripped of all struggle and defenses. This man who had once glared at her fiercely, drawn his sword against her, repeatedly offered her aid, and nearly descended to the netherworld for her sake, now stood alive before her, frowning as he scolded her for being a country bumpkin. She suddenly felt that time was something she had stolen from heaven, with every second infinitely precious.

The world was ablaze with trees of fire and flowers of silver, yet her eyes could hold only one person.

Like deep sea waters surging forth after the ice thawed, warming her cold limbs and numbed mind.

Life had blossomed magnificently at a dead end, colorfully blooming on decaying wood. Standing on the other shore of the netherworld, gazing from afar, she thought that perhaps this was something called rebirth.

Even as she watched with open eyes, it still seemed so distant.

The door was half-open. He stood in the courtyard, wearing blue-purple robes embroidered with large, magnificent golden flowers. Moonlight shone upon him with dazzling brightness.

He looked at her, seeming to want to say something, yet remained silent for a long time.

The moonlight was somewhat melancholy. Drum and gong sounds from the square several streets away continued to reach them—a clattering, festive sound. Though she couldn’t see it, Chu Qiao could imagine the common people dancing happily.

Time seemed to pass for ages, yet also felt like just a brief moment. He finally spoke: “Go to bed.”

Chu Qiao nodded, smiling calmly: “You too.”

The door closed gradually, blocking out the moonlight as well—first a section, then a line, then a thread, until finally, darkness prevailed.

She stood at the doorway, her fingers pressed against the door. Outside, the person lingered for a long time without leaving. The wind was chilly, howling. Tree shadows swayed outside the window, casting eerie, dancing shadows on the windowpane.

Time trickled away in the water clock. Finally, soft footsteps arose, very slow, yet gradually receding, growing more and more distant.

The wind outside suddenly intensified, penetrating even the door, and blowing coldly through the cracks. Chu Qiao rested her head against the door. In the darkness, she slowly closed her eyes.

When Zhuge Yue returned, Yue Qi had just received a letter from Xiao Fei. The young guard, now an honored general, smiled contentedly, happily tucking the letter into his sleeve.

Yue Qi stood outside the door in good spirits, unable to hide his joy even in his master’s presence.

“Letter from Xiao Fei?”

“Yes,” Yue Qi chuckled, saying, “Hai’er is one month old now.”

After years of fighting side by side, Zhuge Yue and Yue Qi’s relationship was nominally master and servant but practically like brothers. Recalling that before leaving, Xiao Fei had just given birth to a son for Yue Qi, Zhuge Yue smiled slightly and said, “When I return, I’ll prepare a great gift for your son.”

Yue Qi smiled and said, “Thank you, young master.”

“How is Mo’er?”

“He’s well.”

Yue Qi answered brightly. Ouyang Mo, whom Zhuge Yue had once brought back, was now being raised by Xiao Fei. For a child who had lost all relatives, this was perhaps the best choice.

“He’s learning acupuncture with Master Bai, showing exceptional talent.”

“Master,” Fang Chu walked in from outside. After Yue Qi left to command troops, Fang Chu became Zhuge Yue’s guard. Born in Qinghai, his parents were descendants of criminals who had been banished from Ximeng generations ago. After being subdued by Zhuge Yue, he followed him back to Great Xia. He was a man of few words but a resilient character, far from an ordinary person—even Yue Qi regarded him highly.

“General Feng has sent a letter.”

The seal on the letter was intact. Zhuge Yue read it without changing expression, then handed it to Yue Qi. After Yue Qi finished reading, Zhuge Yue asked in a deep voice, “What do you think?”

“Zhao Yang won’t just let things be. Once the Seventh Prince returns to the country and joins forces with you, young master, the power Zhao Yang has built over these two years will falter. Wei Guang is already in his declining years, while Wei Shuye has his ambitions. Zhao Yang must guard against this.”

Zhuge Yue nodded slightly and said softly, “This man is most pragmatic, with a clever mind, yet his judgment has been clouded, making such plans at this time.”

“What should we do?”

“Proceed according to the original plan. Tell Xu Yang to be more vigilant. He can’t stir up much trouble now. Rather than worrying about him, we should pay more attention to developments in Yan Bei.”

Yue Qi nodded, and Zhuge Yue asked further, “How is the extradition proceeding?”

“Rest assured, young master. All of Chen Yue’s businesses are operating urgently. Duke Zhaoming and Master Liang have secretly recruited a large number of talented people from various industries. The Great Emperor of Bian Tang is taking our request very seriously and has personally assigned Lord Sun to assist. Moreover, with this year’s bumper grain harvest, we no longer need to rely on the inland.”

Zhuge Yue nodded: “How is everything at home?”

The person currently in charge in Qinghai was Fang Guangqian, Fang Chu’s uncle and also Zhuge Yue’s subordinate in Qinghai. Fang Chu responded expressionlessly, “Uncle sent a letter yesterday saying everything at home is fine. Everyone is waiting for the master to return.”

“Good.” Zhuge Yue nodded silently and said, “Tell everyone to speed up. We don’t have much time. Once matters here are concluded, we’ll return.”

Fang Chu nodded and withdrew. After Fang Chu left, Yue Qi frowned slightly and said, “Young master, your servant doesn’t understand.”

“I know what you want to say.”

The moonlight was serene, casting its pure light softly on his shoulders. The man’s face carried a touch of coldness, his eyes narrow and long, yet no longer showing the vigor of his youth—calm as still water, composed and gentle.

“You mean to ask why we don’t take advantage of Great Xia’s internal turmoil, the noble families’ exhaustion, and external threats to rise, control the family, and replace the Zhao clan, correct?”

Yue Qi was startled and immediately knelt, but spoke frankly, “Your servant is presumptuous, but indeed, that is what I think. Great Xia has not been kind to us, nor has the family been just. For two years, the young master has endured humiliation. Why offer them aid now? At worst, we could return to Qinghai. Since Miss is here now, we need not fear their threats. Qinghai is vast and rich in resources—even if Ximeng unifies, we need not fear them.”

After Yue Qi finished speaking, he heard no response from Zhuge Yue for a long time. He cautiously raised his head and saw Zhuge Yue looking up at the sky. His once handsome face was now covered with a layer of weary shadow, the vertical lines between his brows deeply furrowed, full of the vicissitudes of time.

“Yue Qi, no matter how flawed the family is, it was still where you and I found our footing in our youth. No matter how flawed Great Xia is, it remains our homeland. Now, with our nation beset by internal troubles and external threats, how could we bear to light another fire of war on this already scarred land?”

Hearing this, Yue Qi was stunned, but Zhuge Yue continued, “Moreover, Zhao Che’s kindness to me is not a mere drop of water.”

With that, Zhuge Yue left, leaving Yue Qi standing in place, carefully pondering his words.

He didn’t know what to feel. Deep down, he knew his master was right, but thinking of the experiences of the past two years, a sense of grievance and injustice welled up in his chest, impossible to dispel. Could it be that his master truly didn’t care at all?

Of course, Zhuge Yue cared.

In the pitch-black bedroom, there came a brief, light laugh.

How could he not care about those childhood days when he struggled to survive in the family like a stray dog? How could he not care about his repeated aspirations that were crushed and defeated? And how could he not care about the spit and humiliation that greeted him when he returned from the brink of death?

He could not forget—even in death, he could not forget.

He didn’t want to revisit the feelings he had just experienced, but Yue Qi’s outspoken words stirred up tremendous waves in his heart.

A man’s heart remains as iron until death. After a lifetime of struggle, what is it all for? Isn’t it for achievement and glory? Isn’t it to rise above others? Isn’t it to ascend to the height of supreme power, to command the wind and summon the rain, to have one’s every command obeyed?

That was a fatal desire—an addiction no man could ever truly quit.

When he escaped from such desperate straits, he was met with not a shred of warmth. His reputation in tatters, abandoned by his country and family, he instantly became Great Xia’s public enemy. He was no saint—how could there be no hatred in his heart?

Perhaps, as Chu Qiao had said at the grave when he saw Great Xia repeatedly defeated under Yan Bei’s offensive, a strange sense of satisfaction arose in his heart. When Great Xia’s internal decay led to increasing chaos, he had also considered leading troops eastward, replacing Great Xia, and using military might to wash away past shame, looking down on those filthy faces that had once stepped heavily on his head.

But when it came time to take that step, he retreated.

Those eyes on the Qinghai plains—people still unable to eat their fill or stay warm—looked at him expectantly. Those who had generously sheltered him when he had nowhere to go were still waiting for him to bring them a winter where no one would die.

Indeed, he couldn’t tell Yue Qi or his loyal subordinates who had followed him all along. They would stare at him wide-eyed and ask: Young master, do you mean to give up seizing prosperous Ximeng for a few Qinghai bumpkins?

Yes, they were just descendants of generations of prisoners toiling in captivity, just uncultured country folk. In the past, he would have thought the same. He would have snorted with disdain, believing that a great man must have priorities and lofty ambitions, rather than hesitating like a woman. But something had ultimately changed him. When his life was in tatters and he was rejected by the world, someone opened a warm door for him. Though the door was worn and the house leaked, sitting there, he drank the warmest bowl of porridge in his life.

At that moment, he suddenly understood Chu Qiao—understood that always-resolute girl who told him to wait and see.

He thanked the heavens. Without such an opportunity, he might never have understood her, never comprehended the joy of creating and protecting. He was amazed to discover that such joy was no less powerful than that of conquest and destruction.

As for Great Xia, as for grudges, as for dominating Ximeng…

He slowly closed his eyes, telling himself: I know what’s most important.

Yes, he still needed to strive, to maneuver, to use his abilities to protect and fight for what mattered. He still had to match wits with those of various intentions in the court, still had to confront those of different political views on the battlefield.

Although his ambition was not to seize Great Xia, he was unwilling to sit by and watch it decline and fall into others’ hands.

Moreover, he could no longer retreat now. When he led troops out of Cuiwei Pass, when he accepted the position of Military Affairs Director of Great Xia, and when he single-handedly blocked Great Xia’s war against Bian Tang, everything was already decided.

He recalled the oath he and Zhao Che had made on the cold grounds of Eastern Hu when they were at the end of their rope, and a cold glint rose at the corner of his eye.

At that moment, a pair of calm eyes suddenly looked through the black mist. That gaze was so gentle, yet revealed a hint of undisguisable sorrow.

He quietly closed his eyes, his fingers caressing the white cup wall.

He smiled slightly, a bitter smile like cold snow.

Everything began after the end. They were always like this—meeting at inopportune times, parting at inopportune times. Fate pushed them along a path with no visible return, stumbling, passing each other by.

The room was pitch black. Outside, moonlight shone through the window, casting a cold light upon him. After all, he was still just a man in his twenties. Despite experiencing so many twists and hardships, sometimes he would dream like this: a hero returning from a hundred battles, achieving illustrious military exploits, then placing everything before the person he loved, saying with a flourish: Here, it’s all yours!

But in the end, it could only remain a dream.

He leaned back in his chair, his lips curling up slightly, smiling gently like a grown child.