Chu Qiao sat on the stone steps, gazing at the sea of clouds on the horizon. The flowers in the courtyard bloomed vibrantly, with crimson petals and yellow stamens, exceedingly appealing.

The inn’s servant boy sat on a small stool, earnestly brewing tea. He was only thirteen or fourteen years old, at an age of youthful exuberance. Duo Ji and Ping An sat nearby, chatting casually with him.

Chu Qiao listened as they talked about the scenery of Sichuan’s hills, the ancient plank roads of the southern highlands, the Sword Pavilion of Da Xia, the Crow Mountain of Bian Tang, and finally the heavy snows of Yan Bei. As the conversation grew livelier, Jing Jing also emerged from her room, munching on various preserved fruits while poking her head in to join their casual conversation.

Mei Xiang sat under a camphor tree nearby, weaving an ornamental tassel. Her fingers flew like butterfly wings, displaying such dexterity that it dazzled the eyes.

As the sky gradually darkened, lanterns were lit in the courtyard and the summer heat slowly dissipated. Jing Jing requested several ice bowls from the kitchen, filled with assorted fruits, refreshingly cool and lovely to behold.

It was the previous rainstorm that had washed away the suspension bridge before Autumn Wind City, delaying Chu Qiao’s journey. They needed to stay in the city for two days before continuing northward.

Now, they were lodging at a small inn nestled against a mountain beside the water. The entire inn was built on a hillside, with varying heights and elegant arrangements, surrounded by lush greenery. From a distance, it looked like a small forest.

Chu Qiao’s room was situated on a high cliff, facing west. The owner must have been a person of refined taste, for this place bordered Sunset Mountain, and was thus named Sunset Court. Every evening, the sunset view here was exceptionally beautiful.

Zhuge Yue stayed in the adjacent Return to Origin Tower. Yesterday afternoon, he had dispatched his guards to help government officials repair the suspension bridge and ferry dock. He must truly have urgent matters requiring his immediate return.

It had rained during the day, stopping only in the afternoon. The leaves were glossy green, and scattered flowers appeared even more charming.

Chu Qiao wore a cream-colored linen dress with an ebony hairpin in her hair. Her jet-black tresses were loosely coiled into a bun, giving her a refreshingly comfortable appearance.

Tonight’s moon was full. Chu Qiao gazed at it silently, suddenly realizing that the Mid-Autumn Festival was approaching, though this place did not celebrate it.

Here, they called Mid-Autumn the White Moon Festival, originating from a song Chu Qiao had once heard in the army. The song told of a man who rode off to war, fought for many years, rising from a common soldier to a squad leader, then to a general. When he finally returned home after finishing the war, he discovered his house had collapsed, his wife had been taken by another, and his parents and children had starved to death. Their remains had turned to dust, without even a grave.

She still remembered the last line of the song: “Moonlight shines upon my soul, urging you to return home soon.”

Since then, the White Moon Festival has become a celebration of reunion, admonishing people to cherish their families and not neglect kinship for immediate gains, lest they regret it when it becomes too late.

Moonlight shines upon my soul, urging you to return home soon…

“That’s beautiful.”

Mei Xiang paused her weaving, turned to look at Chu Qiao, and smiled, “I’ve never heard you sing before, Miss.”

Chu Qiao started slightly, only now realizing she had unconsciously been humming aloud.

“It truly is a good song. Can you understand its meaning now, Miss?”

Chu Qiao tilted her head slightly, “Mei Xiang seems to enjoy lecturing others lately.”

“I’ve never studied, so I only know the simplest truths. How could I compare to your vast knowledge, Miss?” Mei Xiang chuckled, then continued, “But sometimes, the more one knows, the more confused one becomes, overlooking some very obvious truths.”

“Day after day, year upon year, climbing to the rooftop, gazing at the village path, still my husband is not seen. My husband guards the frontier, strangers kick down our door, children have no clothes to wear, and parents starve with empty stomachs. Heaven is high the emperor is far away, soldiers are not at home, and the village chief becomes the local tyrant. Wind and rain drip by drip, cold snow piles on the broken house, moonlight shines upon my soul, urging you to return home soon.”

Mei Xiang’s smile was serene as she leaned against the tree, softly humming. Flower petals fell onto the ornamental tassel in her hands, and moonlight landed on her fingers like curved butterfly wings.

At that moment, the faint sound of a flute suddenly came from the distance. Too far away, the flute melody was ethereal, with an intangible tenderness. Occasionally reaching crescendos without losing its elegance, it twisted and turned, floating like smoke, clear and lingering, conveying a distinct emotional quality.

Ping An and the others, who had been chatting, suddenly stopped at the sound of the flute. Duo Ji sat upright, his eyes showing admiration and longing. Even Jing Jing, who knew nothing about music, perked up her ears to listen, appearing quite peaceful.

Mei Xiang stood up, returned to her room, and came back with a cream-colored cloak. She gently draped it over Chu Qiao’s shoulders and smiled, “Miss has been traveling anxiously these past few days and should take a rest now. The back garden of this inn has excellent scenery, and tonight the moonlight is perfect. Perhaps Miss would like to take a walk.”

Chu Qiao turned to see Mei Xiang smiling faintly at her, a hint of encouragement and urging in her eyes.

“Mei Xiang…”

Chu Qiao wanted to say something but ultimately could not bring herself to speak.

Mei Xiang said, “Miss, I don’t understand anything about grand principles or ideals of the world. I only hope that Miss can live more happily. You are a good person; that song wasn’t meant for you to hear.”

Moonlight illuminated Chu Qiao’s face as she stood slightly stunned, involuntarily recalling the second half of the song:

How many cold seasons have passed in these green mountains, white snow drifting through the years? You return not knowing the way, heaven and earth are vast and boundless. Children died of the plague, my parents had no rice gruel, and as a wife, I sold myself in exchange for life-sustaining food. My husband had ambition, unwilling to remain in poverty, for ten years I awaited your return, my hair prematurely gray. Worldly affairs bring many entanglements, time flows like water, I ask not for great wealth, just a humble bed to share in poverty.

“Mei Xiang, go get the light green one instead.”

Mei Xiang paused, looking at her hesitantly.

But Chu Qiao suddenly smiled, standing up and saying, “Every day it’s either white or black, like attending a funeral.”

The moonlight guided her way as she walked silently. All the years gone by flashed through her mind, like a line of flying egrets, winding across the ink-wash landscape of heaven and earth. All those moments—fierce or pale, vividly colorful or desolately bleak—gradually settled in her heart, becoming a pool of water, slowly freezing into ice.

Gratitude and resentment, entanglements, hatred, intertwining, assistance, hand-in-hand, life and death, reunions, struggles, joy, partings, bewilderment…

With each step, images and scenes appeared before her eyes, each picture carrying too many heavy things: national hatred, personal grudges, debts and guilt, persistent longing, years of suppression and forbearance, intense feelings seeking to break free from constraints, and spiraling emotions.

So many feelings overflowed in her heart, finally pierced one by one by that narrated song lyric, fiercely extending through her fingertips.

She was like a jade-green lake, covering herself with a thin layer of ice made of reason and calmness, suppressing all emotions she deemed inappropriate.

One year, two years, many years.

On a secluded pond behind the mountain stood a small pavilion. The wooden structure showed signs of decay, but the innkeeper had thoughtfully planted irises and wisteria below it. Tiny flower clusters wound their way up the vines, encircling the pillars, adding an elegant tranquility.

Moonlight gently illuminated the deep, blue-green pond before them, a round moon scattering its snowy white reflection at the center of the rippling water.

Zhuge Yue wore a light purple robe, sitting casually on the steps beneath the pavilion. One leg bent, the other extended, he leaned against a peeling pillar. A few strands of black hair had escaped from his temples, falling across his face. His appearance remained exceptionally refined as he held a blue-green bamboo flute, playing an extremely pleasing melody. Without melancholic lingering or lofty ambitions, it was like a folk tune played by an ordinary youth—sometimes lively, sometimes gentle. The playful fragrance of irises drifted around him like mischievous children.

Chu Qiao stood there, silent and motionless. The wind blew through her light green cloak, the gauze floating like early spring willow branches.

It seemed she had never looked at him so carefully before. Years of hardship had passed in the blink of an eye. She had once wallowed in self-pity, feeling so unfortunate, but thinking about it now, she was at least luckier than the general in the song. Her home hadn’t collapsed, her loved ones hadn’t died, and the person she loved still stood in place—if only she turned back, she could reach his hand.

Even separated by vast waters, rejected by the world, he had still walked step by step firmly to this day, using his rare wilfulness and stubbornness to break through constraints again and again, supporting a clear sky for her to take shelter.

The ice in her heart melted, and she seemed to hear the great edifice of reason collapsing. She told herself: Perhaps I can be willful once too.

After all, she hadn’t been willful for many years.

The flute music suddenly stopped. The man turned his head sideways and saw the green-clad woman standing silently under the osmanthus tree, momentarily lost in thought.

“Why did you come?”

“You’re allowed to come but I’m not?”

Chu Qiao smiled, walked over, and kicked Zhuge Yue’s leg, saying, “Move over.”

The man pulled back his leg, and she promptly sat down. The bright white ripples from the deep pond reflected on her face like shattered jade, serene and glistening.

“Zhuge Yue, will you return to Da Xia tomorrow when the suspension bridge is repaired?”

Zhuge Yue nodded, looking at her with some surprise, “What is it?”

“When will you come find me?”

A flash of surprise crossed the man’s eyes. Instead, he seemed puzzled, examining her up and down as if she had some scheme.

“Are you waiting until the Emperor of Xia dies? Or until Zhao Che ascends the throne? Will you be able to return safely then?”

Chu Qiao sat with knees bent on the stone steps, the hood of her cloak draped on her back, slightly raised, framing her snow-white neck. Her chin rested on her knees as she gazed at the pond before them, then suddenly turned to say, “Zhuge Yue, let me sing a song for you.”

The woman’s gaze was exceptionally clear, not the sorrowful insight into worldly affairs she once had. She looked at him quietly, smiling quietly, just as in many of his dreams, with eyes free from other impurities, free from the shadows of others, only him alone.

He forgot how he had nodded, only seeing her happily cupping her cheeks with both hands, the moonlight drawing beautiful curves on her face. Her voice was very soft, like gentle ocean waves and fine sand, gradually penetrating the stillness of the night, and drifting into his heart.

—Long, long ago, you had me and I had you. Long, long ago, you left me to soar in distant skies. The outside world is wonderful, the outside world is ruthless. When you find the outside world wonderful, I will sincerely bless you here. Whenever the sun sets in the west, I am always here waiting for you. Though rain falls in the sky, I still waiting for your return.

—Long, long ago, you had me and I had you. Long, long ago, you left me to soar in distant skies. The outside world is wonderful, the outside world is ruthless. When you find the outside world ruthless, I am still here patiently waiting for you. Whenever the sun sets in the west, I am always here waiting for you. Though rain falls in the sky, I still waiting for your return.

The song followed the night wind, quietly echoing in the courtyard filled with iris fragrance. Chu Qiao turned her head, her gaze so clear. She extended her hand, very carefully, slowly approaching Zhuge Yue’s hand. Unlike any previous time, she was like a girl falling in love for the first time, so nervous that her fingertips trembled slightly. Bit by bit, bit by bit, she lightly touched the back of the man’s hand, then gently pinched his fingers with her own, cold like the water of the secluded pond.

Zhuge Yue turned to look at her, his expression frozen in surprise. The night wind blew between them, the flower buds in the pavilion releasing their fragrance. They sat like children on the steps, holding hands, neither being the first to speak.

They had always been in opposition; once aligned on the same path, they seemed unable to clarify their positions.

Zhuge Yue wanted to laugh, but felt he absolutely couldn’t laugh at this moment. He very seriously furrowed his brows, his expression quite intriguing.

Having let go of her emotional knot, Chu Qiao became very natural. She held his hand, wide-eyed, asking, “Zhuge Yue, is Qinghai nice?”

“Hmm?” The man paused slightly, then said, “It’s alright.”

“Is it beautiful?”

Someone with no sense of romance replied, “A few places are not bad.”

“Is Qinghai cold?”

“Not in summer, but cold in winter.”

Chu Qiao said hopefully, “The people there must be very simple and honest.”

“Are you stupid? Aren’t there bad people everywhere? Crows are black all over the world; who doesn’t have selfish motives?”

“Ah?” Chu Qiao finally frowned, “So Qinghai isn’t that good after all.”

“When did I ever say that place was good?”

Chu Qiao was speechless. Was this how a man should talk before eloping with a woman?

“But there is one thing quite good about that place.”

Chu Qiao asked, “What’s that?”

Zhuge Yue smiled smugly, “I’m in charge there.”

Zhuge Yue laughed to himself, but finding no one to appreciate his joke, stopped somewhat depressed.

“Xing’er, since when?”

Chu Qiao started slightly, turning to ask, “What do you mean?”

Zhuge Yue was silent for a moment, seeming to find it difficult to speak, his brow gradually furrowing. After a long while, he said, “Since when did you stop hating me?”

“Who says I don’t hate you anymore?”

Chu Qiao huffed, gesturing at her head with her fist, “I keep it all recorded here.”

Zhuge Yue gave her a disdainful glance: “You say one thing but mean another.”

The moon shone faintly on everything below. Many times, some things only required a few words, just a small gesture, yet to reach this point had taken so many years.

The osmanthus tree swayed as the man’s fingers naturally turned to grasp the woman’s cold fingers in his palm.

So many years of hardship, so many years of persistence, seemed to have been only for waiting for this one gesture.

He turned his head away, and in an angle no one else could see, happily broke into a grin.

The next day, the suspension bridge was finally repaired. They left Autumn Wind City, crossed the Muling River by water route, and then disembarked at Qiusha County, where they would part ways.

Two carriages stopped in place. Zhuge Yue and Chu Qiao stood at the forefront of their respective groups. The weather was clear, the sky azure and pristine.

Zhuge Yue coolly looked northward, saying, “I must go now.”

“Oh,” Chu Qiao nodded, “Go ahead.”

“Don’t hang around with Li Ce too much. When you have nothing to do, go back to your inn.”

“Who’s hanging around?” Chu Qiao frowned.

“Hmph—”

“Zhuge Yue, we’re about to part ways, so behave yourself and leave each other with a good impression.”

Zhuge Yue awkwardly grumbled, “I’ve never had a good impression of you.”

Chu Qiao angrily went to pinch him, “Are you even human? Do you have any humanity? Who was it that cried and begged me before?”

Chu Qiao pinched hard, and Zhuge Yue became angry too: “Chu, when did I ever cry and beg you?”

Didn’t he?

Chu Qiao thought about it. It seemed he hadn’t.

But his actions were pretty much the same, so why did he act so indifferent after succeeding? Besides, could this even be considered a success yet?

She glared at him fiercely: “Keep pretending.”

The cold war continued for a short while as they glowered at each other, and the original sorrow of parting gradually faded.

After all, they had come a step closer, hadn’t they?

At the very least, they could now joke naturally.

“I’m serious,” Zhuge Yue suddenly said very solemnly, “Stop hanging around with Li Ce and don’t meddle in Bian Tang’s state affairs. I find that you, woman, simply love to meddle too much.”

Meddle too much?

Chu Qiao glared at him, very unhappily saying, “I just wanted to give him a reminder before.”

“What about now? Why still go there?”

Chu Qiao angrily said, “Aren’t you leaving? I’m going to say goodbye to him.”

Leaving? Going where?

Zhuge Yue’s mood suddenly improved significantly. He somewhat awkwardly cleared his throat, then said, “Anyway, be careful. That scoundrel Li Ce is no good either.”

Chu Qiao shook her head, sighing, “The saying ‘tearing down the bridge after crossing the river’ probably refers to people like you.”

“What did you say?”

Zhuge Yue was truly about to be angered by embarrassment. Chu Qiao raised her hands in a gesture of not wanting to be like him: “Aren’t you leaving yet? It’ll be dark soon. If you don’t leave, I’m going to.”

Zhuge Yue dawdled for a long time, then suddenly took out a white jade bell from his chest. It looked ordinary, holding it up to her mouth, he said, “That song you sang last night, sing it again for me.”

Chu Qiao paused, asking, “Why?”

Zhuge Yue’s face suddenly reddened, looking rather adorable. He frowned and said, “Why so many questions? Just sing when I tell you to.”

“Singing also requires the right mood. My mood is very bad right now, I don’t want to sing.”

Zhuge Yue stared at her with the killer gaze he had cultivated over many years and did not look away for a long time.

Chu Qiao felt somewhat self-conscious under his gaze, softly saying, “So many people are watching. If I sing, they’ll all hear, and I won’t be able to face anyone anymore.”

Reluctantly accepting her explanation, Zhuge Yue said, “Then say something into it.”

“Say what?”

The man almost gritted his teeth as he said, “Anything!”

Chu Qiao immediately shouted at the bell, “Zhuge Yue is a jerk!”

Her voice was so loud that many of the attendants below turned to look.

Zhuge Yue was furious and turned to leave. Seeing that her joke had gone too far, Chu Qiao quickly took a step forward, grabbed his hand, and said to the little bell, “Remember, I’m waiting for you.”

Just one sentence was enough to calm the man’s anger. He really was an easy person to appease.

“What is this thing anyway?”

Chu Qiao touched it curiously, feeling it was neither stone nor jade, exquisitely crafted in the shape of a bell, but inside it had many twists and turns, like a human ear.

Zhuge Yue didn’t respond to her, only saying, “Let’s go, stop dawdling.”

Now he was being unreasonable?

As they walked back to their respective groups and were finally about to depart, Chu Qiao couldn’t help but earnestly caution, “Be careful in everything.”

Zhuge Yue, appearing very composed, waved his hand slightly, and mounted his horse with great dignity, looking lofty and elegant, cold as water, with a superior air: “Remember what I said.”

Having spoken, he impressively departed with his entourage of guards.

As his figure gradually disappeared into the distance, Chu Qiao still stood in place, not yet having reacted.

Jing Jing approached, looking quite infatuated, murmuring, “Sister, Brother-in-law is so cool.”

Duo Ji frowned, seeming displeased, and solemnly said, “Jing Jing, don’t speak nonsense.”

“I’ll say it, I’ll say it!”

Jing Jing turned to glare at him, making faces and shouting, “Makes you mad, makes you mad!”

“Duo Ji, do you know what this thing is?” Chu Qiao frowned and asked, describing the appearance of Zhuge Yue’s little bell.

Duo Ji furrowed his brow slightly, thought for a while, and then said, “Miss, if you haven’t mistaken it, that should be the legendary Knowing Bell. Ancient books record it as one of the three great treasures of the Wind Language Tribe in the southwest. The Wind Language Tribe people were skilled in craftsmanship and mastered mechanical secrets. This Knowing Bell was handcrafted by the eighth-generation tribal chief of the Wind Language Tribe. It’s said that if you speak loudly into the bell’s mouth, the sound will be preserved by the bell, and once blown by the wind, the sound will be repeated, with the tone and inflection remaining unchanged. But the Wind Language Tribe has always been mysterious in their movements, and no one has heard news of them for many years. That Knowing Bell has long been lost. Where did Miss see this bell? Did you hear the bell speak?”

Chu Qiao was slightly stunned. In the distance, the sound of hoofbeats had already disappeared, leaving only a line of dust flying on the plank road.

“Knowing Bell?”

Zhuge Yue had abandoned his carriage to ride on horseback, now approaching the border of Da Xia. The people coming to meet him were just ahead, and they no longer carefully concealed their movements.

The weather was warm without a hint of wind, but as the horse galloped, a slight breeze still passed by, sweeping over the bell he wore around his neck.

“Remember, I’m waiting for you.”

The woman’s soft murmur was gentle and lingering, sounding by his ear like a clear lake, quietly containing smoky dust. The corners of his mouth involuntarily curved upward, but before his smile reached his eyes, another voice suddenly grated harshly:

Zhuge Yue is a jerk!

The voice was so loud that all the guards galloping on horseback were startled, and horrified as they stopped their horses and turned to look at him in confusion.

Zhuge Yue’s expression instantaneously became as unpleasant as it could be.

On the eastern post road, inside the blue cloth carriage, Chu Qiao was still deeply pondering:

“Isn’t that like a voice recorder?”

“Sister, what’s a voice recorder?” Jing Jing leaned forward, blinking her eyes and asking. Since meeting Zhuge Yue, the little girl had been in an extremely good mood, and her relationship with Chu Qiao immediately restored to its former intimacy.

Hearing this, Chu Qiao very enthusiastically explained, “This voice recorder…”

Mei Xiang sat at the other end of the carriage, watching Chu Qiao explaining the principles of a voice recorder to Jing Jing, and couldn’t help but smile.

Life is often like this—those involved are confused, while onlookers see clearly. Many things are not as complicated as imagined, but because of certain obsessions in one’s heart, one stubbornly persists, wasting precious time. Even the most intelligent people, when things happen to them, can feel lost and helpless.

Sometimes, just by taking one step forward, everything afterward can undergo an earth-shattering change.

“The road hasn’t reached its end yet. There might be other changes. Are you afraid?”

The wind blew across the blue-green waters of the secluded pond, creating a shallow ripple.

Her head gently rested on his shoulder, with the clear fragrance of irises drifting by. Her voice was very low as if breaking through all the hesitant spells in her heart, gradually condensing into three short words: “I’m not afraid.”

He smiled gently, reaching out to hold her waist, sitting there until daybreak.