The afternoon sunlight streamed through the entrance of Dachang Hall, blindingly bright, making everything appear a blurry white. Chaos erupted all around—some people screamed, others shouted in alarm, and some frantically rushed out to summon the Imperial Physicians. Guards charged forward, their gleaming blades flashing with silver light, drawing bright streaks across the floor.

She stood motionless, her eyes unable to bear such dazzling light, burning and itching. The sun seemed made of solid ice, casting a bone-chilling cold over her body. It felt as if she had been plunged into frigid water, with coldness rising from her fingertips, creeping up her limbs and waist, gradually covering her chest. Her heart pounded violently, threatening to leap from her chest with each thump. Her throat felt sour and constricted, making even breathing difficult.

The Empress Dowager’s clothes were already stained red with fresh blood. Her pale face was contorted with a sickly madness, her eyes bright yet ferocious. Even after being restrained, she didn’t struggle but spoke coldly with venomous hatred: “You are all beasts who deserve to die. I killed him, and now I’ll kill you too. I must avenge my husband and son.”

At that moment, Chu Qiao saw his eyes.

For the first time in her life, she felt she could see through his eyes into his heart. Not like his usual playfulness, not like his usual unfathomable depth, not like his usual imperturbable calmness. In that moment, she clearly saw through those deep pools—his joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness. She saw the suppressed, undulating currents beneath the surface and the vast, desolate expanse like the snow plains of Yan Bei.

He lay there, blood flowing from his wound like a gurgling spring, staining his light blue robe red. He gazed quietly at his mother, his eyes showing no shock, no hatred, only a bone-deep weariness that surged like a tidal wave, completely engulfing his handsome features.

Outside, the wind howled, rattling the thin window paper. The blood on the floor meandered in rivulets. Countless shadows rushed forward to staunch his bleeding and treat his wounds. Outside the hall, the palace servants’ panicked voices rose again. Everything seemed like a silent pantomime. Chu Qiao could see nothing, hear nothing, only staring blankly at his eyes as the cold sensation crept across her skin inch by inch, reaching deep into her heart.

She suddenly recalled a hunt on the Yan Bei Plateau many years ago. Mountains were sealed by heavy snow, and a mother wolf, starving, had finally caught a deer and was devouring it ravenously. Her cub, huddled nearby, crept over quietly and took a bite of the deer meat. The mother wolf instantly became furious and struck the little wolf with her paw. Wounded, the cub retreated to a tree root, gazing timidly at its mother, whimpering but not daring to approach again. Its eyes were so sorrowful, like an abandoned child.

Someone tried to pull her away, but she stubbornly refused to move, as if her feet had taken root, unwilling to budge a single step.

She was suddenly so afraid, her blood running cold, her fingers trembling uncontrollably. She didn’t want to leave—the blood pained her eyes, and she feared that once she left, she would never be able to return.

More and more people gathered around. Someone shouted something in her ear. The thin silk, unable to withstand such force, tore with a sharp ripping sound. She suddenly let out a piercing cry, pushing everyone away, and ran toward the inner hall.

“Catch her!”

Guards shouted, and more palace servants rushed toward her. She nervously retreated, every inch of her skin trembling with cold.

“Let her go—”

A deep voice suddenly rang out, hoarse like turbid wind blowing through a broken bellows. Li Ce propped himself up halfway, his chest covered in streaming blood, his fingers pale blue, pointing at her from a distance.

“Your Majesty! Your Majesty, you mustn’t move!”

A series of alarmed cries followed. His figure lurched forward and collapsed on the bed. Fresh blood gushed from his mouth like a brilliant brocade being violently torn apart. She felt as if she had fallen into an icy abyss. Such deep cold crawled up her spine. The doors were tightly closed, shutting out the sunlight. Light filtered through the window paper, creating dappled shadows. She stood outside the crowd, unable to see his features, only a pale blue hand hanging from the bed, ghastly white, without a trace of color.

The sun gradually rose to its zenith, then slowly descended westward. A crescent moon climbed over the treetops, casting bright white traces outside Yixin Hall. Sand in the water clock trickled away grain by grain, just like the life in that body, slowly being drawn away.

A choked sob suddenly escaped from an elderly Imperial Physician with white hair. Behind the hazy curtains, the woman’s figure, like a wisp of smoke, suddenly collapsed. Through the thick curtains, her eyes were blurred, only faintly able to see the flickering red candle.

When she awoke, silence surrounded her. For a moment she thought she was dreaming, but seeing Meixiang’s surprised face, her heart began to ache. Without even putting on her shoes, she threw back the blanket and jumped out of bed.

“Where is Lady Chu?”

A man’s urgent voice sounded outside. She ran out barefoot with her hair loose, her face as pale as a ghost.

Sun Di looked at her, his expression suddenly becoming so desolate. He quietly lowered his head and said softly, “His Majesty wishes to see you.”

Yixin Hall had grown quiet for a long time, sinking into silence. She walked in, passing through layers of curtains and screens, until she reached his dragon bed, vaguely feeling that he seemed about to merge with this empty, vast hall.

She knelt beside the bed, her fingers ice-cold, slowly extending them to touch his arm, but slightly recoiled, feeling his body even colder than hers, like the never-melting snow of the Yan Bei Plateau, the eternally frozen glaciers.

Her breath was so light, her voice like butterfly wings that would fly away in an instant, quietly sounding in the hall:

“Li Ce, I’ve come to see you.”

His eyelashes quivered slightly, then opened. His gaze gathered on her, quietly watching her. His eyes were so serene, seemingly containing so much within. With great effort, he extended his hand, beckoning to her, smiling faintly and saying softly, “Qiao Qiao…”

Tears burst from Chu Qiao’s eyes as she slowly grasped his hand. In just a few days, he had become so thin, his fingernails protruding. Her throat filled with intense bitterness, choking her voice as tears rolled down ceaselessly.

His brow slightly furrowed as he reached out, gently wiping her cold cheeks, smiling and saying, “Don’t cry—”

“It’s all my fault.”

Her tears fell in streams, her fingertips carrying cold desolation: “I promised I would always stay with you. I shouldn’t have left.”

Li Ce suddenly smiled. He lay flat on the bed, looking at the elaborate patterns on the ceiling, where golden seal script reading “Longevity Without Boundaries” was embroidered densely across the entire dragon bed. His voice was calm and steady, without a trace of resentment, saying quietly, “How could it be your fault? That was my mother, who…”

Suddenly he began to breathe heavily, his voice fragile. Chu Qiao was so alarmed she was about to find the Imperial Physician, but he held her firmly, his grip on her wrist so strong it was almost unimaginable for someone so gravely injured.

“Who—who could have foreseen it?”

Indeed, who could have foreseen it?

The night wind passed through the eaves, blowing through the openings in the ears of the guardian beasts on the roof corners, making a wailing sound. From far away came the muffled sobbing of palace women, drifting over faintly.

“I had intended to personally see you off at your wedding, but now… I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

“It won’t be like that.” Chu Qiao suddenly spoke stubbornly, her voice so loud it echoed in the empty great hall like swirling leaves. She gripped his hand tightly as if fighting with someone: “You’ll be fine!”

Li Ce looked at her and suddenly smiled weakly, a smile that pierced Chu Qiao’s heart like an awl. She was so frightened, tears spreading across her cheeks and flowing into her mouth, unbearably bitter.

“Li Ce, don’t go, please don’t go?”

She gently shook his arm, like a lonely child: “What will I do without you? Who will help me when I’m in trouble? Where will I live? Who will let me eat and drink for free?”

A strange smile flashed in Li Ce’s eyes as he pretended to be angry and muttered, “So I’m… just… a sucker.”

How many years had it been? The past years were like a clear spring, flowing through the lonely, cold air drop by drop. She looked at him helplessly, her heart aching as if being carved with a knife. His voice was as calm as lake water as he said quietly, “I’ve already sent someone to inform Zhuge Four. Someone will… will take you to see him. You… just go with him.”

Chu Qiao bit her lower lip as he continued haltingly: “From now on, don’t be so stubborn, don’t act like a child anymore.”

The night was as cool as the waters of Taiqing Pool. His brow furrowed, like a flame disturbed by wind. His eyes held indistinct ripples, firmly fixed on her. Suddenly, he said, “Qiao Qiao, help me up.”

Chu Qiao was startled and quickly shook her head, but before she could speak, she saw his stubborn gaze, so determined.

Her heart ached as she carefully helped him up to sit in the rattan chair by the window. He put on his outer robe, a bright red with embroidered dragon patterns, the horizontal warp and vertical weft threads showing a flamboyance tinged with decadent desolation, just like their first meeting.

“Qiao Qiao, my hair is messy.”

Chu Qiao made a sound of agreement, took up a white jade comb, loosened his hair, and ran the comb through it. Pale hands gathered his sideburns, strand by strand as if walking through all those years of their acquaintance. Her hands gradually began to tremble, but he seemed unaware, never turning back.

After his hair was combed, he turned his face to her, smiling and asking, “Do I look spirited?”

His eyes were deep and tranquil. Moonlight filtered through the gauze windows, falling upon his face in scattered fragments. He was still so handsome—those slender eyes, high nose, jade-like cheeks, vaguely revealing the majestic bearing of imperial royalty. Only his brow was shrouded in a mist of death, gradually spreading outward, his face pale like dust-covered white jade.

Chu Qiao forced a smile and nodded: “Extremely handsome.”

Li Ce frowned and asked, “Are you complimenting me?”

Seeing Chu Qiao nod, he smiled happily, just like before.

“Li Ce,” Chu Qiao suppressed the sorrow in her heart and asked softly, “Do you have any unfulfilled wishes?”

“Wishes?”

Li Ce frowned, seemingly lost in thought, before finally chuckling softly: “None.”

His breathing suddenly became hasty. He reached out toward her from a distance, saying softly, “Qiao Qiao, let me hold you.”

The wind outside suddenly grew stronger, blowing open the slightly ajar small window. Moonlight poured a blanket of pale light over the empty great hall, making everything bright as snow. The wind came from the distant Taiqing Pool, bringing the fragrance of the clear lotus. Chu Qiao’s throat felt as if someone was biting it, causing excruciating pain. She knelt on the ground, half lying in his embrace, tears sliding down one by one, dampening his clothes.

The breathing above her head gradually dissipated, like a gentle breeze blowing away tender cherry blossoms, leaving no trace of sound. The moonlight slanted across their bodies. In the haze, it seemed like many years ago, that time of youthful recklessness, when the charming man in red robes with ink-black hair descended from the sky, whispering teasingly behind her ear: “Won’t you stop now?”

Time was like a grand dream; when the splendor faded, all that remained was a heavy pallor.

Chu Qiao’s eyes were as cold as burnt-out embers. Her gaze empty, she slowly stood up. Looking back, he still sat there quietly, his head tilted, as if fallen into a good dream.

The fragments of memory scattered and collapsed. The man of flowery splendor and magnificent grandeur had stripped away his disguise layer by layer. Yesterday’s verdant willows and glorious luxury had finally transformed into today’s turbidity and solitude, ultimately melting into this funeral night with the lingering glow of sunset.

Suddenly opening the palace gates, the cold moonlight fell unobstructed upon her. In the distance loomed a thick darkness. In front of the hall knelt a dense mass of harem consorts, high officials, and ministers.

Sun Di looked at her, trembling inquiry in his gaze.

She gazed at him in a daze, her body numb. Finally, slowly, slowly, she nodded.

“The Emperor has passed away—”

Immense grief simultaneously pierced the nine heavens. Throughout the entire palace, everywhere was filled with sorrowful wailing. The prolonged funeral bell penetrated the night mist.

Chu Qiao raised her face. The strong wind blew her thin clothes. In the empty sky, she seemed to see a clear face—high nose, thin lips, eyes slightly upturned, like a cunning, smiling fox…

A palace servant ran along the deep, long corridors of the palace, coming to Sun Di to report in a low voice. They were too far away, and the wind shattered and scattered their words, but fragments still reached her ears.

“As soon as the funeral bell rang… smashed her head against the table corner… blood everywhere, already dead… after all, she was the Empress Dowager…”

The moon was like frost, almost freezing her blood. A clear tear silently slid down once more, soaking into this hazy deep palace that had been stained with the blood of countless people.

The beautiful scenery on the streets of the Tang Capital remained unchanged. Cool breezes carrying the fresh fragrance of lotus flowers blew gently from the lake. Willows along both sides of the road swayed in the wind, their branches dancing like the flexible waists of dancing girls.

In the twilight of dusk, weary birds returned to their nests. The red river and red shadows were like blood staining the vast wilderness.

The Bian Tang Kingdom was in mourning. Everyone wore plain, unadorned clothes, and even the hanging lanterns were covered with white cloth. Walking on the streets, one could smell desolation and bleakness everywhere.

The sky gradually darkened. A full moon rose from the treetops, hanging brightly on the distant horizon.

Today was the White Moon Festival. It had been one month since Li Ce’s death.

Zhuge Yue had repeatedly sent subordinates to take her away, but she stubbornly remained. There was a thought sustaining her, preventing her from leaving freely. Waking from midnight dreams, her temples were covered in cold sweat. Li Ce was gone, taking with him all the songs and dances of Jinwu Palace. The vast palace had fallen into a long period of deadly silence. Walking along the lengthy imperial corridors, she could even hear her heartbeat, constantly reminding her that someone was no longer here, while others still lived. There were still things she had not done.

This path was one she and Li Ce had walked together. That night, when she awoke from unconsciousness, he had held her hand like a child, running wildly through the imperial palace, passing through nine layers of palace halls, through flower gardens, through artificial mountains and stone forests, out through the palace gates. They rode together on one horse, with him sitting in front of her, laughing heartily as he pointed the way, occasionally turning back to mock the guards who scurried about like ants on a hot pan.

In the blink of an eye, everything had changed, completely transformed, nothing remaining the same.

The current streets were no longer what they once were—desolate, with only a few shops open, and those were empty. During national mourning, all festivities were canceled. Commoners no longer went out. Without customers, vendors no longer set up their stalls. The once-crowded markets were now empty, with withered yellow leaves blowing wildly, occasionally hitting against white hems of clothes.

After walking for a long time, she came again to the noodle stall from before. Surprisingly, they were still in business, though without customers. The male owner sat on a chair, dozing off. Seeing her enter, he was stunned, jumping up quickly, examining her carefully, then wiping a chair for her, gesturing for her to sit down.

It was still the same female owner. A few years seemed to have left no trace on her face. She still had that clean, pretty appearance. Walking up to Chu Qiao, her gaze unfocused, she smiled and said, “Young lady, it’s been a long time since you came.”

Chu Qiao was slightly startled and asked, “You remember me?”

“He recognized you and eagerly ran to tell me,” the woman said with a sweet smile, pointing to her husband standing behind her. The man blushed, smiling shyly and revealing a row of white teeth.

“Where is the young master? It’s been a while since we’ve seen him,” the woman suddenly asked, her eyes curved like two crescent moons. The wind blew from the far end of the street, suddenly lifting the banners outside the small stall. The man quickly stepped forward to shield his wife from the wind and sand, the motion so natural.

Chu Qiao watched in a daze, then heard the woman ask again, “Miss? Miss?”

Chu Qiao came back to herself, gently forcing a smile, and said, “He went on a long journey.”

“Oh,” the female owner nodded. “When will he be back?”

Fallen leaves piled up, autumn winds swept the ground. Chu Qiao’s heart grew cold inch by inch, her face becoming increasingly pale. There was a lump in her throat. After thinking for a moment, she said softly, “He moved away. Perhaps he won’t come back.”

The female owner couldn’t see Chu Qiao’s expression and was about to ask more, but her husband tugged at her. The intelligent woman immediately understood, turned around and left. Soon, steaming noodles were served, along with a plate of beef, half a plate of shrimp dumplings. Even from a distance, one could smell the sour aroma of vinegar.

Picking up the chopsticks, she took out a handkerchief from her waist and wiped them gently before starting to eat, one mouthful at a time.

The noodles were scalding hot, topped with scallion oil and chopped scallions, very fragrant. Chu Qiao ate very slowly. She hadn’t eaten properly for a long time, and her stomach kept churning acid as if wanting to vomit.

“The shrimp dumplings will get cold soon.”

A very crisp voice suddenly sounded beside her. Chu Qiao turned to look and saw a girl of around ten years old with familiar features. She looked up at the female owner nearby and suddenly remembered this child, tentatively saying, “Qian’er?”

The child frowned seriously and asked, “You know me?”

Chu Qiao smiled without saying anything. The child sat down on a chair beside her and said, “Have you eaten at my home before?”

“Mmm.” Chu Qiao nodded.

The child said, “Would you tell me a story?”

Chu Qiao couldn’t help but smile knowingly, reaching out to rub the child’s hair and saying, “You still like hearing stories, don’t you?”

“Then I’ll tell you one.”

“I’ve heard your story before.”

“It’s a new story,” the child said, counting on her fingers. “I just learned it a few months ago.”

Chu Qiao nodded helplessly, “Go ahead then.”

The child again took out two small clay figurines from her pocket, but unlike before, these two figurines were made very exquisitely, with visible facial features, vibrant colors, lifelike, comparable to the craftsmanship of high-level embroiderers in the palace. The child picked up one figurine and said very solemnly, “He is the Great Emperor.”

The same opening line, but now the Great Emperor had transformed—dressed in a small robe of bright yellow silk, with a golden crown and black hair, handsome features, like a real person.

The child picked up the other figurine and said, “This is a little girl.”

She held a clay figurine of a woman in a plain white dress. The child said very seriously, “Once, the Great Emperor was on a diplomatic mission to another country and met this little girl. The little girl knew martial arts and beat up the Great Emperor badly. The Great Emperor was very angry and originally wanted to beat her up too, but later, something happened, and the Great Emperor fell in love with her.”

After several years, the child’s storytelling skills had improved. She looked up and smiled at Chu Qiao, asking, “Do you want to know what happened?”

Chu Qiao’s hand holding the chopsticks was ice-cold. She nodded blankly. The child said proudly, “Once they encountered bad people, and the little girl was very kind and saved the Great Emperor several times. The Great Emperor thought, this little girl is so righteous, I want to marry her and give her a good life.”

“Unfortunately, the little girl didn’t like the Great Emperor. She liked someone else. Later, she went away with that person.”

The child took out another clay figurine, still the same one she had used for storytelling before—tattered, even missing the cloth tied around its waist, standing there naked, holding a small wooden stick, looking foolish.

“But that person wasn’t good—tyrannical, ugly, poor, and a bully. Anyway, he wasn’t a good person. Later, the little girl suddenly realized this and left him.”

At this point, the child took out another clay figurine, still the previous one riding a broom.

“The little girl fell in love with this person, but this person wasn’t good either. Arrogant, self-righteous, bullying, and very, very ugly. Let me tell you secretly, he might even have a preference for men. He was close to a prince from their country. Anyway, he might have been crazy.”

The little girl took a deep breath and said with much feeling, “Finally, the little girl grew into a young woman. She finally recognized her mistakes. So she resolutely abandoned this person and came back to find the Great Emperor. The Great Emperor was handsome, rich, graceful, and also kind, loyal, and persistent. The young woman regretted terribly, crying and shouting that she wanted to marry the Great Emperor, blocking the door of the Great Emperor’s house every day, and insisting on becoming his wife. Eventually, the Great Emperor took pity on her and reluctantly agreed.”

Putting the other two clay figurines back into her pocket, only the two finely crafted ones remained on the table. The child smiled and said, “Afterwards, they got married and lived happily together, having many children. The boys were as handsome as the Great Emperor, and the girls were as beautiful as the Great Emperor. They were very happy until their hair turned white and their teeth fell out. Finally, the gods in heaven learned of this and made them immortals, saying they would be together life after life, never to part.”

Waves of sorrow washed over her heart, like curved countercurrents, flowing subtly. Her eyes ached with soreness. Her voice seemed not to be her own as she asked, “Who told you this story?”

“A young master who often comes to eat noodles at my home told me. How about it, did you like it?”

The wind suddenly rose. Chu Qiao covered her face with her sleeve, turning her head slightly. The child asked warmly, “Did something get in your eye?”

Chu Qiao didn’t make a sound. The child thought something really had gotten in her eye and quickly said, “Wait, I’ll get you some vegetable oil.”

With that, she jumped down and ran off.

When she returned, there was no one in the seat. On the table lay a bag of gold coins, so heavy.

The road was desolate, with no pedestrians, no acrobats, no vendors, no singing girls. The lake surface was completely quiet, without even a single pleasure boat. On the empty street, there was only her, like a wisp of soul, floating lightly as she walked.

Passing by a candy shop, she paused for a moment, then went in and bought many snacks—all the ones Li Ce had once bought for her: honey squares, dates, osmanthus cakes, chestnuts—putting them in a bag and eating as she walked.

She chewed mechanically, repeatedly recalling the story the child had just told. Tears streamed down her face and into her mouth, swallowed together with those sweets. The taste was bitter, not good at all.

Memories were like flying fragments, piece by piece echoing in her mind.

“Then you should thank me properly. The debt of saving a life is no small matter. Why don’t you just stay in Tang and repay me with your body?”

Once upon a time, he had stood before her, smiling and speaking to her like this.

When she was surrounded by Zhao Yang, he arrived at the critical moment, covered in dust, his armor hard, brow furrowed as he held her in his arms, repeatedly saying, “It’s alright now, it’s alright.”

When she was in despair, he came with a basket of pomegranates leaking juice, slowly comforting her: “Qiao Qiao, why not give yourself a break?”

In the cold night of the deep palace, he came drunk, embracing her passionately in his confusion, yet finally joked: “Fu’er’s figure is much better than yours.”

…

She had never known, as if it were a forbidden zone in her heart, never to be touched. She didn’t know if she truly had no inkling, or if she was just deceiving herself, not wanting to know.

The cold moon in the sky cast a clear glow on the ground. The crabapple blossoms by the road were still vibrant, as red as the finest rouge. As the wind blew, they fell flutteringly, scattering on Chu Qiao’s clothes and hair.

“Li Fox, have you ever liked someone else?”

In the sun-drenched courtyard of Mihe Residence, they sat side by side under the crabapple tree that had once been moved from the street back to the palace. She frowned as she watched Li Ce actively selecting portraits of this year’s palace maidens, asking curiously.

“Of course!” Li Ce raised his eyebrows, saying very seriously, “Last night I liked Yuer from Ranli Palace. Her skin is like silk, especially those long legs, comparable to…”

“Shut up, shut up!” Chu Qiao frowned and interrupted him. “I mean that kind of like, just like, just like…”

Li Ce looked at her sideways, saying disdainfully, “You want to say, just like how that bastard Zhuge Four likes you, right?”

Chu Qiao’s pretty face reddened as she said defiantly, “Yes! That’s it! So what?”

“What can I do to you?”

Li Ce snorted, lowering his head to continue selecting portraits. After a while, he suddenly made a sound of agreement.

Chu Qiao was startled and asked, “What are you humming about?”

Li Ce said impatiently, “Didn’t you ask if I’ve ever liked someone the way Zhuge Four likes you? I’m answering you.”

“Ah? You have? How come I didn’t know?”

Li Ce laughed loudly, saying with great swagger, “How could the thoughts of the Emperor be easily seen through by you? If they were easily seen through by you, wouldn’t that make the Emperor lose face?”

Chu Qiao continued to ask gossip-like, “So what is the person you like like?”

“Nothing special,” Li Ce said flippantly. “Her figure is ordinary, her temper isn’t good, and she likes to overthink things. Most importantly, she has someone else in her heart and doesn’t fancy me.”

“Ah?” Chu Qiao was slightly stunned, instinctively asking, “Then why don’t you tell her?”

Li Ce smiled very elegantly, “Liking someone should be kept in the heart. Why speak it out? Besides…”

His tone changed, slightly faltering. The wind blew from the lake surface of Taiqing Pool, blowing a strand of hair at his temple. He raised his head, looking at the distant lake surface, his gaze momentarily lost.

“Besides, I might never have the chance to tell her in my lifetime.”

Chu Qiao silently looked at him then, seeming to see very far through his eyes. At that time, the first person she thought of was Princess Fu, who had hanged herself on the phoenix tree, Murong Fu’er who died for Prince Luo on Li Ce’s wedding day.

She thought with compassion then: Perhaps, if not for that incident, this guy might have been a decent person.

Tears flowed down her cheeks again. The wind blew, so cold, so cold. The bright red crabapple petals fell, scattering across the sky like a rain of flowers. The wind whistled through the city, raising a ground full of blood-weeping remnant red beneath the heavens.