For a moment, Chu Qiao even thought she saw Yan Xun again.
Outside there wasn’t a trace of moonlight, only howling snow and wind that cut against one’s face like cold knives. The person stood there, wrapped in a cloak with only a pair of deep eyes exposed, piercing through layers of wind and snow, staring fixedly at her. The candles in the room were all extinguished by the wind the moment the door opened. Only faint white snowlight flickered in the inky darkness, making that blurry figure appear even more heavy and oppressive.
It seemed like a long time passed, or perhaps just an instant, when the person slowly raised a foot, slightly lowered his head, with steps that faintly revealed hints of fatigue. A bony, emaciated hand was brought to his mouth as he lightly coughed once.
The door was closed, and the three people standing in the narrow memorial hall made it seem cramped. The hunchbacked blue-robed servant deftly relit the white candles. The dim light gradually illuminated the surroundings, also revealing the graying hair that hung quietly beneath the person’s hood and a pair of wrinkled hands beneath his sleeves.
The low stool that Chu Qiao had just used to block the door was wiped clean by the servant. The man sat down while coughing, his back bent, revealing how frail the body hidden beneath his clothes was.
Chu Qiao remained standing there, not having spoken since the moment they entered. She even wondered why such a sickly and weak person had shocked her so much at first, even making her think it was Yan Xun himself who had arrived.
The servant stepped back, standing by the door, his entire body hidden in the shadow of the lamplight, head lowered, like a stone that couldn’t speak.
The hazy light cast down softly. Wind howled through the gaps in the roof tiles, making the candle flames flicker as if they might go out at any moment. The man suddenly raised his head, his deep eyes looking at her, and abruptly said: “The wind and snow are truly heavy tonight.”
Chu Qiao was startled, but for some reason, facing this person, she felt an inexplicable tension. It was as if a low-pressure aura gradually flowed from him, slowly permeating the entire room, making even her breathing heavier.
“Yes, indeed very heavy,” she nodded and said quietly.
“It’s been many years since we’ve had such heavy snow.” The man must have been quite old, his voice revealing undisguisable age and fatigue: “It seems that in the winter fifteen years ago, there was also such heavy wind and snow. Even the old locust tree in front of the capital’s magistrate office was blown down.”
Fifteen years ago…
That was the year when Yan Xun’s family was destroyed. In that cold winter, they huddled in the dilapidated post station in the south of the city, burning everything in the house, and still they were covered with frostbite.
“Was the Lantern Festival lively this year?”
The man asked quite naturally as if they were long-acquainted friends.
Chu Qiao tilted her head slightly and said: “The weather was uncooperative, ruining a fine lantern festival. Was the old gentleman also trapped here by the wind and snow while viewing the lanterns?”
The man laughed softly and said: “With a body like mine, what lanterns could I view?”
Chu Qiao raised her eyebrows slightly and asked in a deep voice: “Then, sir, did you come specifically to pay respects to the old Lord Yan?”
Although she couldn’t see his face, Chu Qiao could imagine his silent smile.
From far away suddenly came a long sound of bells and drums. It was the eighteen watches of the Lantern Festival, from the Tian Cheng Tower in the Sacred Golden Palace, hosted by the Imperial Astronomical Bureau, with renowned high monks burning incense and worshipping Buddha, reciting peace scriptures, praying for favorable wind and rain, and national prosperity in the coming year.
Chu Qiao heard the sound and turned her head slightly, looking in the direction from which it came, somewhat lost in thought.
“This memorial hall is so desolate. Aren’t you, a young woman, afraid to stay in this spirit room?”
Chu Qiao turned to look at the old man, knowing that someone who could so easily enter the memorial hall without being detected by Yue Thirteen and others was certainly no ordinary person. She mentally filtered through all the people who could be here at this time, but couldn’t identify such a figure, and became increasingly puzzled. However, she didn’t show it on her face, only smiling faintly and saying: “With a clear conscience, there is nothing to fear. Compared to human hearts, so-called wandering ghosts are countless times kinder.”
“A clear conscience?” The old man’s tone lifted slightly as he quietly laughed: “In this world, how many people can truly bear these four words?”
“It’s enough if one feels they can bear it themselves,” Chu Qiao stood in place, her snow-white fur coat looking especially elegant in the lamplight, her cheeks smooth with a halo of pale white. She said quietly: “Some people spend their entire lives as honest officials, loyal to the state, not taking a penny from the people, with clean hands, living with a clear conscience. Others may toil their whole lives merely to feed their families, but because they don’t commit crimes, they have no guilt or debt in their hearts, and can also bear the words ‘clear conscience.’ What brings peace to the heart depends on oneself, not on achievements.”
The old man raised his eyebrows slightly. A gust of wind swept up the silk ashes on the ground, which lightly settled on the hem of his robe. He pondered for a moment, then smiled slightly and said: “What you say makes sense.”
“With such heavy wind and snow outside, has the old gentleman come in late at night because of some concern?”
“When one gets old, it’s easy to recall matters of the past.”
A sudden gust of wind blew the door open, and all the candles in the house immediately went out. The servant was startled. Despite his age, he moved nimbly, closing the door in two steps and then intending to light the lamps. The old man raised his eyes, his gaze fixed on the dark, deep row of coffins. His smile gradually disappeared as he waved his hand and said: “Let it be.”
The room was very quiet, with only the sound of the howling wind overhead. Her eyes gradually adapted to the surrounding darkness. Through the snow light outside the window, she could faintly make out people’s silhouettes.
The old man took off his cloak and said: “He might not want to see me.”
“I brought wine, will you drink a cup with me?”
Before Chu Qiao could answer, the old servant had already stepped forward, laying a layer of silk cloth on the ground. On it, he placed two wine cups and a translucent jade pot that emitted a faint glow in the darkness. The cups were filled, the wine’s fragrance spreading. The old servant presented a cup to Chu Qiao with both hands. Chu Qiao sniffed it and said: “It’s Qingyu Jiao from Qingqiu.”
The old man smiled with approval: “What a keen nose.”
Chu Qiao smiled: “My alcohol tolerance isn’t great, but I’m quite skilled at identifying wines.”
As she spoke, she took a silver hairpin from her hair, dipped it into the cup, and after a moment, withdrew it, sniffed it, and then drank the wine with confidence, praising: “Indeed a fine wine.”
Seeing her so openly test for poison in front of him without being annoyed, the old man instead showed interest and said: “Lend me your hairpin too.”
Chu Qiao was slightly surprised and asked: “You don’t trust the wine you brought yourself?”
“It never hurts to be careful.”
The old man imitated Chu Qiao’s actions, dipping the silver hairpin into the wine cup, then taking out a flint from his bosom, lighting it to look at the pin for a long time before drinking.
Chu Qiao laughed: “Actually, this way is even less secure.”
The old man was slightly surprised and asked: “Why?”
“Not all poisons corrode silver, and just now, when I handed you the hairpin, there were many ways to poison you. Even without poison, with you so close to me, aren’t you afraid I might be an assassin?”
The old man looked at her without any panic, instead asking very seriously: “Are you?”
“If I said no, would you believe me?”
The old man frowned, seemingly trying hard to think. After a good while, he said: “I don’t quite believe it.”
Chu Qiao laughed and said: “Indeed, a farmer wants to eat chicken today so he doesn’t kill the pig, but that doesn’t mean he won’t kill the pig tomorrow.”
“You compare me to a pig?”
“No, no,” Chu Qiao shook her head: “A person like you, three parts wolf, three parts snake, and the remaining four parts I can’t quite make out, but certainly not easy to deal with.”
The old man smiled and said to the old servant at the door: “Look at this girl’s mouth, comparable to the hundreds of poisonous pens at the Imperial Censorate.”
The old man seemed very happy and relaxed as he invited Chu Qiao to sit and drink wine with him. Outside, the wind and snow grew stronger. Chu Qiao pulled over a chair, wiped it clean, and sat down, drinking cup after cup with him.
It was pitch black all around, with only a few streams of light coming through the roof.
The wine had an enticing fragrance; once you took the first sip, you were tempted to take a second. Even non-poisoned wine can make one dizzy after drinking too much. After an unknown amount of time, Chu Qiao’s head gradually became dizzy. She leaned on the chair, her hand on the armrest, supporting her head as she slowly closed her eyes. She chatted intermittently with the old man. They seemed to talk about many, many things, but she gradually couldn’t remember. Her heart was very peaceful as if large white waves were sweeping over her, gently sweeping over her white fingers and cheeks.
She seemed to return to her childhood, with her grandfather holding her, methodically teaching her ancestral long fist, battlefield capture techniques, teaching her to recognize acupoints for attack, teaching her to use various weapons like daggers, and making her recite Chairman’s quotations over and over. Every morning, they had to stand under the party emblem to take an oath. At that time she was only a few years old, but she felt solemn and respectful, standing behind her elderly but still sturdy grandfather, loudly reciting over and over: “Loyal to the Chairman, loyal to the Party, loyal to the people, willing to give one’s life when the country and people need it…”
Then the scene shifted to a cold, deep palace, with a large moon shining above their heads. The boy stood stubbornly in front of her, looking at the new hairpin on her head, biting his lip angrily, refusing to speak. She was frightened and hurriedly removed the hairpin, nervously trying to comfort him, saying that Zhao Thirteen had forced it on her and she didn’t like it at all. After a long time, she saw him awkwardly take out an ugly hairpin from his palm, seemingly self-made from copper, just a bare rod without any decoration. His fingers were somewhat broken, with several places bleeding, carelessly wrapped with silk cloth.
Then, a pair of fox-like eyes emerged from the water waves. The man wore a bright red robe, sitting in a water pavilion playing a long flute flamboyantly. A group of gorgeously dressed girls surrounded him, their eyes intoxicated, as if they had drunk two jars of maiden red wine. He saw her from afar, suddenly stood up, waved vigorously at her, and shouted: “Qiao Qiao! Qiao Qiao! Come over quickly—”
Then, the scene shifted, the shimmering waves disappearing with it, and wisps of smoke began to float up on the long ancient road. Light poured down, drifting and scattering as if drifting through that long life, transforming into that aloof and handsome man. It was again the Lantern Festival three years ago, he was angry with her because she refused to go with him to Qinghai. He walked angrily in front, ignoring her, and before leaving, he cursed her as a stubborn idiot. She angrily picked up a clod of earth and threw it from behind, coincidentally hitting him on the head. His face turned iron-blue with anger as he turned back and glared at her fiercely.
Then, the boat swayed, and the two embraced in the fine drizzle as he murmured in her ear: “I am very happy, have never been this happy before…”
Just then, a childish voice suddenly echoed in her ear: “Finally, he died, he also died, she was sad alone, then left, and finally died too, leaving only him.”
Yes, yes, she was dreaming. Li Ce was already dead, killed by his mother, dying in her arms. She saw large patches of crimson blood spilling from his chest, she touched his cold body and closed eyelids. He died leaning on her shoulder, never again to smile and call her name, never again to reach out and pinch her cheeks, never again to climb through her window at night, never again to secretly read the letters Zhuge Yue wrote to her, never again to look at her tenderly when she was sad, holding her in his arms, then telling her, don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid, I’m still here, and so is Zhuge Si. Even that boy Yan Xun wouldn’t hurt you.
The world was filled with the vast north wind. Red-stained snow fell from the sky. She saw Zhuge Yue and Yan Xun facing each other on the battlefield. She saw the spirits of millions floating in the sky. She heard the earth’s lament, heard the wind’s desolation, and saw the sky split, with heavy deep red blood slowly seeping from the crack, falling onto this bloody land. She saw Zhuge Yue fall, his back split open, still the same wound she had inflicted many years ago, with a cold sword piercing through his body. She saw Yan Xun holding a three-foot-blooded sword, standing atop countless bloody corpses. Thousands of arrows shot over, the world turning pitch black. He stood at the highest point of heaven and earth, with fresh red blood constantly seeping under his feet, his body full of sharp arrows, yet he wouldn’t fall.
Thousands of troops swept in, and all the images shattered. The Quanrong’s wolf blades chopped up Ximeng’s territory. She knelt on the ice plain of Thousand Zhang Lake, watching heaven and earth collapse in an instant, with his repeated whisper in her ear:
Live on, live on, live on—
Her tears streamed down, flowing past her pointed chin, dripping one by one into her snow-white fur coat.
The old man stood in front of her, his face no longer showing the smile from before, becoming indifferent and distant. He turned to the old servant and said: “Is it her?”
The old servant, bent over, forever in that humble manner, said softly: “It is her.”
The old man smiled slightly, but without a trace of joy in his eyes: “Unexpected to meet her here.”
The old servant bowed slightly but didn’t respond. The old man pondered for a moment, then suddenly reached out his finger, the fingertip brushing across Chu Qiao’s cheek, touching a cold, wet tear. He was startled, and placed his fingertip in his mouth, slowly tasting with his tongue a bitter saltiness.
“An Fu, do people cry after drinking Yellow Millet Dream wine?”
The room was dim, and the old servant seemed not to have noticed that the woman sitting in the chair was quietly crying. He quickly lit a candle, approached Chu Qiao, and looked carefully. For a moment, he too was stunned.
Tears fell line by line, silently rolling down like unstrung pearls.
An Fu’s voice carried a hint of shock. After a long time, he slowly said: “This servant has never heard of anyone crying after drinking Yellow Millet Dream. This woman must have many sorrows in her heart.”
After saying this, An Fu frowned slightly, seemingly puzzled.
“With such a noble status, would she also have sorrows?”
Hearing this, the old man smiled slightly and said faintly: “The more one believes they have grasped happiness, the more they fear losing it one day. In this child’s heart, there is probably a fear that even she cannot control.”
“Your Majesty, it’s getting late, we should return.”
The old man nodded, put on his cloak, walked to the door, and suddenly turned back, fixing his gaze on a coffin placed in the middle of the ground.
“Shi Cheng, how many more years do you think Great Xia’s dynasty will last?”
The cold wind blew in, making his figure seem so thin. He suddenly coughed several times, laughing lightly as he opened the door and walked out.
A tiny flame remained, emitting a pale light, flickering several times in the wind, but still not extinguishing.
The woman in white clothes leaned against the chair, her head slightly tilted, tears flowing line by line, quietly, like a peaceful lake.
After an unknown amount of time, there seemed to be people talking beside her. She frowned slightly, the bright light somewhat piercing. Mei Xiang’s voice sounded in her ear, saying quite happily: “She’s awake, she’s awake, that’s great.”
Chu Qiao frowned and saw only Mei Xiang standing beside her, with Huan’er holding a lantern standing on the other side, both looking at her nervously.
“Miss, what happened to you?”
Chu Qiao looked around, but there was no trace of the old man, leaving her somewhat lost. She casually said: “Nothing, I just fell asleep accidentally.”
Mei Xiang immediately complained: “It’s so cold here, how could Miss sleep here?”
“I think Madam is too tired. The wind and snow outside have lessened a lot. We should hurry back to the estate.”
The group boarded the carriage. Rong’er was still fast asleep, and Mo’er was also curled up in Jing Jing’s arms, his eyes barely able to open.
The wind and snow had scattered the lively Lantern Festival. On the way back, they saw broken lantern fragments everywhere, with streets empty and desolate. She lifted the carriage curtain, looking out into the distance, seeing only a cold emptiness everywhere, without a trace of light, except for a white lantern hanging sparsely at the entrance of the memorial hall, completely intact, somehow surviving the recent storm.
When they returned to the estate, it was already late at night. Yue Six was guarding at the door and heaved a sigh of relief upon seeing them. He came forward saying that Zhuge Yue had already returned and had gone out to look for her several times.
Chu Qiao hurriedly returned to her room, entered the main hall, removed her fur coat, and handed it to a servant, then tiptoed into the bedroom.
Returning home from such a cold place, a warm atmosphere greeted her. The incense burner was filled with fine sinking water incense, rising in a slender column, spiraling upward. The room was very quiet, without a sound. She walked over quietly and saw that his face was slightly flushed, lying on the bed fully clothed, already asleep, but frowning tightly, as if something was angering him even in his dreams.
His breathing was somewhat heavy, and a strong smell of alcohol could be detected. His alcohol tolerance had never been very good; tonight, he must have drunk a lot to fall asleep like this.
On the red wooden bedpost hung a delicate small lantern, with red eyes and long ears, in the shape of a lifelike rabbit.
She took off her shoes and lay on her side next to him, smelling his scent, listening to his deep breathing, her cold heart gradually warming.
She reached out and encircled his waist, dispelling that desperate dream.
No, absolutely not.
They would be together and would live well. They would have a child, they would leave this place together, and begin their life in a brand new place.
It must be so, it must be.
After the spring banquet, the weakness of the Great Xia Dynasty became increasingly apparent. The Longxi region was filled with disaster victims walking on the post roads. Everywhere could be seen commoners selling their wives and children, or exchanging children for food. Although the court had issued disaster relief edicts, and despite the Xia Emperor’s utmost efforts to mobilize gold and silver from the treasury, Great Xia’s national strength was indeed insufficient. War, like a man-eating beast, had opened its bloody huge mouth, and in just a few short years, had dragged a once-prosperous empire to skin and bones.
However, life in Yan Bei was certainly no better. Although they had temporarily survived the winter with the grain and fodder seized from Bian Tang, they were now also having difficult days. Under such circumstances, there were no large-scale conflicts at the border at the beginning of the year. Both Yan Bei’s eastward advance and Great Xia’s northern expedition had been slowed by this natural disaster.
On the first day of the third month, the Xia Emperor granted the northern Hu region to Zhao Che as his fief. Although everyone knew Zhao Che was the lord of the northern region, there had never been an official enfeoffment from the court. Now, with the Xia Emperor letting Zhao Che lead the Hu people who had not suffered greatly from the disaster at this critical juncture, the court and the country immediately engaged in intense speculation.
On the seventh day of the third month, Grand Marshal Zhuge Yue finally ended his days of confinement at home and returned to the Council of Elders. The seventeenth prince, Zhao Qi, also showed goodwill toward Zhao Che. For a time, the seventh prince Zhao Che’s power at court rose greatly, with his authority increasing daily. Zhao Yang stayed in his princely mansion all day, claiming illness to the throne, and had not attended court for two consecutive months.
However, a dispatch from Yan Bei that reached the capital on the thirteenth day of the third month caused Chu Qiao concern.
Actually, the main content wasn’t much; Yan Xun merely wanted to trade with Great Xia at the border, exchanging horses and iron ore for Great Xia’s grain, tea, salt, and silk.
This matter naturally caused a burst of laughter in the Great Xia court. The officials of Great Xia mocked Yan Bei for being so poor that they would think of doing business with Great Xia. Although they equally lacked warhorses and iron ore, they could still trade with Bian Tang and Huai Song, unlike Yan Bei, who only had Great Xia as an option if Bian Tang blocked the passes.
Great Xia naturally wouldn’t pay attention to Yan Bei. Instead, the Imperial Censorate and the Grand Secretariat joined forces for the first time, writing a grand piece full of mockery, cursing Yan Xun for his wild imagination and not knowing his place.
This matter, for both countries, wasn’t a significant issue, but it clearly showed Yan Bei’s decline and predicament. Although Great Xia wasn’t much better off, seeing their enemy in a state worse than their own, the Xia officials became haughty again. A group of wild scholars shouted all day about destroying Yan Bei, their arrogant manner suggesting that Yan Bei would disappear with just a wave of their hands. Even some royal nobles in distant territories wrote to Zhuge Yue, demanding that he immediately lead troops into Yan Bei to eliminate the beggars of Yan Bei.
Zhuge Yue coldly observed the chaotic state of the court and country, couldn’t help but laugh coldly, and privately mocked: “Yan Xun’s tactics aren’t very clever, but they are precisely what the situation calls for. Just a few words have made the entire Zhen Huang court and country collectively lose their minds.”
When he said this, Chu Qiao felt her heart racing. Zhuge Yue had already thought a level deeper than most, knowing that this was Yan Xun deliberately showing weakness to lure the Xia army out of the pass to fight. However, having lived with Yan Xun for many years, Chu Qiao deeply knew his nature. This man, even if he were to die in battle, would never show weakness to his enemies. Is merely paralyzing the enemy, seeking a battle, truly worth such a great sacrifice from him?
Winter departed and spring arrived, another year of spring warmth and blooming flowers. But the cold wind in the shadows lingered, and opening the window, one could still see unmelted icicles.
This winter seemed especially long.