——【Someone once told me that love is tolerance, love is patience, love is acceptance, love is full of hope. Love is standing forever on the opposite shore when the other person is happy, not approaching, not staying together, just silently gazing at each other. However, my love is selfish, desperate, intense, full of calculations and demands for reciprocation. It can hurt others and hurt myself. Yet it has seeped into my marrow, pierced my heart, accompanying the beating of my pulse, ceasing only with death. Does this not count as love?】

The carriage traveled through several winding alleys before stopping outside the Jingxiang Gate. Facing them was a dense grove of trees with lush branches and leaves that almost blocked half the sky, even keeping the sunlight outside. All that remained were layers of rusty red high walls, worn mottled by the years. A light touch with the fingertip would cause pieces of colorful wall paint to fall off.

A snow-white hand gripped the collar of the cloak, lifting the carriage curtain. Sunlight shone on her temple, and the wind blew through her hair, revealing a glimpse of her forehead. It was like twilight snow at the peak of Lingxiao Mountain—white to the point of transparency, with a cold and detached aura emanating from her skin, causing everything around her to feel a chill. The corners of her eyes lifted slightly as she held a bamboo umbrella, shielding her face and exposing only a slender chin.

Bei’er followed from behind carrying a medicine box. Seeing the eunuch guide speaking with the guard at the gate, she excitedly whispered in a low voice: “Master, this is the Imperial Palace!”

She did not answer, merely lowered her eyes and quietly gazed at the bluestone path on the ground. It had rained all day and still had not cleared up. Raindrops were blown in fine threads by the wind, and the light was thin and dark red, shining on her snow-white Taoist robe, creating rings of dim concubine purple.

Seeing her remain silent, Bei’er secretly stuck out her tongue and also stood properly like her master. At this moment, the eunuch guide walked over and said with a smile: “Master Shui Xiang, please follow me.”

Shui Xiang nodded and said: “Thank you, Eunuch.”

Her voice suddenly rang out—coarse and hoarse—startling even the carriage driver. He hadn’t expected that such an otherworldly female physician would have such a voice, as if it had been burned by hot coals, making people inexplicably feel a chill. The old eunuch couldn’t help but secretly observe her again. She wore a Taoist robe with ink-black hair, her face covered with a veil that hid half her face, revealing only a pair of eyes. Her pupils were black and bright, unfathomably deep. Though she kept her head bowed, there was an inherent nobility exuding from her slightly raised eyebrows and eye corners. When she raised her eyes, there was a certain sharpness to her demeanor.

“Eunuch?”

She raised her eyebrows slightly and called softly. The old eunuch came to his senses and hurriedly said: “This way.”

After several days of rain, despite the palace’s good drainage, there were still puddles everywhere. The old eunuch knew Shui Xiang’s status and dared not treat her lightly. Hunching his back habitually, he volunteered to hold the umbrella for her. Shui Xiang didn’t refuse and walked with her head lowered at his side. When they reached a corridor, Shui Xiang instinctively turned left, and the old eunuch exclaimed in surprise: “Master Shui Xiang, this is only your third time entering the palace, and you already remember the way? When I first entered the palace, it took me two or three years to understand the layout.”

Hearing this, Shui Xiang paused slightly, smiling faintly, and said: “I have a good memory.”

The old eunuch laughed: “No wonder you’re the female miracle doctor! You truly have talent. Noble Consort Yang took your prescribed medicine and improved the very next day.”

Shui Xiang smiled faintly: “You’re too kind, Eunuch.” After speaking, she imperceptibly retreated half a step, following behind the old eunuch, walking quietly with her head bowed.

Upon reaching the Internal Supervision Department, they underwent a routine inspection. The Chief Eunuch of the Ceremonial Department admonished them briefly before handing her over to the Chief Attendant Eunuch of Qian’an Palace. Bei’er could no longer follow. She handed the medicine box to Shui Xiang and smiled: “I’ll wait for Master here.”

As soon as she finished speaking, she saw Shui Xiang turn to look at her silently. Shui Xiang’s eyes were extremely deep, staring at her quietly like a black cat’s eye stones. Bei’er had followed Shui Xiang for three years. Three years ago, hysteria had spread throughout the capital, and her father had also died from it. Fortunately, she had been blessed with good fortune and was taken in by Shui Xiang. Although this master was cold in temperament and rarely spoke, she was still good to her. But now, she inexplicably shivered under Shui Xiang’s gaze, feeling somewhat afraid, and called out softly: “Master?”

Shui Xiang withdrew her gaze, raising her hand to smooth the stray hair at Bei’er’s temple, saying in a gentle tone: “Are you hungry?”

Bei’er quickly replied: “Not hungry.”

“Didn’t we bring some snacks? Eat a little if you’re hungry.”

Shui Xiang was rarely so amiable, making Bei’er feel somewhat overwhelmed with joy, though her heart couldn’t help but be delighted. She quickly smiled sweetly and said: “Your disciple isn’t hungry. I’ll wait for Master to return in the evening so we can eat together.”

Shui Xiang said no more and turned to follow the Chief Attendant Eunuch. As she walked out of the courtyard, she turned her head and could still see Bei’er standing smiling at the entrance, her small face flushed red like it had been brushed with fine rouge.

How old is Bei’er now? She must be fifteen, right?

As the weak thought barely rose from the depths of her heart, her brows furrowed slightly. The rain had stopped by now, but the air grew increasingly cold. The Chief Attendant Eunuch explained at her side what to be mindful of when meeting the Emperor. She listened silently, committing everything to memory. After walking for nearly half an hour, they finally reached the outside of Qian’an Palace. The palace attendant went in to announce her arrival, and she stood outside waiting.

She was nervous, her heart beating violently in her chest. Thump—thump—thump! Like war drums on a battlefield, each beat making her throat itch. She placed her hands flat on her knees, kneeling according to standard palace etiquette. The shadow of time swept past her hair tips, solidifying on her thin shoulders and that slender neck, white as frost and snow, pale to the point of bloodlessness.

“Rise.”

A deep voice sounded from the depths of the grand hall. It was neither warm nor particularly cold, just quiet, like a drop of water falling into a still lake, creating transparent ripples. Yet these simple words immediately made Shui Xiang’s back tense, raising small goosebumps on her skin. She stood with her head bowed behind the Chief Attendant Eunuch, hands seemingly naturally hanging at her sides, fingers slightly curved, but her thumb’s nail pressed hard against her index finger, poking sharply. The pain was like sharp, fine silver needles, prodding at her violently tumbling reason.

“Your Majesty, this is Master Shui Xiang from Taiji Temple, recommended by Noble Consort Yang.”

Yan Xun raised his head slightly. A day of toil had left him somewhat fatigued. He put down his brush and pressed the thumb of his left hand against his temple, his eyes half-closed as he massaged slowly. His gaze swept lightly over Shui Xiang’s figure. He nodded and said: “Come forward.”

Shui Xiang followed the Chief Attendant Eunuch forward. Yan Xun extended his right hand, placing it flat on the desk. Shui Xiang knelt at his side. Her veil concealed half her face, and her bangs hung down, further obscuring her eyes. She lowered her head, her gaze fluid, but in the unseen depths, it seemed as if a black snowstorm was raging. It was still that hand—long, pale, with calluses on the fingertips from years of wielding swords and drawing bows. The little finger was missing a large section, with newly grown flesh that had become rough after years of wear, bearing hideous scars.

She was only briefly stunned for a moment before regaining her composure. Her fingers rested on the Emperor’s pulse to diagnose him. Yan Xun couldn’t help but glance at her. Most physicians would be startled upon suddenly seeing his hand, but she adjusted her emotions so quickly—truly an intelligent person.

After checking his pulse, Shui Xiang silently retreated a step and lowered her head, saying: “Your Majesty’s illness is not serious. It’s merely due to overwork and lack of sleep. This humble nun will prescribe some medicine. After taking it and with sufficient rest, Your Majesty will naturally recover.”

Her voice was low and hoarse, completely unlike what one would expect from her. Hearing this, Yan Xun raised an eyebrow slightly, his gaze casually examining her. He asked: “Has your voice always been like this?”

Shui Xiang replied: “In response to Your Majesty, this humble nun’s family suffered a great fire in childhood, and my voice was damaged by the smoke.”

Yan Xun said no more, his gaze lingering on her face briefly before lowering again. At that moment, a palace attendant entered with memorials. A cold wind suddenly blew in, causing Yan Xun to frown slightly, his fingers unconsciously pressing harder on his temple.

Seeing this, Shui Xiang said: “This humble nun knows a massage technique that can relieve headaches. Would Your Majesty like to try it?”

The candles in the hall grew brighter, the sunset faded outside the window, and twilight descended. Time slowly passed, and Yan Xun’s gaze fell like snow, scattered over her. He looked at Shui Xiang, his gaze seemingly carrying deeper meaning. After a moment’s silence, he nodded: “Very well.”

Shui Xiang walked with steady steps behind him, extending a pair of fair hands and placing them on his forehead. Her fingers were ice-cold, like mountain-top snow when first touched, chilling to the heart. Yan Xun remained composed, feeling her nimble and strong fingers press on his head, the headache indeed relieved somewhat. He closed his eyes slightly and casually asked: “Your master is Nun Jingyue?”

Shui Xiang answered in a low voice: “Yes.”

“How many years have you been in the capital?”

Shui Xiang replied: “Five years exactly.”

Yan Xun’s mouth curled into a smile, but there was no mirth in his eyes. He said faintly: “Where were you from before?”

Shui Xiang’s voice was calm as she answered with her head bowed: “Min Province.”

Yan Xun’s brows furrowed slightly. He made a fist, placed it by his mouth, and coughed lightly, saying: “Your capital dialect is quite good.”

Shui Xiang responded with a soft sound but said no more. The hall was large, ridiculously so. A breeze of unknown origin blew in, light and airy, carrying a faint fragrance. Shui Xiang’s gaze was calm as she silently looked at the person before her. Although she was looking at his back, although she had kept her head bowed since entering the hall, she could still imagine what he looked like. Yes, it must be like this—narrow eyes, profound gaze, high and straight nose, thin lips, very pale in color, always pressed together as if disdaining everyone. How long ago was it? Shui Xiang stood there, but her memories traversed mountains and seas back to that bygone era. She had hidden behind her brothers, tightly held by her nanny, peering through the gaps in the crowd. She saw that young man coming from afar. Other young princes and young masters were crying and making a fuss. Even the few who were quiet had swollen eyes, reluctantly being sent in. Only he had bright eyes and a natural smile, without any fear of leaving his homeland to be a hostage. Seeing her staring foolishly at him from the crowd, he mischievously winked at her.

From then on, a series of bright days followed. The palace was so large, with so many people, yet her eyes could only see him. She was so small then, but the thresholds of the palace were so high, almost higher than her calf. Every day, she would run from one palace gate to another, running until she was sweating profusely, just to hide outside the Shangwu Hall and secretly catch a glimpse of him…

However, such days eventually passed.

Shui Xiang silently, slowly, and deeply took a breath. Through her mind flashed the mountains of swords and seas of fire as the kingdom fell, the killing and conquering of war horses and weapons, and the bitter struggle through shame and darkness. Finally, everything dissipated, leaving only the figure before her—this man who, from beginning to end, had stood as straight as iron.

Shui Xiang’s right hand pressed over his temples, over his neck, over his shoulders, over his spine, as if pressing over her entire tumultuous life. She looked at him, this man whom she had chased for half her life, loved bitterly for half her life, hated for half her life, and who had ruined her entire life. Her heart beat violently, as if about to leap from her mouth. Like this, what more could there be? Isn’t this the best? She had endured and struggled, suffered all humiliation, all hardship, all torture, waiting for this very moment, wasn’t she?

A flash of sharpness crossed her gaze. With a flick of her wrist, a soft silver light slid from her sleeve into her palm!

Yan Xun’s quiet eyes flickered slightly, his gaze profound, as if instantly seeing through everything.

At that moment, a palace maid in plain palace attire approached, carrying white charcoal to add fire to the incense burner behind the screen. Yan Xun moved his foot, stepping on the carpet, and suddenly exerted force. Immediately, the palace maid let out a startled cry as she toppled toward them, and the basin of white charcoal in her hands spilled entirely over both Yan Xun and Shui Xiang!

In an instant, the cries and screams of the palace attendants erupted. Shui Xiang was stunned by this sudden turn of events, while Yan Xun took advantage of the moment to retreat swiftly.

“Quick! Someone come quickly!”

The Chief Attendant Eunuch was shocked and frightened, rushing to Yan Xun’s side, anxiously shaking his clothes, afraid that he might be burned even slightly. The palace maid had already fainted with terror, her eyelids fluttering shut. Guards rushed in and restrained her, fearing this “assassin” might make another move. Though the empire had gradually become peaceful in recent years, assassins risking their lives never lacked in the Emperor’s palace—whether they were unwilling remnants of the previous dynasty or hidden believers of the fallen Great Unity Society—they had repeatedly infiltrated the palace attempting assassination.

The hall was in chaos, everyone pale-faced and vigilant, fearing the Emperor’s wrath over this incident. However, Yan Xun had not uttered a word from beginning to end. He frowned deeply, so tightly that he seemed somewhat puzzled, confused, and even at a loss. Yet none of this diminished his authority. His eyes remained cold as he stared at that person as if trying to penetrate through the stray hair at her temple, through her thick veil, straight into her heart.

The Chief Attendant Eunuch followed his gaze and was startled to see Shui Xiang.

The guards were busy dealing with the “assassin,” summoning imperial physicians and protecting the Emperor. Only she remained standing there, her skin pale, her gaze bewildered, like a wandering ghost, without a trace of color. The clothing on her back had been burned, and her neck was also red with burns, but these were not the most important things. What mattered most was that she still had her arms outstretched, standing like a scarecrow, blocking the way. The sleeves on her arms had caught fire, blazing bright red.

“Ah!” the Chief Attendant Eunuch cried out, “Quick, save her!”

A bucket of water splashed over her with a “puff” sound. Her clothes were in disarray, and her arms were severely burned. Several palace attendants rushed forward to support her when the Chief Attendant Eunuch hurriedly said: “Quickly escort Master Shui Xiang to the side hall and summon the imperial physician.”

The palace maids responded and were about to lead her out.

“Stop.”

He suddenly called out, his voice extremely cold, like burnt incense ash, carrying bitterness and gloom, lifting through layers of splendid, luxurious curtains to reach her ears. Outside the window, the wind and rain wailed dismally. Rainwater slid past the eaves, making dripping sounds, highlighting his calm trailing tone, echoing clearly in the empty grand hall.

“You… turn around.”

The light in the room was dim, with an eerily red tint. The bright yellow candles burned silently, casting their light strand by strand on Yan Xun’s lean, straight back. The golden threads on his robes were dazzling, the dragon claws ferocious, seemingly about to break through the black brocade and soar away. He frowned, his ears catching the distant rumble of thunder, so far yet so near.

Shui Xiang stood there but seemed to hear nothing. The world became terrifyingly empty, everything before her turning ethereal. These years of enduring humiliation, of escaping death countless times, of wandering like a homeless dog, of painstaking planning, and the loneliness and pain of every night—suddenly all turned into a pool of cold, dead ashes, without a trace of warmth. She lowered her head, looking at the pair of phoenix-adorned, jade-hooked slippers embroidered with misty brocade. A slight breeze blew, lifting them lightly, like rootless duckweed, just like herself—this life, this existence, never truly held in her own hands.

Let it be this way, her mouth twitched, but she couldn’t even manage a bitter smile.

Let it be this way, what else could there be? After all, it was so useless, so foolish, so despicably beyond redemption!

She bit her lower lip, bit it hard, almost biting through. She didn’t know what she was thinking at that moment, why that needle wouldn’t strike, why she had, as if possessed, stretched out both hands to block.

Had she gone mad? Had her mind become unclear? Had she been bewitched?

Or, was there still such a nauseating thought lurking in her heart, unable to forget for ten, twenty years?

Suddenly, she wanted to cry, wanted to cry uncontrollably, to release all the suffering, exhaustion, pain, and humiliation of these years, to never again cower and struggle in nightmares every night. But when had these eyes dried up? Was it from the day of defeat and flight? Or the day of humiliation beneath that old man? Or the moment when those beasts tore her clothes?

Or, was it many, many years ago, when she wore a bright red wedding dress, kneeling in the night sky filled with a raging fire, watching those two people riding horses, hand in hand, rushing out of the Zhenhuang City gate that night?

The rain outside grew heavier. With a sudden gust, a corner of the window blew open, and the icy wind lifted her Taoist robe, just like when she was little, sitting on a wisteria-entwined swing. Her nose filled with the faint fragrance emitted by those light purple small flowers. The wind blew past her ears, lifting the hem of her skirt and her sideburns. The palace maid gave a hard push, and she soared high. The sky was so close as if she could touch it with an outstretched hand. The clouds were white, just like the cattle and sheep beyond the frontier that her mother often mentioned. The shouting sounds of her brothers practicing martial arts in the Shangwu Hall were like layers of ocean waves, echoing clearly and loudly in her ears.

The sunshine was so warm then, the air filled with joyful moisture. She was so small, so young, her eyes as clear as water in a mountain lake. She stretched her legs straight, swinging back and forth, yet her eyes flew over the high walls, past the red walls and golden tiles, past layers of palaces, all the way to that black-lacquered wooden door. She saw him standing in the courtyard, his brow and eyes cold, his gaze profound. The wind blew at the corner of his clothes, and then his whole person seemed as if about to fly away, even his face seemed to be covered by a layer of mist. That mist grew larger and denser, finally hidden beneath layers of years, never to be found again.

“Master Shui Xiang, the Emperor is calling you, Master Shui Xiang?”

The Chief Attendant Eunuch called anxiously at her side, but she didn’t move at all. Yan Xun’s face was hidden in the lingering agarwood incense. Following those drifting white vapors, he looked at her back in Taoist robes, and suddenly seemed to understand.

Yan Xun looked at her for a long, long time before quietly asking: “Your name is Shui Xiang?”

She did not answer, nor did she turn around, just standing silently.

Yan Xun asked again: “You live in Taiji Temple?”

She still didn’t answer. The hall was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. The candlelight shone on her, casting a long shadow on the ground, so thin that it seemed a light touch could make her collapse.

Yan Xun’s tightly knit brows gradually relaxed. He silently gazed at her, his gaze so long, piercing through grudges and favors, finally saying in a flat tone: “You may go.”

It was as if a mouthful of cold water had suddenly poured into her throat, making her choked throat tighter. Shui Xiang’s fingers, hanging at her sides, trembled slightly. Despite several attempts, she couldn’t clench them into fists. That persistence, that humiliation, that hatred that gnawed at her heart and lungs day and night like bone-clinging worms, suddenly dissipated in such a light sentence. Her heart, which had been forcibly pieced together with resentment over these years, instantly shattered—so vast, so painful, so cold.

“Master Shui Xiang, the Emperor is telling you to leave, please go quickly!”

The Chief Attendant Eunuch, having become shrewd after years in the palace, also sensed something unusual and hurriedly urged her in a low voice. Shui Xiang silently exhaled, raised her foot, and slowly walked towards the exit. The candles in the grand hall flickered. Yan Xun, seemingly troubled in thoughts, dismissed his attendants and sat down again at the desk that had just been tidied, lowering his head to review the remaining few memorials. The vermilion brush slid over the imperial yellow paper, making a soft sound. The wind blew, lifting the hem of Shui Xiang’s ash-gray Taoist robe, revealing a pair of cloth shoes beneath. Her pace was calm and dignified, even concubines who had been in the palace for many years couldn’t match it.

The attendant opened the door. The slanting wind carried cold rain, striking her body, chillingly cold. Shui Xiang had one foot across the threshold, half her shoulder exposed outside. She should have left, should have gone, but for some unknown reason, she suddenly stopped, just like that, firmly, unable to take another step.

The Chief Attendant Eunuch raised an eyebrow, stepped forward, and took her arm, saying: “This servant will help Master walk.” Having said that, he insisted on supporting her as they walked out.

The little eunuch of the grand hall immediately came forward to close the door. Shui Xiang obediently allowed the Chief Attendant Eunuch to support her, slightly lowering her head. The night wind blew, instantly blowing away her veil. The Chief Attendant Eunuch exclaimed and released her to bend down and pick it up. She took advantage of this to turn slightly, her eyes glancing through the gap of the not-yet-closed door. In the dim light and shadow, he sat alone there, not raising his head, but his brush had paused.

The palace gate closed inch by inch. At that moment, she vaguely remembered so many things, so many things she had forgotten for so long. Back then, they were young and brilliant, still pure and youthful. Days were like mountain stream water, flowing joyfully through those bright and vivid days.

How long had it been? How long since she had remembered? So long that she thought she had forgotten.

But, at this moment, standing here, those memories came like a midsummer flood, instantly shattering the sealed barrier of her memory.

At that time, the Great Xia Dynasty was at its peak. Her imperial father’s health was good, and her brothers were still young. Even if there were occasional conflicts, they carried the innocence and joy of children.

And she at that time, her eyes too pure, her thoughts too simple. She couldn’t see the piles of white bones buried beneath the dazzling golden palaces, nor the blood-stained blade covered by five-colored brocade. Even the increasingly urgent war drums were drowned out by the music of zithers and pipes in the deep palace. She deceived herself, living in her world, fantasizing that one day she would marry him in a phoenix crown and red robe, then follow him for a lifetime, care for him, believe in him, and listen to his words.

If, life were only as it was at first sight, would there have been the later sword glint and shadow, the karmic entanglements?

After all, who was wrong?

“Master Shui Xiang, your veil.”

Shui Xiang turned her head, and the Chief Attendant Eunuch was suddenly stunned. Although he had never seen Master Shui Xiang’s true face before, she had only covered her mouth and nose, not her brow and eyes. Yet in just this brief moment, she seemed to have suddenly aged twenty years. Wrinkles filled the corners of her eyes, her temples were snow-white, and especially those eyes—no longer calm and profound as when first seen, but filled with vicissitude, as desolate and lonely as a handful of dead ashes.

“Thank you.”

Shui Xiang took the veil from the Chief Attendant Eunuch’s hand but did not put it on again. She turned and walked outside the hall, not needing anyone to show the way, as familiar as if in her garden.

With a “bang,” the heavy palace gate finally closed completely. The wind rustled like night-crying birds, flying across the dome of the Holy Gold Palace. A small eunuch hurried up with an umbrella. The Chief Attendant Eunuch came to his senses and hurriedly chased after her, only to see Shui Xiang’s thin, slender figure slowly walking in the long, eternal corridor. The night mist was thick, and the rain beat on her shoulders, like a lonely ghost shadow.

This day was the fourth day of the ninth month in the fourteenth year of Kaiyuan. On the ninth day of the twelfth month of the same year, a fire broke out at Taiji Temple in the eastern part of the imperial capital. The fire raged for a day and a night, reducing the entire temple to ashes.

That night, Ajing, the Commander of the Imperial Guard, entered the palace with a secret memorial. Yan Xun was eating at the time. After Commander Ajing knelt in greeting, he said solemnly: “Master Shui Xiang of Taiji Temple has left.”

Yan Xun raised an eyebrow and asked: “Died?”

“No, just left.”

Yan Xun made a faint “oh” sound, lowered his head, and continued drinking his porridge, asking: “Haven’t you eaten yet?”

Ajing wanted to say he had eaten but felt he shouldn’t deceive the Emperor, so he honestly answered: “This minister just rushed back from the auxiliary capital and hasn’t eaten yet.”

Yan Xun casually said: “Sit down and eat together.”

Ajing hurriedly said: “This minister dares not.”

Yan Xun didn’t insist and ordered the palace maid to set another table for him. Ajing sat on a small stool nearby and ate half a bowl of porridge. When he finished, Yan Xun ordered him to withdraw. Ajing, full of confusion, finally asked softly: “Doesn’t Your Majesty want to know where she went?”

Yan Xun said faintly: “No need to know.”

“Should we continue to have people monitor her?”

The incense was misty on the large burner. A palace maid in rain-blue palace attire stepped forward with small steps and sprinkled a handful of golden yellow incense into the golden censer. Yan Xun was silent for a moment, but eventually said in a faint tone: “No need.”

Ajing immediately regretted his loose tongue after speaking and left the grand hall after paying his respects.

The grand hall was deep black, but outside was white with snow, reflecting the bright moonlight, illuminating everything in a pale white. Yet there was still an ineradicable darkness, stubbornly lingering in the shadows of the corners.

The lamps in the grand hall flickered once and extinguished themselves. The Chief Eunuch of the Internal Service walked out with a hunched back. The waiting Eunuch of the Imperial Historical Archives came forward and asked: “Which consort will be summoned tonight?”

“None of them.” The Chief Eunuch made a circle with his index finger and thumb, signaling that the Emperor was in a bad mood: “The Emperor has already retired.”

The grand hall was as silent as water. Yan Xun lay on the dragon couch, his eyes closed.

The night was so long.