Five years later.

Another Lantern Festival.

The Lantern Festival had evolved into a palace banquet on the eve of the imperial selection, with young ladies from various families all adorned beautifully and gracefully, hoping to catch the emperor’s favor.

The emperor was diligent and had no particular fondness for sensual pleasures. The imperial lineage was thin, with only one prince each from Empress A Luo and Consort Wei, and two princesses from Noble Consort Miao.

Besides these, no other palace had produced offspring.

Thus, the Empress Dowager and all the ministers were deeply concerned, holding selections every year to fill the harem, hoping that with beautiful women before him, the emperor would become a bit more “foolish” and spend more time lingering in the palace. Naturally, many officials hoping to marry their daughters into the imperial family were also eager on this night.

After all, though the emperor had two princes, he was currently in his prime with no urgency to select a crown prince. The emperor also seemed to have no intention of naming either current prince as heir, even though the eldest prince born to the Empress greatly resembled him and was much favored by the Empress Dowager. This favor even extended to the formerly disgraced Empress, who had somehow angered the emperor years ago but now, through her son’s merit, was released from the Cold Palace and restored to the central palace.

However, on this night, when all the beauties came with full preparation and, under the Empress Dowager’s direction, displayed their talents in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting to their utmost, Noble Consort Miao suddenly felt unwell after the wine had flowed freely. The emperor became extremely nervous, immediately summoning the imperial physician and taking Noble Consort Miao back to her palace for examination.

Noble Consort Miao had suffered from heart palpitations since five years ago.

The court didn’t know, but some informed people in the palace understood that Noble Consort Miao had been frightened by an incident five years ago.

Noble Consort Miao had been present at the scene.

Two people had fallen from the city tower right before her eyes, terrifying her.

Not the Empress, despite having a very intelligent and well-behaved prince, nor Consort Wei, despite her father’s sacrifice for the country and her elder brother inheriting their father’s duties to serve the sovereign—the most favored in the palace was Noble Consort Miao. Even when the new King of Wei ascended and once tore up the alliance with Da Zhou, causing great warfare between the two nations, the emperor’s deep affection for Noble Consort Miao never diminished. He was so anxious about her that he even abandoned the palace banquet.

Some had speculated that if Noble Consort Miao bore a prince, the emperor might well pass the crown prince position to him.

After the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, the emperor emerged from Noble Consort Miao’s palace, his expression somewhat relaxed. Noble Consort Miao had only suffered a relapse of her old ailment and was not in mortal danger.

But the emperor didn’t immediately return to the palace banquet. Instead, he had Liang Song go inform them that the Empress Dowager should continue presiding, as he still needed to handle urgent official business. Additionally, he requested Chancellor Quan’s presence.

Though this urgent business was an excuse, it wasn’t entirely false. The borders were again being harassed by foreign tribes, and this nomadic group was even more formidable than previous ones, killing and pillaging, causing great unrest. In several engagements, the court had gained no advantage, as these tribes were fierce, skilled in guerrilla warfare, and secretly aided by neighboring countries that coveted Da Zhou, greatly troubling both the court and Li Zhaoting.

Soon, Quan Feitong arrived, immediately saying with a smile: “What, does Your Majesty want to drink with this minister? But this time there really is military intelligence.”

A soldier then emerged from behind him, knelt, and reported: “Your Majesty, the Kun tribe crisis has been resolved.”

Li Zhaoting’s face showed no joy, asking flatly: “Again by that mysterious army’s assistance?”

“Yes.” The man replied with some trepidation.

Though it was good news, since it wasn’t their doing, he felt somewhat lacking in confidence.

Li Zhaoting showed no emotion, merely saying “Mm” and dismissing him.

Quan Feitong tactfully remained silent until Li Zhaoting spoke: “Senior Brother, shall we have a drink?”

“Good.” Quan Feitong nodded, speaking teasingly: “What, is Your Majesty not returning to the banquet because you’re afraid seeing those beautiful ladies will make Noble Consort Miao unhappy?”

Li Zhaoting smiled: “Noble Consort Miao isn’t that kind of person.”

“The moonlight is beautiful. Let’s drink a few cups outside the study—how about not returning until we’re drunk?” he added.

“This minister obeys.”

The two returned to the study, but saw a four or five-year-old child standing properly outside the courtyard. They didn’t know how long he had been waiting, but seeing them approach, the child’s tender face immediately brightened with joy: “Imperial Father.”

“A Huan, what are you doing here?” Li Zhaoting asked flatly.

“This son heard at the banquet that there was military intelligence… this son wanted to share Imperial Father’s burdens.” The little prince’s face was serious and earnest, yet his eyes always carried a trace of caution.

A Huan was A Luo’s child.

A Huan’s birth, with his striking resemblance to Li Zhaoting as a child, might not necessarily restore Li Zhaoting and A Luo to their former relationship—after all, compared to Miaoyin, the latter had sacrificed more for him. But at least the suspicions regarding Lian Yu were finally cleared.

However, due to his estrangement from A Luo, Li Zhaoting showed little affection toward A Huan, far less than his love for the two little princesses, or even the second prince who was the son of important ministers.

Thus A Huan was always cautious, exceptionally well-behaved, constantly afraid of somehow displeasing his imperial father.

On such a moonlit night, with such an adorable child, even Li Zhaoting’s steel-hardened heart felt some stirring. He beckoned, and A Huan was overjoyed, running to his side in a few steps.

“Imperial Father, Mother Empress is also waiting for you. May I call her out?” the child asked, looking up with some hesitation.

With Li Zhaoting and Si Lanfeng’s keen hearing, they had long detected others nearby, but Li Zhaoting hadn’t exposed this, and Si Lanfeng naturally didn’t speak out of turn. Seeing the child’s moist, deer-like eyes, Li Zhaoting finally nodded.

A Luo slowly emerged from behind the dim trees, silently watching Li Zhaoting, her eyes holding quiet grievance. These past years, he rarely visited her chambers.

“How is the border situation?” she asked softly.

“No problem.” Li Zhaoting slowly replied with two words.

The kingdom was like a painting, and though the beauty was somewhat haggard, she was far from gray-haired, still lovely. Li Zhaoting’s heart stirred slightly, suddenly recalling those reckless years of youth.

When he first arrived under Master Tingyu’s tutelage, she played the qin in the mountain hollow, stunning his time.

Perhaps time was the best medicine, always able to make one forget all unpleasantness.

He spoke lightly: “Tonight, shall we three senior disciples drink together?”

A Luo embraced A Huan: “Thank you for Your Majesty’s invitation.”

But Quan Feitong stopped in his tracks.

“This minister suddenly feels unwell and will return first,” he said.

Li Zhaoting, being who he was, didn’t beat around the bush: “Senior Brother, speak plainly.”

“Yes, Senior Brother Quan, speak freely. After this turmoil passes, being able to drink together won’t be easy. Why waste such a beautiful evening?” A Luo also looked over, her gaze no longer holding her earlier emotions but showing some heroic spirit.

Hearing this, Quan Feitong suddenly smiled: “Very well then. This minister simply doesn’t wish to drink with Empress Your Majesty.”

The moonlight falling between his brows and eyes was cold as frost.

“A Luo doesn’t understand Senior Brother’s meaning.” A Luo said coldly. The other party wasn’t Li Zhaoting and didn’t deserve her grievance. Though she was trapped in the deep palace, she was still an empress, the mother of the eldest prince.

Perhaps, the future mother of the crown prince, though she knew how many thorns and hardships that path would hold.

Li Zhaoting’s brow slightly tightened, but he didn’t become angry: “Senior Brother, couldn’t you do this for my sake? I truly don’t understand—we three were once fellow disciples. Why do you so resist the Empress?”

“Fellow disciples? That’s long gone. This minister thanks Your Majesty for years of trust and employment, but privately, are we still those same people? Tonight, this minister thought that Your Majesty didn’t return to the banquet but sought me for drinks because you remembered that date and wanted to commemorate an old friend.”

“It was only this minister’s wishful thinking.” Quan Feitong smiled with raised brows: “Please forgive this minister’s inability to share this cup with the person she disliked most in life.”

A Luo’s body trembled almost imperceptibly, then she sneered coldly, proudly meeting the other’s provocation.

The Lantern Festival was that person’s death anniversary.

Li Zhaoting’s expression, usually as calm as water and lofty as a deity, finally showed a crack.

“That name—I don’t want to hear anyone mention it again. Chancellor Quan, including you.” His voice carried chilling intimidation.

“What’s happening here?”

A gentle voice softly sounded. Si Lanfeng and Liang Song quickly paid their respects: “Noble Consort Miao.”

“Why are you here? You should be resting properly in the palace.” The emperor spoke with caring reproach, but his expression never softened.

“This consort heard that military reports had arrived. Knowing Your Majesty has been troubled by this matter recently, I came specifically to inquire about the situation.” Miaoyin released her maid’s support and walked over.

A Luo’s eyes quickly flashed with mockery: truly came for military affairs, not because she heard she was here?

She spoke lightly: “Sister Miao arrives at just the right time. His Majesty was inviting this sister and Chancellor Quan for drinks, but Chancellor Quan says today is that young lady’s death anniversary and refuses to drink. We all know what that person did back then—she completely broke His Majesty’s heart. Yet Chancellor Quan still remembers her so obsessively. Is this really appropriate? Sister, please advise Chancellor Quan.”

Hearing this, Miaoyin’s expression also changed almost imperceptibly. Finally, she looked at Quan Feitong and spoke softly: “Chancellor Quan, I know you were friends with that young lady, but back then she acted for selfish reasons, putting His Majesty in an unrighteous position. As a subject, as a friend, how can you hurt His Majesty again?”

Quan Feitong smiled slightly, suddenly leaning close to Li Zhaoting’s ear: “Your Majesty, do you remember when this minister arranged for you to meet Lian Yu? You originally suspected Lian Yu had some conspiracy, not merely to retrieve a corpse. Yes, once someone is dead, what does it matter compared to this great kingdom? Even the most devoted person wouldn’t act so. But Lian Yu truly did withdraw his troops afterward.”

“So, constrained by romantic feelings, he was destined never to leave his name in history.” Li Zhaoting’s taut jawline was cold and hard to the extreme.

“Someone gave this to Lian Yu back then. When Lian Yu showed it to me, I brought him to see you. I kept this as a memento. Perhaps today you should see it.”

Hearing this, Quan Feitong only smiled, taking a brocade pouch from his breast and slowly handing it to Si Lanfeng.

Then he turned and left without another word.

“Chancellor Quan, you—”

Liang Song wanted to call him back, but Li Zhaoting stopped him. A Luo said: “On such a beautiful night, A Luo would gladly accompany Your Majesty. What about Noble Consort Miao?”

“The same.” Miaoyin said.

“Good. Let’s set up over there. You go first, I’ll follow shortly.” Li Zhaoting pointed to the pavilion.

“Yes.” Xiao Si immediately had people prepare.

Liang Song went over, personally helping Miaoyin to sit in the pavilion. A Luo glanced at Li Zhaoting, who nodded to her. Her heart jumped as she embraced A Huan and went over, but couldn’t help glancing several times at the item in Si Lanfeng’s hands.

Li Zhaoting entered the study, leaving only Si Lanfeng to follow.

Seeing Li Zhaoting sit down, Si Lanfeng quickly presented the brocade pouch.

Li Zhaoting snatched it immediately.

Opening it, inside was a letter.

The paper was yellowed and worn, as if frequently read.

He frowned slightly, the fierce look in his eyes undiminished, slowly opening it.

After a short while, Xiao Si called from outside that the wine was ready. But Si Lanfeng dared not disturb Li Zhaoting.

After reading the letter, the latter seemed struck by fire, almost immediately jumping up from his chair. The letter fell to the ground, but he bent over, motionless.

Si Lanfeng was curious and walked over, pretending to pick up the letter while quickly scanning its contents.

His fingers also trembled slightly—he shouldn’t have glimpsed this letter.

“Lanfeng, prepare horses, and summon that person from earlier too.”

Just as he was secretly alarmed, Li Zhaoting’s voice softly sounded.

He was momentarily stunned before realizing who “that person” was, immediately having the order conveyed.

More than half an hour later, they arrived at the city tower.

Li Zhaoting stood with hands behind his back, gazing at the dark mountains in the distance. After a long while, he asked the soldier kneeling beside him: “You’ve been at the border for some time. Have you seen the commander of that army?”

The other party couldn’t gauge the emperor’s attitude. Hearing this question made his scalp tingle, because while others didn’t know, they were aware that the army’s commander was the former king and his rebel forces!

This army struck fear into border enemies while earning both their admiration and frustration.

Was His Majesty having second thoughts and planning to hold him and the general accountable?

Seeing the usually impassive emperor finally show impatience, he dared not hesitate further: “This humble officer, following beside General Zhang, has…”

He had wanted to say “had the honor of seeing him several times” but immediately realized “honor” was inappropriate wording: “…seen him two or three times.”

He was also shrewd, thinking he would answer only what was asked and say nothing extra.

“Does he have women with him? Or have you heard if he has women?”

This unexpected question from the emperor left him stunned again, completely unsure what this was about, not knowing how to respond.

Sweat poured down like rain as he gritted his teeth and answered: “Haven’t seen any, but heard there are women in his tent.”

As soon as he finished speaking, the distant mountains seemed ghostly and dark, the surroundings terrifyingly silent, making one’s hair stand on end. He looked suspiciously at Li Zhaoting, whose face was iron-blue, eyes filled with two extremely contradictory emotions—seemingly relieved yet seemingly furious…

“How do you know? How would you know whether he has women?”

This next question made him feel like sitting on pins and needles. He truly didn’t understand what the emperor was thinking—wasn’t this about that person? How did it involve women? What did warfare have to do with women?

Puzzled as he was, he quickly replied: “Those barbarians were so afraid of him that they offered women to both the court and him. Your Majesty refused, but the barbarians said he accepted them.”

“He accepted them?”

The other party laughed coldly, but this wasn’t directed at him but at Si Lanfeng.

The emperor’s eyes now held only fury, grief beyond measure, his gaze blood-red as if ready to devour someone. He was terrified, forcing himself to stay calm, yet still didn’t understand what Li Zhaoting was thinking.

He didn’t understand, but Si Lanfeng did.

Perhaps at this moment, no one understood better than Si Lanfeng.

Honestly, when she used schemes to kill Wei Chenghui, he wasn’t without resentment toward her.

Though absolutely loyal to Li Zhaoting, his relationship with Wei Chenghui wasn’t shallow, so he unconsciously shifted from hidden admiration to hatred.

How much more so for Li Zhaoting!

Her allowing Li Zhaoting to capture her actually had deeper meaning.

But he truly hadn’t expected her to leave such a letter.

Though he had only glimpsed it briefly, he still remembered those few lines:

Lian Yu, as if meeting face to face upon reading this letter. If you see this note, Zhen no longer exists in this world. These two letters are farewells—Zhen is truly sorry to you.

After parting, there’s one matter on my mind, not knowing how to tell you.

Li Zhaoting is pitiable and detestable, his base aspects countless. In Zhen’s heart, whether as person or ruler, he falls far short of you. Yet tutored by the great scholar Tingyu, though this son lacks grand strategy, he can still govern the country and isn’t a tyrannical ruler.

On Zhen’s journey back to the capital, seeing post-war revival and people living in trepidation, my heart was filled with mixed emotions. I wonder if you feel the same.

Prince Jin was the legitimate successor to the great unification, usurped by the former emperor. Whether today you restore righteous order following ancestral system, or believe in capability over birthright, depends entirely on your decision. This painted kingdom—how many heroes compete and bow down? Whatever you choose, Zhen in the underworld will be proud of you.

Zhen’s three greatest fortunes in life: first, being a daughter of the Feng family; second, serving as magistrate.

Third, being your wife.

This life’s sole regret is… not being able to see you gray-haired.

He had always thought she utterly hated Li Zhaoting. No, she did indeed hate Li Zhaoting extremely—in the letter, she nearly negated everything about Li Zhaoting. But she never avoided the fact that Li Zhaoting’s succession was indeed restoring righteous order, that Prince Jin was the legitimate heir back then. Without Lian Yu’s father’s conspiracy years ago, Li Zhaoting would rightfully be emperor today.

Moreover, she believed Li Zhaoting was not without the ability to govern the country.

This war would continue to claim countless lives, even more brutal than the original usurpation battle.

If Lian Yu could show compassion for the people, then she asked him to… give up the throne. Even though in her heart, Lian Yu was the best ruler.

After her death, Lian Yu ultimately agreed to her request.

So when Lian Yu withdrew his troops back then, it truly wasn’t just to collect her body for burial.

And her killing of Wei Chenghui also seemed to be not merely to stop him from killing the princess or to avenge her family.

Li Zhaoting asked if Lian Yu had women only because he was emperor—he had a harem, he hadn’t given her his whole life. If Lian Yu was the same, then he could find peace.

But if Lian Yu truly did have women, it would mean Lian Yu later regretted his decision to withdraw, and his border protection might not be for defending Da Zhou—he might want to build reputation for a comeback.

Li Zhaoting wasn’t afraid, but he felt it was unfair to her! That’s why he was angry.

Just whether this anger was directed at himself or Lian Yu, perhaps even Li Zhaoting couldn’t say clearly.

Yes, just as Si Lanfeng thought, even Li Zhaoting couldn’t explain his feelings at this moment.

In the surging passion within his chest, he remembered that night five years ago.

Her chest was a bloody mess, her fingernails deeply embedded in her palms… she had been stabbed many times, her intestines spilling out.

He hadn’t looked at her face or eyes then.

He didn’t want to see her twisted features.

Suddenly he remembered that afternoon many years ago when she disguised herself as a boy to attend private school with him.

That day everyone studied well, and after class the old master was in good spirits. Instead of dismissing them immediately, he smiled and asked: “You young scholars, when your studies bear fruit, what do you aspire to do?”

“Teacher, I wish to be a master. To teach and resolve doubts. With students throughout the land, making the ignorant wise and the wise serve the country.” Someone raised their hand excitedly.

“Oh, oh, good, good! This child can be taught.” The master stroked his beard and laughed heartily.

“Ah, my father is a butcher, so I might become a butcher too? But actually I want to be a cook, though I’m afraid my father would beat me to death…”

Someone scratched their head and said with some distress.

The whole school burst into laughter.

“I wish to be a general, protecting home and country, leaving my name for posterity.”

“I wish to be a great chancellor, governing the country and bringing peace.”

…

The master kept nodding, finally looking at him: “Zhaoting, tell us yours.”

The other students also looked over with interest—he was always the most outstanding student among them.

He stood up, his face maintaining its usual calm and composed expression.

“I wish to be a legend,” his voice was clear and resonant, “enabling great scholars to have students throughout the land, great generals to pacify and stabilize the nation, great chancellors to govern the country and benefit the people, so common folk can live in peace and prosperity.”

The master was stunned for a moment, his face showing surprise, seemingly thinking this grand ambition was good but perhaps too ambitious, and moreover, to achieve this wouldn’t one need to become king or emperor…

He smiled briefly. The master didn’t dare think further but still nodded in a concealing manner, while the students, being young, didn’t share the master’s far-reaching concerns and only felt inspired and pleased, continuously praising him.

The master quickly pointed at another to divert attention: “Feng Su, tell us, what is your aspiration?”

The youth beside him stood up and smiled: “Since Young Master Li wishes to be a legend, then Feng Su will be the legend’s aide.”

Hearing this answer, the master was obviously troubled—what the hell was this supposed to mean!

“Explain what you mean by ‘legend’s aide.'”

She smiled and replied: “A legend’s aide means helping the legend ensure great scholars have students throughout the land, great generals pacify and stabilize the nation, great chancellors govern the country and benefit the people, so people in the world will never again face warfare, unjust imprisonment, or separation.”

The master heard this and held his forehead—how was each one more unreliable than the last.

“You’re just a child with a yellow mouth—what makes you think you can achieve this?”

Since she wasn’t like him, the master’s prized disciple, but just some kid who’d been there a few days with a playful nature and unremarkable grades, the master had nothing to worry about and criticized freely.

She wasn’t annoyed, clicking her tongue twice and pointing outside the window: “If Heaven gives me a chance, Master, I’ll work hard to show you.”

“Can you succeed just by working hard?” the master said irritably.

She grinned: “Don’t know, but I’ll fight desperately for the person I love.”

“The butcher’s son wants to be a cook, the lazy one wants to challenge having students throughout the land, the sickly one wants to protect home and country… Knowingly attempting the impossible is foolish, yet trying to transcend the limitations of an era, even just trying to transcend what we ourselves can achieve—some succeed, more fail, but at least we haven’t wasted our youth. We insignificant people might not matter to history or mean anything to others, but to ourselves, isn’t this also a legendary journey? How can the leading roles look good in a play without the supporting characters?”

“It’s precisely because small people like us advance one after another that we achieve the great figures’ history and make this world better. Young Master Li, don’t you think Zhen’er is right?”

She stole a glance at him, that carefree, ingratiating smile forever frozen before him.

He hated her to his bones, didn’t arrange her burial, and even after Lian Yu launched his attack, ordered her body hung on the city tower—yes, hung here, just like her parents years ago.

“Lanfeng, perhaps none of us loved her most. I heard there’s a girl among Chancellor Quan’s retainers who’s greatly favored by Quan Feitong. My senior brother now also has a beauty—yes, people will always be moved by emotion… This kingdom is ultimately too prosperous, the mortal world too lonely. People like us, who can remain unchanged toward one person?”

He said to Si Lanfeng, his voice hoarse as if his throat had been severely injured.

Si Lanfeng opened his mouth but didn’t know how to respond, while Li Zhaoting had already turned decisively and left.

The dead were already dead; the living must continue. Imperial power and legends must continue, Si Lanfeng thought.

“Lanfeng, I want to establish women’s imperial examinations again, but I always feel that within a hundred years there will be no legend like today’s…”

The man ahead spoke quietly, stumbled, and actually fell to the ground.

Si Lanfeng momentarily forgot to help him up—since he’d been his companion, he’d never seen his master lose composure like this.

After returning to the palace, Miaoyin and the little prince were no longer there, but unexpectedly A Luo still waited at the study entrance.

A Luo was always a woman skilled at seizing opportunities.

“Tonight, let me serve you to bed, all right?”

Looking at the man before her, she spoke softly again. She had also seen his emotional stirring tonight.

Miaoyin hadn’t stayed overnight. She had Miaoyin’s secret—back then, at Miaoyin’s signal, guards had stabbed that person over ten more times, blood and flesh splattering all over her.

Of course, likewise, Miaoyin also had her secret, because she had instigated it.

But Wei Wulei had run off for help and hadn’t seen it, and Wei Chenghui later died of his injuries anyway, so it was all attributed to him. In any case, Wei Chenghui had committed many evils—this wasn’t much worse.

Neither she nor Miaoyin would expose this wound. Let them compete on real ability to see whom Li Zhaoting ultimately loved more.

“It seems I see Lian Yu coming for me. Miss Miao, please let me see him one more time.”

She still remembered when the guard picked up Wei Chenghui’s sword and swung it toward her, she suddenly made this request to Miaoyin. After years of struggle between them, she finally saw her humility.

But how could she and Miaoyin agree?

She seemed to see the determination in their eyes, laughed, and closed her mouth, making no further pleas.

That guard had his back to her—she only saw the madness of his blade.

She seemed to endure the pain desperately, making no sound from beginning to end. Even at the end, did she still want to prove her unyielding spirit to them?

But even though she had suffered for five years, been wronged for five years, forever lost Lian Yu, she still won—she was Li Zhaoting’s empress, she had won the rest of her life.

While that woman—no one knew who she was, her hair covering her face, clothes tattered, flesh torn open, hung on the city tower by the emperor’s order, her remains violated by wind and frost, pointed at by thousands. That was her ending.

“Zhaoting.” She called once more to the man who was quietly watching her.

Si Lanfeng was about to quietly withdraw when he heard Li Zhaoting say: “You need not wait for me anymore.”

“A Luo, on the way back I kept thinking—if I hadn’t studied under Master Tingyu, hadn’t met you, had stayed in Huai County, then she and I…” He didn’t finish how it would have been between them, only smiled slightly, his face showing a terrible calm. “But if I really returned to those days, I probably would still choose revenge, choose you.”

“People are like this—always chasing what they can’t have, then finding it lonely at the top. But regardless of whatever choice that day, I can never be with you again. Without you, I would still be her Young Master Li, forever Young Master Li. My heart aches, A Luo.”

Having said this, he slowly walked forward.

In his dark robes and golden crown, the young master was like jade, the pearl curtain on his head seeming to sway forever before her eyes.

That was the eternal finality in his eyes.

She stared blankly, feeling that though spring was just beginning, she seemed to have lived through an entire lifetime.

Epilogue

City tower.

Dawn was just breaking, the wind cold and biting. Below the city tower, a man had stood for half the night like a stone statue. Ordinarily, the city guards would have driven him away—this was an important area of the capital where passing through was acceptable but lingering required investigation.

But the man had been brought by General Chao, so though the soldiers found it strange, they took no action.

However, an even stranger thing happened next. The man opened a bamboo basket beside him and took out a jug of wine.

He slowly removed the wine’s seal and poured it onto the ground.

The wind carried the fragrance of daughter’s red wine.

The aroma was rich and lasting, definitely fine wine. Several soldiers couldn’t help but greedily inhale a few times.

Below the city tower, the man was unmoved by the good wine, only quietly gazing at the puddle on the ground.

That night the starlight was so bright—she had almost run into his sword.

In the study, he deliberately watched the world’s various states with cold eyes, elevating some and stepping on others. In that whole room, only she stepped forward to stand before him.

Those still-unripe apricots—he had thrown them one by one at her dog’s head because she had refused him several times, and that time she wanted to give him up for the sake of friendship.

On the Qixi Festival, she made him a flute, but he disdained sharing with her old acquaintances and crushed it with one hand.

Knowing there was a blood feud between them, he still took her innocence but didn’t give her status. She was afraid but didn’t retreat.

When he saw A Luo again, he told her to wait for his decision. She had no other words, only smiled and said yes.

Finally he abandoned her. She silently turned away without argument or pleading. Fate was cruel—it wasn’t anyone’s fault, but having made a choice, both sides must accept it.

She thought he was the enemy, yet she faked “killing” A Luo, forcing him in great anger to have her beaten to death. She believed he was a good emperor and loved this great kingdom. So she took revenge in another way, returning her life to her parents and leaving pain to him, but still never killed him. Or perhaps, in the end, it was simply because she also loved him.

At the very end, in that war, she thought he had died. She protected their witness Lotus, shielded his brothers, endured humiliation and pain, yet when they met again, she showed no resentment.

Between them, he had always thought he walked ninety-nine steps while she only took that final step.

But actually, she just walked later than him, never less than him.

They had both loved people—some “deceased,” some departed. He always thought life held only one time of passionate devotion like a moth to flame.

If there could be another time, only a moth like him would be willing to do such foolish things.

But wasn’t she another moth?

Before she left, he had already tricked Little Zhou into revealing her limited time, but he didn’t know she also knew, didn’t know she was already planning to perish together with the national traitor.

That day, as the carriage was about to depart, she said: “Lian Yu, hold me.”

He didn’t.

She had to embrace him herself.

Crying, she pried her fingers off him one by one.

He still didn’t move.

She looked at him from the carriage; he turned and left.

In the end, he hated her.

In their remaining days, he postponed all military plans for her, yet she insisted on taking Leng Xue to the capital to fulfill her duty rather than asking Quan Feitong again.

She said: “The paths in this world are just segments, meeting fellow travelers, separating at crossroads.”

But he was unwilling, wouldn’t give up.

On this road, the section they walked together was too short.

He gave orders to Zhuque—once matters in the capital were settled, go seek medicines, famous doctors, ways to save her. Perhaps there was still hope.

Yes, he wouldn’t give up, he just wouldn’t give up!

If they ultimately couldn’t walk to the end together, then at least they needed a proper farewell.

Perhaps the greatest regret in the mortal world was never about not obtaining golden robes or reaching high rank, but not having time to say goodbye properly.

A clean bed, lifelong friends as companions—if even these were impossible, then at least she should have died in his arms, with his promise for their next life. Even though she had once told him decisively: never make promises lightly.

Not wounded like this, like her parents, pointed at by thousands.

Why didn’t he hold her that day?

His ten fingers gripped the wine jug tightly, the jug still trembling.

“Susu, these years I’ve been campaigning on the borders. I’ve fought many battles. In my lifetime, I won’t let Da Zhou suffer the chaos of war unless I die in battle.”

“Susu, I won’t be able to come next year—there’s too much to do there. But I always fear your spirit still lingers here. They say when injuries are too severe, even death brings no release. Without wine, without friends, how can you endure?”

Making a gathering gesture toward the void, his vision blurred, yet he smiled slightly: “So yes, Susu, I’ve come. I’ve come to take you home.”

[End of Main Text]