Ten-odd li northwest from Jingkou, along the southern bank of the Yangtze River, at a place called Longshan surrounded by water on all sides, lies Golden Mountain.

There is a temple on the mountain with a pagoda at its peak, and behind the temple stands an observation platform for watching the tides, named Swimming Dragon Platform.

The river tides flow like dragons, rushing eastward from the mountain’s base night after night, ceaselessly since ancient times. When people climb to the platform and look north over the rivers and mountains, they can see everything at a glance. Since ancient times, this has been a scenic spot beloved by literary scholars. Until now, with the southern migration of the noble families and the fall of half the northern territories, this place has become even more a destination for southern people to reminisce about the past and mourn the present. The nearby cliff faces bear many inscriptions by famous contemporary scholars, drawing admirers to view them, creating another kind of scenery.

Below Golden Mountain lies a peach grove. This spring came early, and as A’Ting had said, the peach blossoms were beginning to bloom. Today brought bright spring weather with the river surface like a mirror. When the group arrived, boats traveled back and forth nearby, dotting the water, while spring visitors streamed endlessly.

Li Mu hired a boat and helped Luoshen aboard. A’Ting didn’t need his help—she eagerly jumped on by herself. Qiongshu, Yingtao, and others also boarded happily, carrying food baskets and bundles containing umbrellas, tents, towels, and other items for their outing.

Everyone sat down. The boatman gave a shout and sang a fisherman’s song as the boat headed toward Golden Mountain against the wind. Reaching the mountain’s base, the group disembarked and wandered through the peach grove, stopping and starting for half the day. By evening, having heard that the vegetarian meals at Golden Mountain Temple were extremely famous, they climbed the mountain to enter the temple.

The abbot here recognized Li Mu. When the guest monk reported that he had brought his family to dine at the temple today, the abbot personally came out to greet them. Seeing a woman with a veiled face beside him—though her features were hidden, her figure and clothing showed she was young—plus a girl of about ten and five or six servants and maids following behind, he knew this was Li Mu’s family, with his wife being the daughter of the Gao family. Naturally, he couldn’t look closely at her. After exchanging pleasantries with Li Mu, he led them to an upper room and had tea and water served.

Soon the vegetarian meal was brought in courses. Mushrooms, bamboo shoots, bean curd sheets, bean sprouts, and mock chicken—though all just ordinary vegetarian dishes, they were prepared with great care. Even better, the cups and plates were spotlessly clean and perfectly matched. Combined with the group’s half-day of touring and their resulting hunger, everything tasted delicious. Even Luoshen, who usually ate little, couldn’t help but have several more bites.

When tea was served after the meal, the guest monk mentioned that around the seventh watch tonight, river tides would flow past the base of Golden Mountain. Based on past years’ experience, tonight’s tide should be the highest since spring began. Since they were already at the temple, it would be a pity not to watch the tides.

Not only was A’Ting restless and continuously urging them on, but even Luoshen felt somewhat moved after hearing this.

She had grown up in Jiankang from childhood. Along Bailu Zhou, river floods were common. Originally, she was no stranger to the great river’s night tides.

But today, perhaps because she had a companion by her side, everything seemed fresh and interesting.

Actually, after being tormented most of last night and touring for half the day today, her legs were already tired, but her heart was reluctant to return just like this. Without A’Ting’s urging, she looked toward Li Mu herself.

Without her needing to speak, Li Mu only glanced at her once to catch the expectation in her eyes. Since she still wanted to watch the spring river’s night tide, how could he refuse? He smiled and nodded. So the group continued to linger at the temple, waiting for the night tide to come.

It was quite amusing. Originally A’Ting had been most eager, but as soon as the sky darkened and the moon rose over the river, she hurried to Swimming Dragon Platform, saying she would sit there waiting for the river tide. But having run around all day and eaten too much at dinner, she gradually became drowsy. Yawning, she returned, saying she might as well sleep for a while first and have her brother and sister-in-law wake her when the tide came.

Luoshen agreed. A’Ting then slept peacefully.

The night tide hadn’t arrived yet, so Luoshen followed Li Mu on a night tour of the mountain temple. When they emerged from Guanyin Hall, they heard the guest monk say the tide was about to arrive. Remembering A’Ting’s instructions, she hurried back personally to wake her. But A’Ting was sleeping deeply—after calling several times, she only turned over, smacked her lips a few times, and went back to snoring peacefully.

Luoshen was both amused and exasperated.

Just as she was about to push her awake again, a hand reached over from beside her, quietly grasping hers.

“Let her sleep! We’ll go watch the tide ourselves.”

Li Mu leaned close to her ear, spoke softly, then took her hand and led her out.

The mountain moonlight was brilliant, with heavy tree shadows along the path.

Luoshen was led by the man beside her, walking slowly up the moon-washed white stone steps toward the tide-watching platform.

The air was filled with the faint, unique fragrance of early spring flowers and trees. All was quiet around them, occasionally broken only by the sound of wings flapping when night birds hidden in the darkness took flight.

This early spring riverside moonlit night was so leisurely and peaceful.

Luoshen stopped and stood on the tide-watching platform beneath her feet.

The spring river’s bright moon rose slowly eastward.

In the distance, at the edge of their vision, a tide like a white line was surging toward Golden Mountain. Gradually reaching them, the tide head swirled rapidly as the river channel suddenly narrowed, beating against the rocky shores and rolling up patches of snowy waves.

The spring tide rushed past, the river surface rose sharply, with rippling waves seeming to connect heaven and sea, stretching endlessly.

This night—flowing river water, hazy moon, misty waves.

The riverside peach blossoms, reflected in this spring night’s moonlight, also seemed like flying flower phantoms from a dream.

Luoshen leaned against the shoulder and arm of the man beside her, motionless, her entire being immersed in this dreamlike moonlight.

Suddenly, the clear sound of temple bells reached her ears.

Before the bell sounds faded, from somewhere in the distance—perhaps some river islet—fishing drums rose in response to the wind, mixed with threads of melancholy song.

Listening carefully, they were singing ancient songs of homesickness.

“…Who says the river is wide? One reed can cross it. Who says Song is distant? I crane my neck to see it.”

“Who says the river is wide? It cannot even hold a blade. Who says Song is distant? Not even a morning’s journey…”

The singing drifted ethereally, the melody incomplete, faintly recognizable, carrying remnants of the old capital Luoyang’s accent.

After just a few lines, it grew quiet, gradually disappearing.

Only the temple bells remained, their lingering echoes scattering into the river waves and moon shadows.

Luoshen guessed this must be someone from the former Eastern Capital who had migrated south years ago, drifting on the river tonight and moved by the scene to sing this ancient Song dynasty song of homesickness.

She was born in the Southern Dynasty and raised in Jiankang. Since she could remember, the Central Plains to the north had been barbarian territory.

Even though her own name came from the Luo River, she actually had no deep attachment to those Central Plains she had never set foot upon.

But on such a spring river flower-moon night, perhaps infected by that melancholy homesick ancient song, thinking of how barbarian horses still neighed in the Central Plains and remembering her father’s northern expedition, her heart was slightly moved.

She looked up at Li Mu beside her and saw his eyes gazing ahead into the distance.

She couldn’t help but follow his gaze toward the other side of the great river.

What met her eyes was hazy moonlight, empty vastness, only the endless tide rolling past beneath their feet.

He kept looking, silent, his gaze seeming to cross this great river barrier in the night, toward that place beyond the far shore that her vision couldn’t reach.

“What are you thinking about?”

She couldn’t help feeling bewildered. After following his gaze for a while longer, she finally couldn’t resist asking softly.

She saw him called back, lowering his head to gaze at her for a long time, yet still not answering her.

Under the moonlight, his expression was solemn, his gaze deep in thought.

This version of him was one she had never seen before.

Even though last night they had become so intimately close, she still felt he was a stranger.

Her heart grew more bewildered, touched with a trace of uncertain anxiety.

“What’s wrong with you? Why do you look at me like this?”

She hesitated, then asked again.

He extended both arms, pulled her into his embrace, and held her.

That familiar feeling of security immediately returned.

“A’Mi, I must do something.”

“Perhaps when that day comes, everyone in the world will be my enemy.”

She heard him speaking slowly at her ear.

“But remember, in the future, even if the whole world becomes my enemy, I will never harm you or your parents.”

Luoshen was stunned.

She didn’t quite understand what he was saying.

She raised her face from his embrace: “What do you want to do? Why would everyone in the world be your enemy?”

Li Mu looked down, gazing at this face under the moonlight, and smiled slightly.

“You’ll know later. I only need you to remember my words.”

He was smiling at her, his gaze so gentle.

But in his smile, Luoshen clearly sensed a trace of loneliness.

Like someone walking alone in the dark night, with only a solitary shadow behind him as company.

She stared at him blankly as slowly, waves of sourness and pity welled up in her heart.

No matter what he planned to do in the future, no matter whether everyone in the world would oppose him.

She didn’t know about the past.

But from now on, she thought, she wouldn’t continue to leave him walking alone, letting him be so lonely.

“My lord! I remember.”

Her heart heated, the words burst out, and for the first time she called him “my lord.”

As the words fell, she leaned into his embrace, wrapped her arms around his waist, and buried her face against his chest.

Li Mu froze for a moment, then suddenly embraced her tightly with both arms and lowered his head to kiss her.

…

Luoshen was carried down by Li Mu.

He carried her all the way to the temple gate before setting her down.

When A’Ting pouted and complained that they hadn’t woken her to watch the tides, Luoshen’s face still carried traces of a blush that hadn’t completely faded.

She couldn’t help stealing glances at Li Mu.

He was smiling as he coaxed A’Ting, saying next time he’d compensate her with several of the finest paper kites, letting her choose them herself from the shops in the eastern market. He also said it was getting late and urged them to return. While speaking, his gaze kept glancing at her with flashing eyes full of strange light.

Luoshen knew exactly what he was thinking.

Thinking of last night, her own heart pounded like a startled deer, her face heated again, and she turned away, no longer looking at him.

Hearing about the kites, A’Ting’s anger disappeared and she eagerly nodded. So they packed up their things, were seen off Golden Mountain by the abbot, and the monks personally ferried them back across to the other shore.

When they returned to the Li family home, the sky was completely dark. By the side of the main gate, several fine, tall horses were tied to the hitching posts.

It seemed guests had arrived at night.

At the gate, a servant woman was looking around. Seeing Li Mu’s group return, she hurried forward: “Li Langjun, you’ve returned! Minister Gao has arrived! The old madam is keeping him company and talking.”

Li Mu’s gaze flickered slightly, though his expression showed little change. He simply dismounted and went to help Luoshen down from the carriage.

Luoshen was still in the carriage when she faintly heard the servant woman’s words.

Father had come to Jingkou?

She quickly emerged from the carriage and asked Li Mu, “Did she just say my father has come?”

Li Mu reached out to lift her down, smiling, “Yes.”

Luoshen was delighted. Lifting her skirt, she rushed up the steps, leaving him behind as she hurried inside.

Li Mu watched her light, quick figure, his smile gradually fading as he followed her in.