The candlelight swayed once, then returned to stillness. Song Lan closed his eyes. The expression on his face shifted from the cold menace of a moment ago into something like relief — a gradual, expanding ease. He reached out and touched Luowei’s cheek. The jade ring on his finger was colder than ice: “I have been guessing for so long, and only now do you deign to tell me. You have endured this for so long — you have suffered.”

Luowei sat slumped before the pallet, perfectly docile as she leaned against his palm, yet said: “From the moment you had no choice but to make use of me, Your Majesty was frightened every single day. If anyone should speak of suffering, it is still you who suffered more.”

She picked up from among her skirts one of the prayer beads that had tumbled from Song Lan’s hand, and placed it back in his palm: “If your heart were not troubled, why seek consolation from the gods and Buddha? Your Majesty needed to use Yu Qiushi, yet dared not trust him fully, and after turning it over in your mind in every direction, you could only find me capable of keeping him in check. We two were both nothing but Your Majesty’s chess pieces. And as for the so-called Noble Consort’s pregnancy — that, too, was merely a pretext. Your Majesty wished to rule directly, and could only do so once he was eliminated. Is that not so?”

“I must also thank you for this, Elder Sister,” Song Lan said sincerely. “Although the Grand Preceptor helped me a great deal, I was deeply troubled before. I always worried — if he were to develop disloyal ambitions, could I handle it? It was fortunate to have you present: first you gave me peace of mind, then you destroyed his spirit without shedding a drop of blood. If not for you, I cannot imagine how much thought and how many lives it would have cost me to rid myself of him.”

He extended another hand and cradled her face, asking: “When did you know?”

Luowei replied: “Let me think… it was roughly from ‘Lament for the Jintian’ that it began.”

“After A’Qi died, I went to see you, and you told me you had never expected him to harbor such vicious intentions, and told me not to grieve over such a vile person. From that moment on, the more I looked at you, the more unfamiliar you seemed.”

“Do you know… what A’Qi wrote in my palm before he died?”

She held Song Lan’s hand and wrote on his palm. Song Lan did not resist, and let her do as she wished.

Luowei traced across his palm. The lines of Song Lan’s hand were crossed and tangled, and for a moment she could not even find the life line.

“He wrote… to ask me to protect you.”

Song Lan’s fingers trembled. For an instant, his face went blank.

“What was he to you? You harbored a grudge for so many years over a single word of careless contempt he spoke in his cups — yet when he had fallen to that state, his concern was still for your safety.” Luowei did not look at him, only said: “And you — how could you so unhesitatingly believe he would slay his own brother?”

“From then on, I could not sleep at night. I secretly deployed every person I trusted to investigate the matter. Though you acted cleanly, there will always be traces left behind. The Jintian Guard severely wounded yet surviving at Tinghua Terrace, the little eunuch walking alone through the imperial city carrying a lamp, the Guzhu Zisun tea Yu Qiushi often drank in your chambers, the evidence concealed on behalf of Lu Heng… I spent two years piecing it together, bit by bit, strand by strand, until at last I discovered — it was I who was the greatest fool in all under heaven.”

She let out a low laugh. Song Lan crooked his finger and tilted up her chin, seeing that her eyes held tears — yet they had not fallen. He tenderly wiped the corners of her eyes and sighed: “So early… in the end I played one move too poorly and gave away my position.”

Luowei stared straight at him and said through gritted teeth: “Knowing that it was by your own hand that they were slain — and that I had sent you to the throne with the Emperor’s own sword, not only failing to rescue those you had branded as traitors, but becoming your Empress — when I think of this, I wish I could take a knife and carve into my own flesh, and flay you alive with my own hands. Yet I cannot…”

She took a deep breath in; tears slid past his fingers and fell: “You are far from the only culprit. Those who helped you, those who turned a blind eye to it all, those who betrayed us — I will not let a single one of them go.”

Song Lan made a sound, and said with great feeling: “From the end of the first year of Jinghe, you began to act — disrupting the Six Ministries, placing your own people among the Remonstrance and Surveillance Offices, using your confrontations with the Grand Preceptor as cover to kill or demote many of Yu’s faction. And there were many other matters that even I likely did not know about… Then came this spring — Lu Heng, Ning Le, and the Grand Preceptor. These movements of yours were not necessarily unknown to me. I simply truly did not wish to believe it — that the Empress’s seat, the unmatched honor and dignity of being the most exalted woman under heaven — you would cast it all aside like worn-out shoes, scheming and enduring patiently for years, all for the sake of a dead man!”

Luowei said coldly: “It is not only for him. There is something I once said to Yu Qiushi, and I do not mind saying to you as well — what we seek, you will never understand.”

Song Lan paid her words no heed. He closed his eyes, his dark lashes trembling, and a single tear fell: “Elder Sister, why do you love Imperial Brother so dearly? Everything finest in this world has belonged to Imperial Brother — and now that he is dead, it all still belongs to him?”

He took Luowei’s hand and pressed it to his own chest: “Do you not know — this too beats for you? From the very first day I saw you in Lanhun Courtyard, I have always loved you in this way — humble and timid. Yet in your eyes, has there ever been room for anyone else?”

Luowei had never seen his tears before. Seeing them now, her heart swelled with a surge of fierce satisfaction. She did not waver in the slightest, and asked coldly in return: “Is that so? And this is your love — bloodsucking, marrow-draining, a love that wears a false face? It is as vile and ugly as you are. The truth is, you have never loved anyone. From start to finish, you have been a narcissus poisoned through and through, gazing at your reflection in the water — the one you have always loved most is only ever yourself.”

Song Lan was utterly enraged by her words. He grabbed her by the throat and dragged her before his face. The two of them were forehead to forehead; Song Lan drew a deep breath and barely managed to restrain himself.

He knew that Luowei wanted to see him lose his composure — he would not give her that satisfaction.

And so he leaned in close to Luowei’s ear and, deliberately keeping his voice soft and warm, taunted: “What a pity — what a pity that despite all the injustice burning within you, you still had to play along, even to the point of yielding your body to me. Counting it up, at the end of the second year of Jinghe, when I tricked you into drinking the first cup of wine, you already knew the truth? And yet you still…”

“Your Majesty is mistaken. That cup of wine was prepared by me,” Luowei said, tilting her head aside to avoid his kiss, smiling as she continued: “Your suspicion of me was growing day by day, and Yu Qiushi urged you on every day. If one day you truly could not rest easy and moved against me first — what would have become of things? Zi Lan, think carefully: was it not after I willingly accepted you that you lost the urge to first eliminate me and then Yu Qiushi?”

Song Lan was taken aback: “It was deliberate? How? You… you ceased to guard your chastity for him?”

“Ha ha ha ha, guard my chastity?” Luowei burst out laughing in his arms, nearly doubled over. “What is that supposed to mean? Your Majesty just asked whether I ever did — and I am telling you now: I simply do not care in the slightest. What is there to guard? Seeking pleasure with others is simply a kind of indulgence. As long as it is not him, anyone is the same. Oh no, that is not right — you are different. After all, even if I close my eyes and try as hard as I can to imagine you as him, every touch and every kiss with you leaves me utterly nauseated, and I cannot settle myself for the longest time!”

Song Lan was utterly driven out of his mind by her. He raised his hand and slapped her across the face. Luowei fell backward, clutching her cheek. She saw Song Lan’s finger pointing at her, his words barely coherent: “You — you…”

“Did you not think — after eliminating Yu Qiushi, by luring me to this Guyou Mountain, your people in the capital could use the opportunity to raise a revolt?”

He threw aside the dragon robe he had draped around himself, rose to his feet, fists clenched tight, and then burst into a mad, unhinged laughter: “You spoke all those high-minded words, yet you yourself are no better — after years of comfort and privilege, are you honestly telling me you harbor no ambitions of your own for the deer of the realm? All that talk of revenge for him — it is nothing but a pretense. What you want is this empire, is it not?”

He reached out, swept Luowei up, and threw her onto the pallet to one side. The candle flames shifted with the movement, flickering between brightness and darkness, half of them already extinguished.

“You think yourself clever, yet when it comes to this matter, you are far inferior to me. Even if I dared not be certain of your intentions, would I not take precautions against you?” Song Lan pressed down on her shoulders and tore apart the fastenings at her collar: “You are today the Empress whom all speak well of, yet you are not of the Song bloodline. Tomorrow you could become another Yu Qiushi — a usurper who seizes the dynasty!”

Luowei let out a cold laugh: “It remains to be seen whose hand the deer falls to.”

Song Lan was about to strip off her outer robe when the candlelight lurched. Without him noticing how she had done it, Luowei had pulled the sharp rose-gold hairpin from the top of her head and drove it fiercely through his right hand.

The blade-like tip of the pin pressed against his throat, forcing him to roll off the pallet and tumble to the floor. Even in such a moment, Song Lan managed to suppress any cry of pain. He twisted back and seized her wrist, wresting the hairpin away.

Luowei was utterly unafraid, and taunted: “Kill me here and now, then — and see whether your empire still stands tomorrow.”

“Elder Sister speaks in jest — how could I bear to?”

She clearly dared to lay all her cards on the table, which meant she must have left some kind of insurance behind that he had not yet seen.

Song Lan pressed hard on his wound, studied the hairpin for a moment, and did not forget to jeer: “You know, the hairpin in your hand has been stained with the last blood of the one you hold so dear in your heart.”

Luowei immediately understood in a flash the origin of the blood-red stain on that golden hairpin. Her face went pale. Song Lan struggled to his feet and took two steps back: “Very well — very well then. Since you refuse to believe you have lost, I will give you a chance. You wait right here. Wait and see what becomes of you.”

He staggered toward the hall doors, stumbling through the forest of candles that had nearly all gone out, then seemed to remember something and turned back, smiling: “I forgot to tell you — after Imperial Brother was struck in the assassination attempt that year, he did not actually die. I found him a good place to stay. When you return to the palace, I will take you there to live. What do you say?”

Luowei wiped her hand clean of the blood she had gotten on it — as though she found it utterly revolting — and said nothing.

Song Lan kicked open the doors. The candles went out entirely.

Luowei listened to his voice from beyond the doors.

“The Empress has fallen suddenly ill. She is to be confined to the Chong Mausoleum’s ancestral temple until further notice. Imperial physicians are to attend to her with utmost diligence.”

* * *

In the capital city.

Ye Tingyan took the jade tablet, met with Yan Ping, and personally rode on horseback to make a circuit of the thirteen city gates.

But the city gates were utterly calm — not the slightest sign of unusual movement.

When would she make her move? Did she know of Song Lan’s precautions?

Yan Ping, though stationed in the city, did not fully understand Song Lan’s intentions. Seeing Ye Tingyan produce Song Lan’s jade tablet, he quickly mustered his troops and, following instructions, secured the inner and outer city walls.

Ye Tingyan stood before the Mingguang Gate, gazing through the red walls at the Ever-Bright Candle Tower within the imperial city — always lit.

He suddenly recalled how, earlier at this very spot, he had looked at Luowei — before she had noticed him, he had watched her for a long while, seeing her stand beneath the setting sun with her arms spread wide, like a white crane poised to take flight.

Where did she wish to fly?

A few days ago, Luowei had used such a risky method to force him onto her ship. If she intended to burn her bridges, she ought to have sent him word.

His thoughts paused for a moment. In the autumn night wind, Ye Tingyan suddenly realized — the message Song Lan had sent into the imperial city was itself her way of sending word. If the capital remained without incident, Song Lan would surely summon him to lead the Zhuque Division and keep watch over Luowei.

As for Song Lan himself — with the Yan brothers commanding the Imperial Guards as his protection, that would suffice. After all, in his eyes, Luowei was now the most dangerous person.

Song Lan needed to keep watch over the capital’s movements, and in the next few days would unlikely spare a thought for Luowei. She would inevitably fall into his hands.

After thinking it through, Ye Tingyan raised the corner of his lips and revealed a faint smile.

So this was why she had been so eager to draw him to her side.

Yet she had miscalculated by one step — she had not seen that what he wanted was not those honors, achievements, and positions of power; not even a worthy death after a lifetime of devoted service.

This was then… her hand delivering herself to him.

The next day, before noon, Ye Tingyan indeed received a second letter dispatched by Song Lan, summoning him — without informing Yan Ping — to come alone on horseback to Guyou Mountain to await orders.

He rode hard and arrived as dusk was drawing to a close. Song Lan was in his tent, carefully composing a piece of writing.

Ye Tingyan clasped his hands in a bow, and once granted Song Lan’s permission, stepped forward a few paces — and saw that what Song Lan was writing was, in fact, an “Elegy for Empress Jiayi.”

He had only glanced for a moment before his heart sank heavily. Song Lan shot him a look; Ye Tingyan quickly took several steps back and said urgently: “Your Majesty.”

“Tingyan, no need for such formality,” Song Lan responded, bidding him sit to one side, and sighed: “Do you still remember — I once spoke of my concerns to you as well? The Empress has assisted with governance for many years, and her ambitions have grown ever greater. Though I hold her in deep regard, I simply cannot withstand her overt and covert attacks.”

He was just about to speak when Song Lan continued: “All these years, she has built for herself such an admirable reputation. If it were not that I have long known her true character, even if someone came to accuse her, I would not believe it. If even I am thus, what of the hundred officials? The capital is calm for now — who knows when she will make her move? Yesterday when she came to find me, the only weapon she carried, I foolishly took away with my own hands in a fit of anger. Now, even if I hold up my wounded hand for the officials to see, they would likely all suspect it is a ruse of my own devising.”

Only then did Ye Tingyan notice the layers of bandaging wrapped around Song Lan’s palm.

“I have thought it over carefully, and cannot risk it. It would be best to let her ‘die of illness’ here. Even though this will invite gossip, I cannot afford to care about that anymore — at least it provides an explanation of sorts.” Song Lan sighed deeply: “My Empress and I have had an affection spanning many years. I truly do not wish matters to have come to this pass. But what choice do I have? Even if I were willing to hand over the dynasty with both hands, in the dead of night when my ancestors come demanding an answer, what would I say?”

“Jiayi — fine words, admirable conduct: it is a fine posthumous title, and the last thing I can do for her.”

This speech was half true and half false. Ye Tingyan kept his eyes lowered and offered a single word of agreement: “Your Majesty is benevolent.”

Song Lan turned and gripped his hand, speaking with earnestness: “I summoned you because there is an urgent matter I can entrust only to you — I cannot be at ease with anyone else. The Imperial Guards are all at the encampment now. You are to go up Guyou Mountain at once, and use the Zhuque Division to keep the Empress under tight watch. I do not know whether anyone will come to rescue her, nor whether these people will first converge on the encampment. She must have left some insurance behind. Once the capital shows signs of movement — or once the encampment shows signs — I will go up the mountain myself and act personally.”

Ye Tingyan let out a cold laugh inwardly, yet kept an expression of respectful deference: “Understood.”

* * *

When he pushed open the door and entered, Ye Tingyan first caught the scent of blood drifting through the air.

There was no lamp lit in the room. The candles were all in place, yet for some reason Luowei had not relit them, simply allowing herself to remain in total darkness.

Ye Tingyan exchanged a glance with Yuan Ming at the door. Yuan Ming understood his meaning and immediately summoned all the Zhuque Guards stationed at the entrance, dispersing them into the woods.

Song Lan was not here. Everyone present answered to his command.

He shut the door behind him and, with considerable patience, lit ten candles one after another, illuminating the hall in a bright wash of light.

He turned — and saw Luowei reclining on the pallet, watching him quietly.

The state she was in could only be described as utterly disheveled — her hair scattered loose, her collar half-open, her face bearing fading red marks, and smeared rouge.

That vivid color mingled with traces of blood on her neck, impossible to distinguish from one another.

Even so, she remained perfectly composed. Just as she had been in all their countless encounters before, she tilted the corner of her lips upward with a trace of allure and looked at him: “Tingyan, I have been waiting for you for quite some time.”

Ye Tingyan walked toward her one step at a time. Every question he had been about to ask upon entering vanished entirely.

He looked at the handprints, the marks of kisses, the traces of blood on Luowei’s body, and within him a rage surged forth — fierce, nearly savage. He could not tell whether this fury was directed at Luowei, at Song Lan, or at himself.

With great effort he bent the trembling corner of his lips into a calm curve, and walked to stand before her: “What does Your Majesty wish to say to me?”

Luowei half-straightened herself and reached out to hook a finger around the jade belt at his waist.

“Naturally — I wish to ask you to save me.”

He had known he would hear these words; he could not help letting out a cold laugh and playing his part in this performance: “Does Your Majesty know — if I am to save you now, I am risking my very life.”

Luowei gave a soft “mm”: “But you will certainly save me — will you not?”

In truth, she had never placed all her bets on him alone. When Yan Lang had entered the capital at the time, the people he brought numbered far more than just those ten.

It was simply that outsiders entering the city all at once would too easily attract attention. So Yan Lang patiently spent three or four months living in the capital, letting his soldiers disguise themselves as merchants and stall vendors, and slipped into the city one by one.

Luowei had then selected Guyou Mountain. These men arrived half a month ahead of time in the area near the Chong Mausoleum’s ancestral temple, waiting only for Song Lan to let down his guard before coming to the rescue.

The imperial city was heavily guarded, and in the capital too there were many eyes and ears everywhere. She needed to find an opportunity to leave the city — a diversionary tactic, using the two-day window when Song Lan believed he had seen through her plan to slip away.

There would be absolutely no unrest in the capital. Without complete certainty, she would never take such a risk.

And so she had to move quickly. Song Lan at present still did not dare be fully certain the capital would remain without incident. If she waited for him to come to his senses, it would be impossible for him to leave only the Zhuque Division to guard this Chong Mausoleum’s ancestral temple.

If Ye Tingyan could help her, that would be the best possible outcome. If he could not — or would not — then it might well come to a bloody battle.

After all, the Zhuque Division was also an elite force within the imperial city. Coming to blows with them would inevitably mean many casualties, and once Song Lan was alarmed, it would fall to the worst of all possible scenarios.

The Zhuque Guards had already been dispersed far from the temple. The servants had all been sent away too. In the vast, empty ancestral shrine, only the occasional howl of the wind could be heard.

Ye Tingyan looked down at her. He reached out and smeared the red across her collarbone — whether it was rouge or blood — spreading it in a blur.

Luowei tilted her head up. She looked at the line beneath his eyes, and sure enough heard him ask: “How does Your Majesty intend to repay me?”

She had not tidied herself after Song Lan left — she had waited for him to come.

Her hand moved. Luowei unfastened the cold jade belt at his waist.

A piece of white silk cloth drifted down along with the jade belt. She reached out and caught it, recognizing it as the small cloth Ye Tingyan usually used to shade his eyes from the light.

Sensing her intent, Ye Tingyan could not say what he felt — disdain? delight? If anything, what rose up was something closer to anger.

He had grown angry at her changes so many, many times already. Now, her offering herself to survive — that was entirely understandable. Yet something blocked so thickly in his chest he could barely speak.

Ye Tingyan suddenly found he did not want to see that unfamiliar face, and so he snatched the silk cloth from her hands and bound it over her eyes.

Luowei did not resist. To be honest, this suited her perfectly.

In the shifting darkness, she straightened and found the glass bead fastening at his collar.

The darkness brought with it endless wandering thoughts. In this moment, for instance, she was pondering what this glass bead looked like — she recalled, long ago at the Dian Hong Platform, watching a pair of slender fingers undo this very fastening, while she herself had been holding an embroidered silk fan adorned with begonia flowers.

How strange and wondrous is the human world — had she imagined, in that moment, that it might one day come to this?

In an instant, she pressed her thoughts back down. Better to think of nothing at all right now.

Ye Tingyan bent down and bit into the side of her neck, licking at it with warm wetness.

His kisses trailed downward, carrying with them something of the feeling of a bite.

Luowei did not know what he was angry about. Perhaps it was because she had placed herself in this predicament without consulting him first?

In truth, was this not also a kind of final test for him — if he could still help her even when she was this low, she would be able to trust him fully.

Besides, she still wanted to press him into saying what she wished to hear.

In her memory, those slender, graceful hands moved along her back and undid the ties of her skirt. Ye Tingyan stroked past her waist, then suddenly asked: “Your Majesty, what are you thinking about?”

Luowei felt a tightening in her heart. She was silent for a moment before answering: “Naturally, I am thinking of you.”

Ye Tingyan let out a soft derisive laugh. She knew he did not believe her.

But no one could afford to think too much at a time like this.

The candles on the table flickered and swayed, burning quietly, their wax melting drop by drop into tears.

After initial clumsiness came an intuitive fluency.

Luowei gripped his lapels tightly, her eyes shut, and felt for the first time that the sounds around her were this vivid and clear.

Outside the window, the wind moved the prayer banners. In the distance, a bamboo grove rustled with a soft, whispering sound. Before her, there was a low sound of breath, exhaled against her cheek — slightly warm and damp.

Such a cold, jade-like person — and yet he could be consumed by this kind of burning?

Very soon she had no more leisure for thought. Before her eyes was darkness, yet the scent drifting all around was familiar. Better not to think anymore.

Ye Tingyan’s hair had come loose at some point, and after a kiss it swept across Luowei’s cheek.

She had never noticed before — the place on him where the scents of sandalwood and jasmine were strongest was his long hair.

And so Luowei, entranced, caught a lock of it and brought it to the tip of her nose. She used a little too much force and heard from the other side a muffled grunt of pain.

That sound…

It was exactly like what she had heard beneath the begonia tree in the Qionghua Hall — so very familiar.

Luowei was nearly bewitched. She reached out wanting to remove the silk cloth from before her eyes, but he grabbed both her hands and pinned them above her head, preventing her from moving. Dark hair swept repeatedly across her neck, tangling with her own hair, intertwined and inseparable. Sweat dripped onto her cheek — had it not been warm and close, she might almost have mistaken it for tears.

Luowei felt the tip of her nose growing ever more sore, and the dampness in her eye sockets nearly soaked through the silk cloth.

He carried her to the summit of ecstasy, in a clinging, unrelenting embrace that would not cease.

A moment later, Ye Tingyan released her hands and once more pressed close to her neck, bestowing a tender kiss.

Luowei could not hold back a soft sob. As if bewitched, she leaned close to his ear and softly called out: “…older brother…”

Ye Tingyan froze.

He raised his hand and removed the silk cloth from before her eyes, and saw a pair of eyes — lost and unfocused. He reached out and pinched her chin, forcing her to look directly at him.

Luowei was dizzy and disoriented. It took her a long while to steady herself and look at him.

In those pitch-black pupils, at this moment, a fire lay hidden.

He asked: “Whom were you calling?”

Luowei suddenly shivered. She pushed against him and tried to draw back, but he pulled her toward him again. He drew closer and, forcing his voice to soften, asked once more: “Whom were you calling?”

Luowei refused to answer.

She did not know why he was so fixated on this question, insisting on an answer from her.

She could only bury herself against his shoulder, like a small boat caught in a great storm.

And he asked relentlessly, refusing to relent: “Whom were you calling?”

After a while, she truly could not hold on any longer. Her tears fell uncontrollably. Ye Tingyan cradled her face, wiping away her teardrops with his thumb. His tone was unmistakably cold, yet carried a single thread of compassion: “Why are you crying like this?”

Luowei sobbed and cursed him: “Treacherous… villain…”

Unexpectedly, those four words enraged him all over again. He gripped her trembling, fragile neck and squeezed slightly. With a strange laugh, nearly losing his composure, he pressed against her ear and taunted: “Treacherous villain? Who is the treacherous villain? The viper enthroned on the imperial seat — he is the treacherous villain. And you, the Empress who has made merry with him for so many years — you are the treacherous villain!”

Luowei was thrown to the clouds, then floated lightly back down. At that moment, his voice sounded in her ear — like a dream, now near, now far.

And she belatedly realized — she had guessed correctly.

Ye Tingyan was still laughing coldly, still relentlessly pressing forward, demanding all — though he was clearly the one plundering, his voice carried the resentment of someone abandoned: “What a pity, what a pity. Are you still so certain he does not have the heart to kill you? You are wrong. The moment your people make a move, he will send you on your way without a moment’s hesitation — you chose this heartless thing, and were tossed aside by him like so much rubbish. Empress! Your Majesty! This is all your retribution! In the dead of night when you lie awake, have you ever regretted, even for a moment, that you trusted this wolf-hearted, dog-lunged creature?”

The hands Luowei had been pushing against him suddenly went limp.

She had heard every word of that speech, and nearly wanted to throw her arms around his shoulders and laugh out loud.

True and false, all these months — mutual pretense, individual scheming. The suspicions she had suppressed within her had built to this point. And now, in the moment he was most vulnerable — invaded and overwhelmed by desire — she had bitten open a breach, forcing him to speak the truth.

Ye Tingyan’s eyes were bloodshot. But having spoken those words, there was nothing left to fear. He kissed her cheek and said coldly: “Your Majesty, rest assured — I will naturally save you out of here. It is only that… I cannot hand you over to your people just yet. If you were to leave the capital now, you would be walking into danger. How would it be if you were to stay in this minister’s home for a day or two first?”

He had the same idea as Song Lan!

But at this moment, Luowei had no more capacity to concern herself with anything else.

On the long, solitary road of so many years, a fellow traveler had suddenly appeared, holding a lamp for her. She almost wished she could be taken away by him right now — thinking of nothing, just leaving, leaving the towering imperial ancestral shrine, leaving the cold vermilion palace walls.

As long as they walked the same path, she would not regret it, even wandering to the ends of the earth, even dying an untimely death.

Ye Tingyan saw her silent, and was just about to say something more, when she gave him a sudden, forceful shove.

Luowei rolled over and looked down at him from above, tears streaming unchecked down her face.

She trembled her lips, and after great effort finally opened her mouth — but spoke a sentence that he could not understand: “You are his person — are you not?”

He had not yet grasped what she meant. Luowei then lowered herself and held him tightly in her arms.

He was as if in a dream, and heard her say, word by word: “Master Ye, you always ask me — what is it that I seek…”

The scents of briar rose and begonia woven together, condensed with the entanglement of two people into droplets of water, sliding past the side of his face — impossible to tell whether it was sweat or tears.

Luowei continued, her voice suddenly finding force: “Go and kill Song Lan — avenge my Crown Prince.”