This time, when Han Yueqi went to tend the red thread of fate, she did not bring Qinglan along. Instead, she went alone to the stream’s edge and intercepted Cui Jingyu just as he was about to leave. The stream gathered here into a clear mountain pool, the current rushing through a scatter of fallen petals — the finest of scenery, with no one to appreciate it.

“You asked me to come to the banquet, and I came. I’ve repaid that debt.” Cui Jingyu still wore that wretched expression of his from the old days.

But he wanted to leave, and had said so, and yet he hadn’t left. Surely he could see that for himself?

Han Yueqi was amused inwardly. She had drunk wine today, and laughed as she said: “I have one thing to say, and if Marquis Cui doesn’t hear it, he’ll certainly regret it.”

Cui Jingyu only fixed her with a cold glance.

“What is it?”

“The message breaking off the engagement with Qinglan back then — I was the one who delivered it on her behalf.” She spoke unhurriedly, watching the expression on Cui Jingyu’s face the whole time: “What if I told you — perhaps Qinglan never actually wanted to break off the engagement?”

She really should have brought Qinglan here — to see the look that crossed Marquis Cui’s face in that instant.

Even Han Yueqi instinctively stepped back, because his eyes held something like a killing intent.

“Is that the truth?” He immediately stepped forward, as though he wanted to seize her and interrogate her then and there.

How amusing — Marquis Cui, who had distinguished himself with military achievements beyond all others, who had interrogated heaven knows how many spies and scouts, was still undone by concern for the one he loved. He was this easy to deceive, thrown off composure by a single sentence.

“It was false.” Han Yueqi smiled as she told him: “I merely wanted to see your reaction.”

If it had been anyone else, she’d have made the false into truth. She’d have shouldered the blame herself — the broken engagement was entirely a misunderstanding, she had fabricated it all. All of it — the broken engagement on the eve of a great battle, the accusations of faithlessness and betrayal, the whole dramatic performance of pouring water before the horse to vent one’s triumphant indignation — all of it would have become a misunderstanding, like the grand reunion in a play. Everyone would smile and say “what a strange twist of fate, so nearly ruined what should have been,” and send the two sweethearts, old grievances resolved and beautifully matched, off to the wedding chamber in a backdrop of crimson and gold.

But of all people, this was Ye Qinglan.

She would never speak a single lie, let alone go along with Han Yueqi to deceive someone. The broken engagement had been her own decision, and she owned it — wouldn’t offer even a word of explanation. Even now that Cui Jingyu had become the foremost name at the flower-selection banquet. Even with all the wealth and prestige of a marquis’s household standing behind him.

And so Han Yueqi could only hold back, working here to try to mend things in her stead.

“You’ve had too much to drink.” Cui Jingyu immediately composed himself and turned to leave. But Han Yueqi did not give up, and smiled as she continued to counsel him: “I know you want to say I’ve lost my mind. But think carefully — just now, when I said Qinglan never broke off your engagement, what was the first thought that came to you? Wasn’t it to go find her, to reclaim the four years you’ve lost between you? Do you not still want to marry her, to spend the rest of your life with her? Among all the women in the capital, is she not still the only one in your heart? Yet the moment I say it was false, how does any of that change? Four years ago, you hadn’t yet been enfeoffed with a marquisate — and Qinglan still chose you. And you fell in love with her. In truth, she is still the same Ye Qinglan, and you are still the same Cui Jingyu. Why cling to the past?”

She paid no attention to whether Cui Jingyu was listening, and simply went on speaking her own reasoning. At least Cui Jingyu hadn’t gone far — he just looked impatient.

“But when it comes to Shen Yunze, that was equally a decision made on a whim. And yet I don’t see you having a change of heart.” He turned the question back on Han Yueqi.

Han Yueqi had anticipated this question, and so she wasn’t surprised. She smiled and answered: “Whether I have a change of heart or not is my own concern. I have not forgiven my husband because he is not deserving of forgiveness — because he was never the only one for me. Without him, my life goes on just the same. But what about you? Cui Jingyu, you know it clearly enough yourself — after the one you’ve known, nothing else compares. I am not urging you to let Qinglan off — she’s done nothing wrong. I am urging you to let yourself off. The past is illusion; only the days you hold firmly in your hands are real. I don’t believe you haven’t imagined what life would be like if you and Qinglan were married. Those days are right before your eyes now — can you truly feel nothing? Pride is important, certainly — but is Qinglan not worth setting aside your pride just once?”

Cui Jingyu remained unmoved, and only said: “That’s not how I see things.”

Han Yueqi knew she was most likely talking to a wall. But just as she had said when the banquet opened — they had come together because of her, and come apart because of her, so she had to exhaust her final effort, or she would have regrets.

So she wasn’t angry. She simply smiled and said: “Words are useless. Let me show you instead.”

She saw Qinglan in the distance, watching toward them with a worried expression, and waved her over. Qinglan, cautious of Cui Jingyu’s presence, wouldn’t come. But Han Yueqi said: “You see — Qinglan’s heart is so soft.”

Sure enough, the moment Han Yueqi put on an injured expression, Qinglan came right over.

She was, of course, tender-hearted — she simply never turned that tenderness toward herself.

Cui Jingyu watched calmly as Ye Qinglan walked over. Han Yueqi was putting on a performance of being drunk, reaching her hand out toward her with a pitiful expression.

“I know I said something wrong the other day — I didn’t mean it. Please forgive me, Sister.” She put on a look of guilt and contrition, making herself seem yielding.

Qinglan could never hold out against that.

“What are you talking about — I’d already forgotten all about it.” She glanced at Cui Jingyu standing nearby, and had originally been hesitant because of his presence — but Han Yueqi looked genuinely tipsy, and softly collapsed against her, so she stopped thinking about Cui Jingyu at all. She reached out and touched Han Yueqi’s face, smiling: “Look at you — you’ve drunk so much, you’ll definitely have a headache tomorrow. Lv’e, come help me take your mistress to rest.”

After seeing Han Yueqi away, she looked up and saw Cui Jingyu standing at no particular distance from her — as though he had something to say, yet also as though he was simply indifferent to it all.

Lingbo had asked her the other day what it felt like to be in love with someone — she had noticed something, of course. But her nature was calm and placid; she had no desire to manage her younger sisters too strictly. She preferred simply to provide them with a warm home and the strength to protect themselves, trusting their judgment, and trusting that if there was ever true danger, they would come home.

Besides, in the early days of falling for someone, one’s feelings are always ungovernable — others cannot intervene.

And then, after a time, things became better.

One endured the first breathless pounding of the heart, endured the most passionate dizzying torment, then endured the lingering longing of love — like decocting a remedy, all the way to the end: the bitterness had gradually boiled out as well. Three bowls of water reduced to one, the dark thick medicine full of settled dregs, impossible to recognize as anything it had once been.

But she remembered. And he remembered too.

That one bowl of bitterness held what had once been the two of them.

Only utterly changed now.

Some people cannot bear bitterness and refuse to drink the remedy. But Qinglan, since she was a child, had been the most sensible. As long as she understood the reason behind it, no matter how bitter the medicine, she could swallow it down.

Lingbo worked from the shadows, Han Yueqi worked in the open, and everyone wanted to bring her and Cui Jingyu together — she could see it. But she felt no sense of regret. There was no misunderstanding that needed resolving, no decision that needed to change. She had made her choice four years ago and had tended this future into being herself, with her own hands.

She had once possessed the finest version of Cui Jingyu — a young man of twenty, with nothing to his name yet full of spirit, resolved to win a marquisate, resolved to earn her a court title. He had recognized her talent, respected her character, and admired her beauty. Just as she had done with him.

She had no regrets. And naturally, she wanted nothing of a future.

“Jingyu.” She stood quietly, calling his name the way she once had, regardless of whether those two syllables had changed his expression in an instant.

Some things needed to be spoken plainly today, to spare them both the drawn-out bitterness that would otherwise linger. Today’s feast had no villains in it. Naturally, no one should have to be tormented either.

Except herself.

Cui Jingyu also sensed what she was about to say — because she was unusually still, as if she meant to bring this drawn-out drama to its resolution.

But she never had the chance to say anything. Because from somewhere in the grove, a strange sound suddenly arose.