With a “splash,” another figure leaped from the bridge.

The instant she entered the water, all sounds of the human world became slow and distant.

Bubbles rose from the bottom as Nanyi saw those white robes.

Song Muchuan had given up struggling, closing his eyes as he sank toward the riverbed. She swam desperately toward that corner of his garment.

…

Finally, she caught him.

On the verge of death, Song Muchuan felt someone grasp his hand. He opened his eyes and saw the young woman’s face.

His heart had been like dead ashes, diving into the river with determination to die. He had even refused to let all past memories flash before his eyes like a revolving lantern. But in this moment, a thread of unwillingness and will to live suddenly surged through his limbs.

He remembered the glory of seeing all Chang’an’s flowers in a single day when his name appeared on the golden list, remembered the carefree nights composing poetry with two or three close friends under the moon, remembered that great snowfall outside Wende Hall…

The twenty-second year of Yongkang, seven days before the Shocking Spring Incident.

His good friend Xie Chao’en was fighting desperately at Youdu Prefecture, but the emperor wavered indecisively—wanting to surrender yet fearing the Qi people would demand too much, hesitating without decision. Daily urgent military reports from the front requesting provisions and reinforcements were all pressed under the bottom of the dragon-headed desk.

Warriors die in battle, scholars die in remonstrance.

At that time he was a civil official at the Censorate, kneeling outside Wende Hall for seven days to petition the emperor to fight to the end and send reinforcements to Youdu Prefecture.

That winter was particularly long—near the spring equinox it still snowed heavily, with all things lifeless.

Finally, the hoofbeats of eight-hundred-li urgent messengers swept past his ears, bringing the terrible news of Xie Chao’en’s betrayal.

Everything was settled, beyond any power to change.

But he always thought it was his failure to fulfill a civil official’s duty. If he had tried harder, if he could have persuaded the emperor to send troops, wouldn’t that have prevented Xie Chao’en from being driven to such extremes?

Afterward he was dismissed from office. He refused his family’s protection, exiling himself and changing his courtesy name to “Yushu.”

Yushu, Yushu—grant forgiveness.

He didn’t know who was seeking whose forgiveness.

Six years of wandering, but with family support, he still lived without worry for food and clothing, maintaining clean garments. During these six years he immersed himself in Confucian texts, visited temples and Taoist monasteries, studying eighty-four thousand dharma methods, yet remained someone who couldn’t release his obsessions.

Finally exhausted, he wanted to go home. But on his way back to the capital, he learned of the country’s destruction and his family’s death. His entire family perished in the flames of war while he, this unfilial son, hadn’t seen his parents for six years.

Looking north while wearing southern crown, nowhere to call home when he raised his eyes.

Fleeing all the way to Li Du Mansion, he heard that Xie Queshan had also come. The streets and alleys all cursed this traitor, but he remained silent. He couldn’t bring himself to curse, because he bore some of the guilt too.

Yet he dared not acknowledge their connection—they were no longer on the same path.

He hid among the common people, muddling through each day.

When family support was cut off, he fell from the clouds, experiencing hunger and cold for the first time. He lost his composure, but there were many aspects of dignity he couldn’t abandon. The Chancellor sent secret letters requesting he take charge of Li Du Mansion’s Bureau of Illumination to help Prince Ling’an cross south.

He refused, feeling he lacked virtue and talent, unworthy to serve as an official.

Until A Chi, the guard who had stayed loyally by his side, was also overcome by days of hunger and cold and fell ill. He had no money for medicine, couldn’t even afford a bowl of porridge. He didn’t know how he became so possessed, why he stole that bag of rice, casting aside all the sage books he had read.

He had accepted his fate—he was a sinner whose death couldn’t atone for his crimes.

But, but—she was approaching him, wanting to bring him away from the dark, murky riverbed. A ray of heavenly light slanted down through the water’s surface, and she was within that light.

When she wanted to bring him toward that ray of light, he suddenly realized he didn’t want to die yet.

…

Nanyi finally dragged Song Muchuan to shore.

Fresh air rushed into his nose and mouth as Song Muchuan coughed violently, expelling all the water that had choked into his lungs.

“Madam, why did you save me?”

He looked at her, his self-pitying tone hiding a thread of hope. He too was begging for that bit of compassion and affirmation, wanting to hear her say “you shouldn’t die,” “you’re not so worthless,” “you deserve to live.”

Nanyi efficiently wrung water from her clothes, her features scrunched together from the effort, her movements having nothing to do with propriety. She looked up at him, calm yet angry.

“I saved you precisely to ask—you scholars, why do you look down on people who believe a bad life is better than a good death?”

“…It’s not that.”

But Song Muchuan knew his defense was utterly weak. Wasn’t he seeking death precisely because he couldn’t bear momentary shame?

If he could calmly accept living wretchedly, he shouldn’t have behaved this way.

“What right do I have not to live like this? Who are you looking down on?”

Song Muchuan stared at her blankly—he seemed to understand something.

She saved him perhaps because they were in similar dire circumstances yet made different choices. And his choice was, to her, a deafening accusation.

“Do you know? If even you want to die, then many people in this world don’t deserve to live.”

He had the illusion there were tears on her face, but they were both dripping with water—impossible to tell if it was actually tears.

“All those people humiliated by this world—they should all go die.”

He stood up, half a head taller than her, yet stood there helplessly like a child who had done wrong.

“But why should they? Living is already harder than dying. If you can’t do it so you give up, you also end up despising those who are still struggling.”

“Madam, it’s not like that—”

“I’m done speaking. If you still want to seek death, find a place with no people to jump in the river—don’t let anyone discover you.”

Finishing, Nanyi turned to leave. Suddenly realizing something, she reached into her sleeve to search, only to discover the brocade box containing the inkstone was gone.

She was stunned for a moment, glancing at the river surface.

It must have fallen into the river.

The inkstone Qiu Jie’er gave her—after all this back and forth, she still couldn’t hold onto it.

She felt around her waist—the money pouch was still there, containing the silver she’d just pawned. She who loved money like life somehow didn’t know what possessed her at this moment, feeling that worldly matters were just so-so, nothing important.

With a grand gesture, she tore off the pouch and threw it to Song Muchuan.

“Clearly it’s this world that’s wrong.”

She left behind this final statement and walked away light as a feather.

Song Muchuan stared blankly at her retreating figure.

Reciting three thousand scrolls of sutras, one sentence from Caoxi destroys them all.

All these years, he had thought it was his fault. He was trapped within a square inch, clutching those insignificant errors, punishing himself day and night, forgetting to look up and see this world.

He had been protected too well, his clothes unstained by dust, maintaining useless integrity, speaking harsh morality, yet making himself into a waste.

Those who kill and burn wear golden belts, while those who build bridges and mend roads leave no corpses. What he needed to change was this world itself.

Heaven won’t ferry me across, but I can ferry others across.

Returning to that thatched hut, Song Muchuan used the silver Nanyi left behind to buy food and medicine for A Chi, then rummaged through boxes and cases to find a letter from his luggage.

A Chi recovered some energy and looked at Song Muchuan in confusion.

“Young Master, what are you planning to do?”