At Song Muchuan’s wedding banquet, Zhang Zhicun drank himself thoroughly intoxicated. Outsiders all thought the Prince Consort was a dignified person, but only Xu Kouyue knew he drank like this every day—it was just that tonight, stirred by the scene, he drank with particular abandon.

In the carriage ride home, Xu Kouyue had to look after him, sighing softly.

Her hand was suddenly grasped by his, his strength gentle, just loosely holding her palm. His right hand had been injured when captured and hadn’t healed properly, leaving lasting damage, so he couldn’t exert much strength.

“Yaoyao.”

Xu Kouyue’s entire body trembled slightly. She had forgotten how long it had been since he had called her pet name so intimately.

They were already divorced.

Though in others’ eyes they remained a devoted couple sharing weal and woe, high walls had been built in their home, and they lived in separate courtyards.

The carriage was thick with the smell of alcohol, making her drift into reverie… her thoughts floating to long ago.

Before the country’s destruction and family ruin, they had been a perfectly matched couple, talented and beautiful, until after being captured, she was taken away by Wanyan Jun. Wanyan Jun wanted her as his concubine. She chose death to show her resolve, so Wanyan Jun brought Zhang Zhicun over too, torturing him before her eyes, making her unable to live or die, only able to bow her head in submission.

Wanyan Jun made Zhang Zhicun kneel outside keeping watch through the night, making him listen.

Zhang Zhicun nearly went mad. He forcibly broke off a table leg and charged in to fight Wanyan Jun to the death. Unsurprisingly, he was beaten half to death.

She could only cry, those worthless tears flooding into her chest.

That was a hellish memory.

They watched each other fall viciously, trampled like grass.

In the daily torment of despair, Zhang Zhicun finally found a chance to speak with Xu Kouyue.

He said: “Yaoyao, let’s die together.”

She nodded through her tears.

But when truly facing death, how difficult it was. Their first half of life had been brocade luxury, high and mighty—neither had seen death. They were both cowardly, both timid.

Then Lord Shen’s secret letter quietly reached their hands. Shen Zhizhong hoped Xu Kouyue could bring the succession edict back to Li Du Mansion, while Zhang Zhicun could gain the Qi people’s trust and send back useful intelligence.

This letter seemed to give them a reason to live, or rather, in the name of righteousness, gave them a cowardly excuse.

In Wanyan Jun’s eyes, Zhang Zhicun had been beaten into submission. He became the most obedient dog beside Wanyan Jun, swallowing all humiliation silently, even able to endure the hatred of wife-stealing. When Wanyan Jun made him do the most base work as a stable hand, he accepted it meekly.

Xu Kouyue once thought such days would have no end—she would die with relief after completing her mission. But dawn appeared bit by bit. Those warriors held up the dynasty’s backbone, and victory came faster than she had imagined. She was saved too.

Soon after, Zhang Zhicun escaped back from the north.

The play should have ended there. In everyone’s eyes, they were a couple who shared hardships, accomplishing their respective righteousness during turbulent times, waiting until the clouds parted to see the moon.

But they had both thought reunion after long separation too simple. They were witnesses to each other’s glory and participants in each other’s pain. What lay between them was her improper relationship with Wanyan Jun, and her witnessing him transform from heaven’s favored son into a groveling slave.

The contrast shattered the halos they had when first meeting. He was the peerless new top scholar basking in imperial favor in Kaifeng, while she was the brightest pearl of the imperial family. They had never seen ugliness and darkness, passionately loving the most glamorous parts of each other, marrying smoothly and receiving countless blessings. But now, their faces could no longer find their former radiance.

Neither could bear it. They couldn’t reconcile with the past in tranquil acceptance or find inner peace. When the great faith that sustained them reached its end, their lives were left with nothing but chaos.

After his return, they spent a very awkward period, inexplicably becoming reserved and unfamiliar. They didn’t know what each other had experienced during their separation, and neither wanted to tell or ask. Because every memory touched those humiliating wounds.

So they both became cautious, never mentioning past events in their words, yet clearly seeing that deliberate avoidance in each other’s faces.

More trivial, practical questions surfaced—should they still share the same bed? How could they be intimate like before? Did they still have feelings for each other?

Zhang Zhicun used the excuse of needing to recover from injuries to live alone in the study. Xu Kouyue was also relieved, treating it as if he truly needed to recover, not thinking deeply or investigating further, maintaining distance with this tacit understanding.

Later, Zhang Zhicun made a trip to Li Du Mansion, bringing back news that Xie Queshan was to be drawn and quartered. Xu Kouyue was furious—it was their first fierce argument since Zhang Zhicun’s return.

That anger made her speak without thinking. She cursed Zhang Zhicun as a hypocritical gentleman and true villain, saying why don’t you die for Xie Queshan instead, how could you speak such vicious schemes… Zhang Zhicun didn’t talk back, just took it. But after the scolding, a huge sense of powerlessness rose in Xu Kouyue’s heart. She couldn’t change anything. The dynasty couldn’t protect its most loyal subjects, and as a survivor sheltered under warriors’ wings, she had even less standing to scold Zhang Zhicun.

She knew that during those days she hadn’t witnessed, Zhang Zhicun had also lived a fate worse than death. If in the same circumstances, he would certainly have died generously. Perhaps feeling guilty about this thought, or perhaps thinking of the fear that they might have been separated by death by just a thread, she held Zhang Zhicun and wailed.

After that, Zhang Zhicun began drinking heavily. Without getting drunk, he couldn’t sleep through entire nights. Using recovery as an excuse, he refused to take office, living a life of drunken stupor.

Learning that Xie Queshan was still alive, his condition finally improved somewhat, but alcohol had become addictive—he couldn’t quit. He tried, struggling to emerge from this dejection, going to academies to lecture to imperial students. He wore the mask of a Confucian teacher, but returning home, he was still a drunkard. He had found sweetness in this dream-like state—only in such moments could he follow his heart and choose not to be so clear-headed.

He could see the disappointment and numbness in Xu Kouyue’s eyes.

He waited, finally waiting until a sunny afternoon when she said to him: “Let’s divorce.”

It was a long time before he replied: “Only, could we not let people know? I can’t lose the status of Prince Consort anymore.”

For a moment, Xu Kouyue’s heart filled with bitterness.

She hoped she could detest him for this, but she understood Zhang Zhicun’s character too well—what did Prince Consort matter to him? After divorce, he could even remarry and have children, but he gave up the possibility of a new life because once the princess’s divorce became public, people would whisper about Wanyan Jun, and those perhaps well-meaning speculations would become blades stabbing her. Before she proposed divorce, she had thought of these consequences, but she felt their relationship had reached its end—only with a decision could they escape this unsolvable pain.

She alone hadn’t expected that he still wanted to protect her from gossip and slander.

She said through tears: “But I won’t share the same grave with you when I die.”

“Alright,” he said.

Zhang Zhicun knew that even though she had never admitted it, she harbored a little hatred.

Who hadn’t fantasized about love that breaks through all obstacles with unwavering devotion?

But he couldn’t give such passionate love. He couldn’t bear the moon’s fall; he hated his own powerlessness.

He minded, minded almost to madness, yet had no standing to do so.

Zhang Zhicun thought they would probably be entangled together like this for life—unable to be husband and wife, but still family. He was so cowardly and wretched, but he still wanted to be her final fallback, the one who remained when she retreated to the end. This should be the only thing he could do for her.

They had lived separately for a long time. Except for keeping up appearances in public, entering and leaving together, they normally didn’t even see each other’s faces.

If not for Song Muchuan’s wedding, they wouldn’t have shared a carriage home.

Perhaps tonight’s wine was too mellow, perhaps the rare joyful occasion made one forget troubles—he grasped her hand, unconsciously calling her pet name.

“Yaoyao…”

“You’re drunk.” She looked at his face. It had been so long since she had studied him so carefully. She dared not look at him—every time she saw him was tearing at scabs that had tried to heal.

She thought he must feel the same.

Neither meant it intentionally, but survival instinct made them completely unable to approach each other.

But in this moment as she gazed at him, perhaps borrowing some of the wine’s influence, she suddenly couldn’t remember many things, only noticing a few white hairs at his temples.

From young married couple to now, they were no longer young.

“Yaoyao,” he called again softly, seeming to hold tears in his eyes, yet his lips smiled.

He smiled without any ulterior thoughts—for an instant, he seemed still that spirited Prince Consort.

“I’m not drunk… On our wedding day, I drank even more than tonight.”

Something began growing like rekindled ashes in this silent spring night.

They experienced an unexpected loss of control, a long-missed closeness. It was long-suppressed indulgence, helpless bewilderment with no escape. That familiar feeling like gentle tide water lifted the nearly drowning person back to the surface.

But they were still floating in the sea—they hadn’t been saved.

After one night, they tacitly returned to the original state.

They both knew in their hearts—they weren’t brave enough, didn’t love enough, but between them still existed an indescribable feeling. It was deep but sharp, silent yet sorrowful.

Just like this, they actually reached white-haired old age.