Jing Xian looked at the man standing outside.

Through the gauze veil hanging from his conical hat, he seemed able to look directly into the man’s eyes.

After a long while.

He spoke: “Come in.”

The man outside brushed the snow off his feet before stepping inside, but his movements were extremely slow.

A gentle breeze lifted the gauze veil hanging from the conical hat on his head, faintly revealing his dry, peeling lips.

Jing Xian watched him with shocked yet curious eyes, even feeling an impulse to tear off that conical hat and see what this mysterious person who had been corresponding with him all these years actually looked like. Who was he really?

But he restrained that impulse!

The man entered and stood before him.

“Please sit.”

The man bowed slightly, hesitated for a moment, then lifted his robe and sat down cross-legged. His gaze deliberately glanced at the paper slip in the brazier that had long since turned to ash.

On that paper slip were written only two characters—black and white.

These two characters held no particular meaning; they merely represented his handwriting.

When Jing Xian saw that familiar handwriting, he knew the visitor was the person who had been corresponding with him for many years, which was why he hastily invited him inside.

Jing Xian withdrew his curious gaze, his expression returning to normal, as if meeting with an old friend. Then he poured a cup of tea for the man before him.

He pushed it toward him!

“The snow has been falling continuously recently, and it just stopped today. Your timing is quite fortunate.” His tone was conversational.

“To meet Your Highness face to face, this old one would come even through the greatest blizzard.”

“Then why have you come?”

“Your Highness should ask, why have I only come now?” The man corrected him.

Jing Xian smiled slightly. “Very well, then I am all ears.”

The man did not respond immediately. He extended his hand—scarred from burns—and picked up the teacup, gently swirling it, but never bringing it to his lips, as if appreciating some precious object.

Jing Xian looked at that terribly burned hand, his eyes tightening. Though the man before him was skeletal and dressed in ordinary clothes, he sat ramrod straight, his entire being emanating an awe-inspiring aura—noble, cold, and unfathomable.

It was not until the man set down the teacup that a faint voice gradually emerged from beneath the conical hat.

“Because the time has come!”

Six words, both light and heavy.

As if carrying a long-awaited sense of anticipation.

Jing Xian did not understand, but those six words made his whole body shudder, as if someone were scratching his back.

“The time? What time?”

“The best time!”

“Who exactly are you?”

“Does it matter who I am?” the man asked in return.

Jing Xian fell silent for a moment, scrutinizing him, then slowly said, “Fifteen years ago, after my mother consort died, if you had not secretly advised me to feign illness, Father Emperor would have already silenced me permanently. I would not have survived to this day. All these years, you have plotted step by step for me. To me, you are my benefactor. Without you, there would be no me. But all these years, one question has lingered in my mind—who are you? Why are you helping me?”

He could not see the face beneath the man’s conical hat, much less discern his expression.

After a long pause—

The man spoke: “Do you truly wish to know?”

“Yes.” Jing Xian nodded. “There is no one else here. Why not remove your hat? Show your true face.”

“Very well!”

He agreed readily.

The man slowly stood up, closed the door, then reached up to grasp his conical hat. Under Jing Xian’s intensely curious gaze, he removed it.

As the hat was gradually lifted away, the face hidden beneath the gauze veil was also gradually revealed. The dim light in the room mercilessly fell upon that extremely horrifying face. Half of his face had been so badly burned by fire that not a patch of healthy skin remained. Flesh and skin were fused together in a mass of purple-red, and even tiny blood vessels could be seen clearly. His eyelid had almost fused shut, causing that eye to open only slightly.

At first glance, it sent chills down one’s spine.

Though the fire had destroyed half his face, Jing Xian still recognized him.

“Clang!”

He knocked over the cup beside him. Tea flowed across the table and gradually onto his clean plain robe. His body leaned back several degrees, his hands bracing against the floor, his gaze lifted upward, looking with utter shock at the person standing before him.

“Imperial Uncle?” His voice trembled.

What!

Imperial Uncle?

This man was none other than Duke Yuguo!

Fifteen years later, the once elegant and refined Duke Yuguo was now skeletal, dressed in coarse cloth, his face completely destroyed. None of his former graceful bearing remained. Never mind looking like an ordinary person—in his current state, there was little difference between him and someone half-dead. Yet the noble aura in his bones had not diminished in the slightest, especially those eyes—firm and cold, carrying an unyielding determination.

Jing Xian struggled to his feet, his steps unsteady, stumbling several paces forward, his eyes wide.

Unbelievable!

“How is this possible?” He still did not believe it, shocked. “Could it be that the person buried in the tomb is truly not you?”

Duke Yuguo said: “That is correct. The person buried beneath the tomb is actually Zhao Hao.”

“How… how could this be?”

Duke Yuguo smiled bitterly and said, “That great fire back then did indeed nearly take my life. Fortunately, Heaven opened its eyes and allowed me to escape. I have lived on barely, barely surviving for fifteen years, and have been hiding for fifteen years, like a puppet.”

Jing Xian: “…”

“More than seventy people in my household—in a single night, all perished in the flames. Their agonized screams echo in my ears night after night. For fifteen years, they have never ceased.”

When speaking now of those events from years past, Duke Yuguo’s tone was very detached, as if recounting something completely unrelated to himself.

But who could know that at this very moment, the turmoil in his heart was roiling like overturning seas.

It was hatred!

Jing Xian had not yet recovered from his shock. After being stunned for a long while, he asked, “Then how did you enter the capital?”

Duke Yuguo replied: “For this year’s ancestral rites, His Majesty invited monks from Guang’an Temple to enter the capital to chant sutras and recite Buddhist prayers at the tomb. Therefore, when the boxes containing Buddhist scriptures were being transported into the capital, they were not inspected.”

So that was it!

The once imposing Duke Yuguo had actually entered the capital hidden in a box.

How laughable!

Jing Xian swallowed, took a breath, and asked: “Then why have you come to find me?”

Duke Yuguo said, “Have you not always wanted to know why your Father Emperor was so ruthless as to force your mother consort to drink poison back then? I have come this time to tell you the truth.”

What!

The truth!

Jing Xian’s eyes filled with confusion and excitement. He took two difficult steps forward, his eyes moist and red. “I still remember, after Uncle died, someone sent my mother consort a letter. Before she could finish reading it, Father Emperor’s people arrived. I was hiding behind the curtain at the time, helplessly watching as Mother Consort was forced to drink poisoned wine. But I knew that Mother Consort’s death was related to the Duke Yuguo’s household. So all these years, I have exhausted every means trying to uncover the truth, to vindicate my mother consort. But what exactly happened back then? What made Father Emperor so ruthless that he even wanted to kill me?”

His voice choked with emotion! Hoarse and desperate.