In the pouring rain, upon the stone bridge, that person knelt in a pool of icy coldness, calling out softly to the evening wind, cold rain, fallen flowers, and ruined palace—calling to the most important person in his world, yet knowing in his heart that he would never receive an answer.

Separated by a single wall lay the continuous imperial palace, adorned in red makeup and green decorations, clustered with brilliant flowers like brocade—such festive liveliness so close at hand, yet for him it was as distant as the ends of the earth.

Feng Zhiwei gazed from afar at that person’s silhouette, suddenly recalling how she had seen him these past days—cold, deep, solemn, sharp, one man with a thousand faces, ever-changing without rest—yet she had never seen him as lonely and desolate as this moment.

Feng Zhiwei quietly took a step backward.

She knew that some people only allowed themselves to appear before others in constant radiant glory, unwilling to let anyone see the fallen flowers behind them.

She had originally been standing before the crystal wall, not knowing how to open it, but with this step back, she happened to retreat into the embrace of the crystal beauty, unknowingly touching something, causing the beauty’s hand to suddenly move, and the crystal wall slid open silently.

Feng Zhiwei turned around and saw that the crystal beauty’s posture had changed—arms embracing, head slightly tilted, part alluring, part seductive.

She was stunned for a moment, vaguely feeling that this design was somewhat obscene and vulgar. Although the crystal statue was merely a jade figure, that beauty’s features were elegant and noble—this kind of posture seemed rather profane.

As the crystal wall pulled open, Feng Zhiwei realized this was an artificial mountain. The outer face of the crystal wall was coated with a light layer of green, resembling the color of moss. From inside one could see out without obstruction, but from outside it was easily mistaken for the mountain wall—no wonder Ning Yi on the bridge had not noticed her.

The moment the crystal wall slid open, Ning Yi finally sensed something and turned around.

The rain curtain formed a veil—he was on the bridge at that end, gazing at her.

Flying rain became silk—she was beneath the bridge at this end, raising her head to look back.

The water light wove diagonally and vertically, like the dense and intricate mood of this moment.

If gazes could become threads, at this moment they too were rain threads—formless and colorless yet slightly cool and long-lasting, inseparably entangled between heaven and earth, impossible to cut or pull apart.

After a long while, Ning Yi, supporting himself on the bridge railing, slowly stood up, descended the arched bridge, and walked toward her step by step. Rainwater flowed down his slightly pale cheeks, washing his hair blacker, his brows thicker, his eyes more profound. His lips were so pale that in the immersion of raindrops, they seemed to have lost all warmth.

“Crowned nobles fill the capital, yet this one man alone is haggard.”

He walked to Feng Zhiwei’s side, seeming to want to ask something, but his gaze suddenly fell upon the crystal wall behind her. His expression changed drastically, and he flashed past Feng Zhiwei and entered the passage.

His iron-blue expression when he discovered the crystal wall made Feng Zhiwei somewhat uneasy. She followed and turned back, only to see Ning Yi staring blankly at the crystal beauty statue, his lips pressed extremely tight, devoid of all color.

The gaze with which he looked at that statue—part pain, part nostalgia, part joy, part reminiscence—woven together into an eye expression so complex it was difficult to describe. Feng Zhiwei looked at such an expression, then looked at the beauty’s features, and understood in her heart.

Ning Yi stared thus for a long while, finally taking one extremely careful step forward, tremblingly extending his hand wanting to touch the crystal statue’s face. His fingers reached out extremely lightly and carefully, as if afraid that with too much force, everything before his eyes would shatter like a dream.

However, taking this step closer, his gaze swept across and only then discovered the crystal statue’s particular posture.

Ning Yi froze, then looked carefully once more.

Immediately, deep, intense anger suddenly surfaced in his eyes, like the sea surface before a storm’s arrival—massive waves rising vertically, horizontal billows striking the shore, surging as if to drown heaven and earth.

“Crack!”

White light flashed like startling lightning. With a clattering series of breaking sounds, brilliant light and phantom images dazzled the eyes. Feng Zhiwei was startled into taking a step back, lamenting in her heart that the priceless crystal statue would from this moment be obliterated.

Footsteps created shattering sounds as they moved, stepping on a pile of crystal fragments on the ground. Yet opposite, Ning Yi stood with disheveled hair, leaning on his sword.

Half the crystal wall had been destroyed, but the crystal statue remained intact—in the end, Ning Yi could not bear to destroy what was perhaps the only remaining likeness in the world.

He stood for a long time, long eyelashes drooping. From Feng Zhiwei’s angle, she could only see the line of his jaw—refined yet pale.

Inside the passage it was extremely quiet, yet she seemed only able to hear her own breathing. This feeling, combined with his extreme paleness, alarmed her heart. She couldn’t help but step forward several paces, wanting to do something.

Just as she walked before Ning Yi, he suddenly collapsed.

The rain fell fiercely, with rumbling sounds filling heaven and earth. The ground paved with flagstones and overgrown with moss was extremely slippery. Feng Zhiwei struggled to carry Ning Yi on her back out from the artificial mountain. The moment she emerged, she was immediately drenched through by the rain that met her head-on.

She wiped away the rain, silently cursing herself—really, why did she run into the passage to hide from the rain? What a waste of effort—it was fated that she would be soaked.

She also cursed Ning Yi—really, what madness was he having for no reason? Wouldn’t it be better to maintain his usual composure and cool detachment? By the looks of it, he still needed to learn from her!

Passing through this courtyard would reach the rear palace chambers. Though dilapidated, they were ultimately clean and dry, and perhaps medicine could be found there, which would be good for the patient. Earlier, facing the unconscious Ning Yi, Feng Zhiwei had thought for quite a while before finally carrying him out of the passage.

The rain curtain was like a wall. The moss covering the ground spread pale green puddles, reflecting a slender figure struggling to carry someone on her back, slipping with each step, advancing forward.

The short stretch of road took quite a while to traverse. The rain was so heavy that one couldn’t open their eyes or see the direction clearly. Feng Zhiwei almost groped her way with closed eyes to the pillar under the corridor eaves.

She breathed a sigh of relief. With a twist of her fingers, she unlocked the locked room door and hauled Ning Yi into the main room. The room was dim, with all objects covered in gray cloth. At first glance, shadows loomed indistinctly, like countless silent crouching beast shapes.

Feng Zhiwei did not place Ning Yi on the bed. His entire body was soaked through—putting him on the bed would be the same as having him sleep in water. She placed Ning Yi on a chair, brought over bedding, wrapped Ning Yi tightly from head to toe, then took his pulse.

After taking his pulse, Feng Zhiwei furrowed her brows. Ning Yi did not seem to be simply catching cold from the rain or suffering an attack from acute emotional distress. His right-hand lung-spleen-life pulse was more flooding and sunken than his left-hand heart-liver-kidney. It was very obvious that his lung and spleen had suffered serious injury before. This was old injuries flaring up due to emotional pain and depression. If not handled promptly, the consequences could be endless.

His body energy was cold—first, she needed to dispel the cold; otherwise, it would only worsen the old injuries.

Feng Zhiwei stood in the dim room, raised her head toward the sky, thought for a moment, then closed her eyes.

She reached her hand into the bedding wrapped around Ning Yi and without a word began to remove his clothes.

Long robe, waist belt, outer shirt, middle garment, pants, undergarments… Feng Zhiwei’s movements were very efficient at first, but gradually slowed. Her earlobes faintly flushed red, yet she never stopped.

A pile of soaked clothing accumulated on the floor. Looking at the number of garments, everything that should be removed had been removed, and even what shouldn’t be removed had been removed.

Feng Zhiwei’s hand, as it was withdrawing from the bedding, suddenly paused.

The skin beneath her fingers had been smooth and slightly cool all along, but there was one place that was slightly raised. She hesitantly felt it and confirmed it was a scar—moreover, a very savage-looking scar.

This was probably the old injury that led to his fainting. But how could an imperial noble, a member of the royal family, have had the opportunity to receive such a serious injury?

Her fingers slowly stroked across that raised area. The scar was long and broad, uneven and bumpy—one could imagine how brutal it had been at the time.

Feng Zhiwei recalled the rumors about him in the capital… At age seven he fell gravely ill and narrowly escaped death, after which his temperament changed greatly. Could it be that back then it wasn’t illness but injury?

Her fingertip inadvertently touched his undamaged skin. The slight coolness and smoothness beneath her finger made Feng Zhiwei’s face flush red. She quickly withdrew her hand, striving to let her thoughts gallop in all directions—thinking about anything to avoid the current awkwardness.

While thinking about how that fellow Helian Zheng’s feet really stink and wondering whether Gu Nanyi would ever tire of eating walnuts, she vigorously rubbed Ning Yi’s entire body through the bedding. Then she picked up another quilt to cover the original soaked quilt, pulled out that wet quilt from underneath, leaving only the dry quilt wrapped around Ning Yi.

Then she lifted Ning Yi together with the quilt and carried him to the bed.

That person was still unconscious. His previously rapid and shallow breathing had calmed somewhat. Feng Zhiwei’s vigorous rubbing of his body through the bedding had promoted blood circulation, at least providing some relief. The gray-blue color on his pale face faded, and his dense black eyelashes drooped weakly, covering the beautiful arc of his eyes with a faint black shadow. That stark contrast of black and white gave him a rare vulnerability. His usual compelling elegant beauty had at this moment become soft and light—a wisp of cloud-like ethereal purity.

Feng Zhiwei, having worked up a sweat, looked at this fellow comfortably sinking into his dreams, feeling quite annoyed and jealous. She patted his face, “Sleeping so soundly!”

After patting once and finding it quite satisfying, she patted him twice more with a “smack smack”—ah, seize the opportunity to hit him a couple times; after this village, there won’t be that shop.

After placing Ning Yi on the bed and seeing his hair was still wet, she removed his golden crown and pulled out the hairpin, loosening his hair. Afraid he would get head wind from sleeping on a wet pillow, she moved him outward a bit, letting his crow-black long hair hang down below the couch.

Then she busily searched for flint and a brazier, taking down all those gray cloth furniture covers to start a fire. Once the covers were removed, she couldn’t help but praise aloud—the furnishings in this room, though seemingly plain, were actually all very refined and beautiful. The details revealed considerable value. Moreover, all the objects were not in Tiansheng style but had strange curved edges with a unique foreign beauty.

However, at this moment she had no mind to appreciate them carefully. She rummaged through chests and drawers looking for what she needed. Fortunately, everything was complete here—she even saw prayer cushions and wooden fish in a drawer.

Having found the flint, she dragged out a brazier from under the bed, built a fire below the couch to dry his clothes and warm his hair, then took a comb to arrange his wet hair for him.

His hair quality was excellent—holding it in hand, it was soft and cool like brocade satin. Some strands stuck to his forehead, so Feng Zhiwei bent down and gently helped him pick them off with her fingers.

It was at this moment that Ning Yi awoke.

From the confused and deeply painful darkness, from the ice-cold world of endless violent rain, he struggled and trudged his way out. Opening his eyes, for an instant he could see neither heaven nor earth—only exquisite, slender jade-white fingers, their gesture gentle as they swept past before his eyes.

As his vision extended upward, he could see a corner of a refined snow-white chin, a petal of light pink tender lips, brightly glowing delicate and vivid against the grayish background colors surrounding them.

Around him, curtains hung low, firelight crackled, and warm breath penetrated to his bones.

The earlier darkness, cold, and pain seemed like a dream.

Or perhaps now was the dream?

His vision was still somewhat hazy. Before his eyes, the fingers busily worked, fluttering like butterflies through flowers. He watched somewhat entranced, feeling in a daze that this scene was very familiar—as if many, many years ago, there had been such a palace chamber, such a person, gentle and meticulous, brushing away the sweat-dampened disheveled hair from his forehead.

For an instant, boundless joy filled his heart.

Had everything that was lost returned?

He moaned softly, grasped those fingers, pulled them to his cheek, and gently leaned against them.

“Mother Consort…”

Warm fingers against a cool cheek, warmth penetrating to the marrow. He narrowed his eyes slightly, so intoxicated he was unwilling to let go.

Feng Zhiwei stiffened at the bedside, watching her fingers being pulled and rubbed by Ning Yi, momentarily uncertain whether to pull them out or continue letting him take advantage.

Clearly this fellow wasn’t fully awake yet. She hesitated—if she suddenly pulled her hand away and startled him awake, and he realized the reality and became embarrassed and angry, what then? But if she didn’t pull her hand away and he came to his senses himself, would he become even more embarrassed and angry?

Her finger merely trembled lightly, yet that person had already noticed.

The gaze that had just been misty and ethereal suddenly focused, then became clear as black jade. He raised his eyelashes and saw clearly the person before him.

Surveying his surroundings, Ning Yi’s gaze gradually sharpened. He released Feng Zhiwei’s fingers and said in a deep voice, “What are you doing here?”

He showed no signs of embarrassment or anger, but had instantly returned to his usual sharp coolness before her. In his black jade pupils, the mistiness was gone, and the wariness and vigilance he never lowered had returned in a flash.

Feng Zhiwei wiped her fingers on her skirt, turned back to dry his clothes, and smiled, “Looking for a place to avoid the rain—I came in unintentionally.”

Ning Yi stared blankly at her back. Having just awakened, he was still somewhat dazed. The bedding was warm and comfortable, making him lazy and unwilling to move, so he half-reclined there, somewhat numbly watching her methodically drying the outer robe, deep garment, pants, undergarments…

Undergarments…

Undergarments?

With a “swish,” Ning Yi pulled open the quilt, glanced once, then with another “swish” covered himself again.

Then he began to stare blankly.

Feng Zhiwei, with her back to him, calmly held up the undergarment, checking to see where it hadn’t dried yet.

It would have been better if she hadn’t held it up—once she did, Ning Yi could endure it no longer and angrily said, “Put it down!”

Feng Zhiwei turned around and looked at him innocently, sighing—really, so particular. I’m doing this for your comfort, aren’t I? Otherwise, why would I care whether your underwear is dry or not? I only need to ensure your outer robe doesn’t look wet to others.

Taking the basically dried clothing, she virtuously folded each garment and brought them over. The silk calf-nose trousers were placed on top—making Ning Yi gasp again.

He couldn’t help but raise his eyes to look at her. That woman looked proper and without guile, even seeming a bit bashful, but he just felt she was doing it on purpose.

However, this awkwardness dispersed some of the heavy gloom weighing on his heart. He sighed, circulated his internal energy through his body once, and discovered that although his old injury had flared up, it hadn’t worsened, nor had he caught cold from exposure to that violent rain.

All this was thanks to her.

The clothes were neatly stacked beside him. He stared blankly at that woman—the violent rain had washed away the disguise on her face. Her face was small, only the size of a palm, startlingly delicate. Her eyes were hazy and misty, like the clamorous rain outside the window, dispersing smoky vapors in all directions. Her hair bun had come undone, so she had let down her hair as well. When she bent forward, her satin-like hair fell down, landing on the back of his hand, so soft it seemed it would melt into his heart.

He suddenly, as if possessed by a ghost, turned his hand over and pressed down on her hair.

Feng Zhiwei gave a soft “oh,” slapped his hand, pulled out her hair, and said, “Don’t fool around.”

Her voice was soft, carrying a hint of laughter—her usual gentleness, yet with additional rare indulgence and consideration. Ning Yi suddenly felt that in a corner somewhere in his ice-cold heart, someone had lit a small candle—not scorching, yet warmly and steadily glowing.

He hurriedly put on his undergarments inside the bedding, only then carefully surveying his surroundings. His gaze gradually darkened, yet he asked, “Where did you get things to build a fire?”

Immediately after, he frowned and asked again, “You moved her things?”

“I only know you needed them.” Feng Zhiwei, with her back to him, seemed not to hear the displeasure in his tone. “No matter how precious things are, they’re not more important than life.”

Ning Yi fell silent, turning his gaze around. After a long while, he said in a low, melancholy voice, “Still, nothing has changed…”

Wind blew in through the window lattice. Wearing half-wet clothes, Feng Zhiwei was busy sneezing, having no time to attend to his sorrowful nostalgia.

Ning Yi gently stroked his chest, found a pill in his outer robe pocket and took it. Hearing Feng Zhiwei’s frequent sneezes, he hesitated before saying, “You can also take down those curtains and burn them.”

“So now you’re willing?” Feng Zhiwei looked back at him with a smile.

“I just don’t want you sneezing continuously at tonight’s banquet and exposing your disguise.” Ning Yi sat up in the bedding, his expression indifferent.

This person was always saying one thing while meaning another. Feng Zhiwei was too lazy to bother with him, making the brazier burn vigorously. She heard the person behind her say, “Drag it to the bedside.”

Really treating this young lady like your maid?

Of course, dissatisfaction aside, the Feng young lady who was accustomed to playing a double role still smiled and dragged the brazier over.

“Come here for a moment.” Ning Yi continued giving indifferent orders.

Feng Zhiwei went over and sat on the bed’s edge.

The person behind lifted the quilt and once again gave an indifferent order, “Get in. I’ll share half with you.”

With a “swish,” Feng Zhiwei stood up, declaring, “My hair is messy—I’m going to comb it.”

Her waist was suddenly grasped. Without using internal energy, the technique was extremely skillful. Feng Zhiwei’s body immediately went soft and she was dragged into a warm place.

Her heart pounding, she maintained a rigid posture, curling up motionless. In the wolf’s clutches, Feng Zhiwei smiled ingratiatingly, “Your Highness, men and women should not touch hands in giving and receiving.”

“I also have no plans to touch you.” The elegant cool breath of the person behind grew increasingly intense, with an added hint of light medicinal fragrance that smelled expansive and refreshing. Yet the force at her waist didn’t yield an inch, dragging her who was resisting to the death inch by inch into the bedding. “Do you think you’re beautiful enough to make me lose control?”

Feng Zhiwei’s fingers dug into the bed’s edge. After pondering for a moment, she said, “I think I can.”

The person behind choked, then began coughing. He simply reached out and struck her numbing pressure point, stuffed her into the bedding, and angrily said, “You’re wearing clothes—how will they dry? I’m not afraid of you getting me wet, so what are you being particular about?”

“I’m being particular about you.” Feng Zhiwei’s false mask finally couldn’t stay on. Even more unable to endure than him, she glared back at him. “Is this how you treat your lifesaving benefactor? How am I supposed to marry anyone in the future this way?”

“Marry someone?” Ning Yi’s angry expression suddenly became complex after hearing this sentence, carrying a hint of sinister smile. “So you’re really dreaming of becoming Princess Consort of Huchuo.”

“It’s better than becoming Princess Consort of Chu.” Feng Zhiwei’s smile was even more fake than his.

Ning Yi glared at her for a long while, then suddenly laughed. After laughing, he ignored her and began removing her clothing.

Feng Zhiwei lay there miserably, thinking of the story of Farmer and Snake, feeling that Prince Chu was that ungrateful Zhongshan wolf. What goes around comes around—retribution comes quickly. She should have left him a pair of modesty pants earlier if she’d known.

Women’s clothing was more troublesome. Ning Yi struggled for quite a while before removing her outer skirt, draping it over the bed’s edge to dry by the fire. Turning his head, he saw that woman with her eyes tightly shut, muttering something under her breath.

He leaned his ear closer to listen carefully, only then hearing her murmuring over and over, “This person is a eunuch, this person is a eunuch, this person is a eunuch…”

Ning Yi stared at this smiling tiger who could infuriate people to death without making a sound, very much wanting to slap her to death and be done with it.

However, staring for too long, looking at this beauty beneath him with cheeks like flowers, a faint blush rising on her cheeks making her jade-white skin appear even more delicate and breakable, her red lips and white teeth with a pearly luster flashing—if one deliberately ignored the words coming out from between those white teeth, she was still quite feast-worthy for the eyes.

Moreover, that murmuring mouth should rest.

He suddenly bent down.

Whose lips were so sweet and fragrant, containing the boundless spring beauty of thousands upon thousands of years? One touch was stunning, deeper entry was soul-stealing. One couldn’t help but fiercely break through the barrier of teeth to conquer territory—her soft small tongue was his infinite realm at this moment.

Perhaps originally he only wanted to block that murmuring mouth, or punitively frighten that outwardly gentle but inwardly strong person. However, once touching that worldly softness, it was like a weary traveler encountering a warm resting place—indulging and unwilling to let go.

In twenty-three years, worldly matters had been mostly bitter. Finally encountering sweetness he had never tasted in this life, in that instant he let his heart’s wild horses run free, only wanting to forever be intoxicated in her lush sweetness. His fingers explored deeper into her hair, embraced her weak and delicate shoulders, explored deeper into her, entangling their mutual flavors together until they could not be separated.

The heavy rain rumbled. In such clamor, one could still hear someone’s fine gasping breath, so very close at hand, leaving not a hair’s breadth of space for either to escape.

Suddenly a light sound exploded in the brazier, bursting into sparks.

That bit of starry blossom opened in the dim room like ten-zhang fireworks, startling them from their momentary intoxication. Ning Yi’s gaze immediately cleared, and he turned over to move away.

He lightly stroked his chest. A spell of suffocating tightness forced him to cough lightly. Fine red bloomed at his lips—he raised his hand to wipe it away.

This injury was tormenting, this medicine fierce, actually causing him to nearly lose control.

Feng Zhiwei’s chest was also rising and falling slightly. The flush on her face had not yet receded. With her numbing point struck, unable to move, she glared at the bed canopy, wanting to imagine the canopy as a certain someone’s face and use her gaze to burn a hole through it.

There was no need to dry the clothes anymore—just from her own body heat, it was enough to dry them.

Ning Yi calmed his breathing, pulling away a little distance. Turning his head, he saw her expression calm but gaze fierce, and couldn’t help but smile.

The smile appeared and was immediately withdrawn, blooming and fading like an epiphyllum in this empty palace chamber. He pulled Feng Zhiwei a bit closer to himself, casually removed her inner jacket to dry it, leaving only the moon-white middle garment, letting her pillow on his bent arm, then said indifferently, “Fortunately… otherwise you would have caused me to do inappropriate things in Mother Consort’s palace, which would be a sin.”

Said as if she were seducing him—Feng Zhiwei could clearly speak, but was too angry to want to say anything. She vowed that for the rest of her life, even if he lay dead before her in the future, she would definitely calmly step over his corpse and, while at it, stomp his face flat.

“This is Yilan Residence.” Ning Yi held her in his embrace, stroking her hair. Feeling his mind peaceful at this moment, the past like the present heavy rain isolated outside, able to hear the distant clamor yet unable to shake the serenity within his heart, he suddenly didn’t mind sharing with her the innermost thoughts he had never revealed to anyone.

“After my mother consort ‘died,’ she lived here,” he said. “For ten years.”

Feng Zhiwei perfunctorily said “oh,” preparing to sleep—if you want to talk, I may not be willing to listen.

Her eyes had just closed when they suddenly opened wide again—what did he say?

Lived here after dying?

Feng Zhiwei was so shocked that goosebumps rose all over her body. Only now did she remember what everyone knew about Ning Yi’s background—his mother consort was a princess of a small clan in Da Yue who became a woman of the Tiansheng Emperor as a prisoner of war. At that time, the Tiansheng Emperor had not yet established the nation. That legendarily peerless woman died of hemorrhaging several months after giving birth to Ning Yi, while Ning Yi was seven years old when Tiansheng was established.

Feng Zhiwei remembered that when she first heard about Ning Yi’s origins, she felt something was wrong. Now she finally remembered—died of hemorrhaging several months after giving birth?

Hemorrhaging seemed most likely to occur during childbirth, with probability decreasing afterward. When Ning Yi was born, the Ning family was a powerful and influential external relations military meritorious family of the Da Cheng dynasty, holding overwhelming power and boundless wealth. What kind of rare medicinal materials did they not have? How could they, like a poor humble household lacking medicine and nutrition, experience postpartum hemorrhaging?

Now the truth was revealed halfway from the person involved—that woman had not died but lived another ten years. But why live on in this manner, concealed?

“In the thirteenth year of the last emperor of Da Cheng, Father Emperor raised his army,” Ning Yi said indifferently. “Da Yue at that time was only an outer vassal of Da Cheng. Taking advantage of the opportunity, they declared independence from Da Cheng’s vassalage and established themselves as a nation. Father Emperor was busy with his war against the Da Cheng emperor at the time and could not reach that far. Only three years later, when the overall situation was nearly settled, did Father Emperor have a battle with Da Yue in the northern frontier. My mother consort was captured in this battle and became Father Emperor’s woman.”

“She was the clan leader’s daughter of the Falling Sun royal clan at the border of Da Yue. Da Yue had two clans, Sun and Moon, both famously mysterious, both dwelling within the border mountain ranges. Moon Dance clan women excelled at inner charm arts, while Falling Sun clan women were called ‘Heaven Emperor’s Beloved.’ Women of both clans had always been objects of competition among powerful heroes everywhere. For my father emperor, the title ‘Heaven Emperor’s Beloved’ of the Falling Sun clan women better suited his ambitions and dreams. However, my mother consort’s capture was not intentional abduction by Father Emperor. Her appearance was very strange—singing a song, she descended from heaven and landed on Father Emperor’s horse.”

Feng Zhiwei couldn’t help but exclaim “eh”—a celestial maiden descending to earth?

“That day there was heavy snow. In the ten-mile pine forest, snow accumulated over a foot deep. Father Emperor’s great army traversed through the snow,” Ning Yi gazed distantly at the water flowing down the eaves outside the window, his gaze very far, as if crossing the rain curtain to see many years ago at the Yue border in winter, before ten thousand troops that stunning scene. “Mother Consort fell from atop a pine tree just as the great army was passing through the forest. She was wearing white hemp clothing, holding a small squirrel, singing a song with a strange tune. Everyone who looked up at her thought for an instant that a celestial maiden was descending.”

Feng Zhiwei narrowed her eyes, imagining that day—flying snow, green pines, dark black bright armor, bright white spear points, everything hard and cold, while that maiden holding a squirrel in flying white garments descended—how bright and soft she must have been?

“Mother Consort’s appearance was strange. Among the important generals in the army, some said it was auspicious while others said it was inauspicious. They nearly came to blows arguing. Father Emperor made an authoritative decision and insisted on keeping her. At that time, no one could understand Mother Consort’s language, so no one understood that song either. Later, Mother Consort gradually learned some Central Plains language but always disliked speaking.”

“By the next year, when Mother Consort was pregnant with me, the last emperor of Da Cheng, Emperor Li, fled to Da Yue. Father Emperor and Da Yue again came to blows. That battle was unfavorable—Da Yue united with the remnant army brought by Emperor Li and consecutively took seven counties, occupying a large swath of territory east of the Huyan River. Panicked emotions appeared in the army. The rumors began from that time.”

“A spy?” Feng Zhiwei couldn’t help but ask.

Ning Yi glanced at her, a trace of bitter cold smile at the corner of his lips. “Yes and no. The old story of ‘Heaven Emperor’s Beloved’ was brought up again. A minister of Da Yue origin said that the so-called ‘Heaven Emperor’s Beloved’ did not mean that obtaining this woman would guarantee becoming emperor, but rather that Falling Sun clan women had natural prophetic ability, able to foresee futures related to themselves or their descendants, as if beloved by the heavenly gods and allowed to see the coming days—then that song she sang when she fell onto Father Emperor’s horse was also translated.”

“What were the lyrics?”

“Unknown.” Ning Yi shook his head. “Those who knew are all dead. Now among the living, only Father Emperor knows those lyrics.”

“It must have been inauspicious…” Feng Zhiwei murmured.

“Yes.” Ning Yi raised his head, his fingers unconsciously spasming somewhat, inadvertently brushing across Feng Zhiwei’s face, freezing her into a violent shiver.

Ning Yi noticed her shiver, reached out to release her pressure point. Feng Zhiwei sat a little distance from him, thought for a moment, then bent down and dragged the brazier closer.

“Are you feeling sorry for me being cold?” The person behind asked in a low voice, deep and soft.

“No.” Feng Zhiwei wouldn’t admit it. “The clothes aren’t dry yet—I’m getting closer to dry them.” She took a pillow and wedged it in the bedding trying to create separation. Ning Yi smiled and didn’t force her. Feng Zhiwei, seeing that smile, felt awkward again and could only search for a topic: “Then what happened?”

“Then it was just like that.” Ning Yi said calmly. “Everyone in the army, from top to bottom, demanded Father Emperor eliminate the demon. At such a critical time, Father Emperor was helpless. Two months later, Mother Consort gave birth to me, then news spread of postpartum hemorrhaging. After ‘lingering in sickness’ for two months, she passed away.”

“These were all told to me by my wet nurse when I was young. After I was born, I never saw Mother Consort and also believed she had died. At that time, Father Emperor still felt some affection for my young orphaned state and placed me with the Empress. Tiansheng had not yet established the nation then—she was not yet Empress. After going there for just over ten days, I began to fall seriously ill, said to be infant bed fever. Most likely I couldn’t be saved. The Empress reported to Father Emperor, who sighed for a while then let it be.”

“However, on the night I was gasping my last breath about to die, ghosts suddenly appeared in the Empress’s courtyard. At that time, everyone thought I was about to die. Only an old wet nurse was keeping watch, also dozing. Inadvertently she saw a white shadow floating past and screamed in fright. When everyone rushed over startled awake, they discovered I had broken out in a heavy sweat but had already escaped danger.”

“At the time this was considered a strange occurrence, but people didn’t take it too much to heart. I stayed with the Empress. The servants were not diligent—I was often injured. The Crown Prince was at a mischievous age then and liked to stuff strange things into my mouth. My personal wet nurse dared not stop him and often sat outside the palace holding me and crying.”

Ning Yi’s tone had been very calm all along, as if he were not talking about his own affairs, as if it were merely a story whose protagonist’s joys and sorrows had long solidified in history, transformed into that ground of crystal, shattered beneath advancing footsteps.

“One night while crying, my nurse fell asleep. When she awoke, she saw me sleeping peacefully on the steps beside her. She remembered clearly holding me in her arms. This shock was extraordinary. She never again dared to hold me crying in the courtyard. However, after this night, the Empress’s quarters began experiencing ghosts again.”

“The ghosts in this world, many times, actually come from people’s hearts.” Feng Zhiwei said softly.

Ning Yi looked at her, a trace of warm smile passing through his eyes. “After several disturbances, the Empress became uneasy and said my eight characters clashed with hers, sending me to Noble Consort Chang. Noble Consort Chang was the Empress’s distant clan younger sister. Because she was of concubine birth, she only became a concubine. At that time she had no courage yet, so I peacefully grew to age seven, until Tiansheng established the nation.”

The fire in the brazier gradually weakened, the surroundings becoming even more dim. The air carried a faint dusty smell. The precious black-bottomed gold-edged objects sank in boundless dark shadows, looking as vicissitudinous and heavy as this story.

“When… did you see her again?” Feng Zhiwei had endured for a long time but still asked.

“You’re too clever… you’re just too clever…” Ning Yi stroked her hair, a sigh seeming to have unfinished meaning. “When Tiansheng established the nation, I was young then, still living in the palace. The Tiansheng imperial palace was rebuilt on the site of the original Da Cheng palace—the scale was extremely vast. There were many places I had never been. Until when I was nine years old, once while retrieving a kite for elder brother, I fell and injured my leg. Everyone took the kite and rushed off shouting they were going to find the imperial physician for me. The physician didn’t come for a long while. I was in severe pain and rolled down a hillside, discovering an elegant residence. That area was said to be a ruined palace that was all locked up—commoners were usually not permitted to go there. That day, for some reason, the door was open.”

A trace of smile bloomed at the corner of his lips, joy flashing in his eyes. “…The door opened, and a woman in secular dress who had taken Buddhist vows walked out… That was the first time I saw her…”

He coughed twice, turned his face away. For an instant, Feng Zhiwei caught a flash of brilliance at the corner of his eye, crystal-bright as a diamond.

“At that time I didn’t know who she was.” After a long while, Ning Yi regained his composure and continued as if nothing had happened. “I only felt she was extremely beautiful, and her gaze extremely kind and warm. I had lived to age nine without seeing this kind of warmth. For a time I was unaccustomed to it, so I forgot to be wary of people and actually allowed her to approach. She carried me inside, bandaged my wounds, made me a cake with a unique flavor to eat. I was already nine years old yet she still tried to feed me. I stayed there for over an hour. She never spoke the whole time, yet when I politely took my leave, she shed tears.”

This time Feng Zhiwei turned her face away, only feeling her nose ache and throat choke.

Mothers of the world!

“…After I returned, I could never forget her. Later I snuck over a few more times. I knew that place was considered forbidden territory—each time I went I was very careful. However, my coursework was busy and my brothers watched closely. In one year I only found opportunities a few times. Each time I went, she would joyfully bustle about. Once, because I was too tired, I unconsciously fell asleep. When I woke two hours later, I saw she had been fanning me the whole time. Because she hadn’t stopped for even a moment, her wrist had swollen from shaking.”

Ning Yi stopped, stroking his own wrist as if wanting to feel through his own touch the pain his mother had suffered many years ago. His movements were very gentle, but his gaze gradually turned cold.

“Seven times… I went seven times… The eighth time I went… the house was empty, the person gone.”

That year he was nine years old. At nine he first met his own mother, then at ten, he lost her forever.

He remembered so vividly everything about being with her, remembered every seemingly stolen moment together with her. Seven times—each time etched on his heart, counted out one by one.

Seven times—a lifetime.

The road before, the road after, all so desolate and cold. Only this segment was painted in vivid colors that would never fade.

Feng Zhiwei looked at his gaze, unable to bear asking about that cold conclusion. Beauty’s fate is thin—it has always been thus.

Perhaps she struggled and concealed herself living for ten years precisely for the hope that one day she could see her beloved child again, so that the radiance of maternal love could illuminate that child’s heart growing increasingly dark in the callous palace, trying her utmost to avoid in his destined lonely long life that permanently unhealable deficiency.

“And her death anniversary, I later inquired about it—it’s today.”

While others laughed in grand celebration of a birthday that everyone attended, it was her desolate empty death anniversary that no one remembered.

“…By the time I learned the truth, I regretted countless times. Had I known she was waiting for me, then no matter how heavy the coursework, no matter how ill-intentioned my brothers were, even if it meant going without food or sleep, I should have gone to her place a few more times… Yet in this world, there has never been medicine to buy back regret. That year, the most precious time in my life was just wasted away like that.”

“No, it wasn’t wasted.” Feng Zhiwei said sincerely. “You did see her after all, and spent much time together with her. Those days, she was happy, and so were you. That made it worthwhile.”

“Happy?” Ning Yi paused, repeating, “Happy?”

He suddenly laughed. The laughter was low and muffled, bringing out drops of crimson. He wiped them away with the back of his hand, bowing his head to look at that spot of vivid color. His voice also became as fierce as that blood color. “I once thought she was happy. For these ten-plus years I believed so. However, just now, I learned I was wrong!”

Feng Zhiwei trembled, thinking of that crystal statue in its seductive posture.

“See that passage?” Ning Yi suddenly pointed in that direction. “My father emperor, that father emperor of mine—of course he couldn’t bear to part with her beauty. Coming here was inconvenient for him, so he opened this passage. That statue he made—what… what kind of thing is that!”

Acute pain attacked his heart, reverse blood surged upward. Ning Yi hadn’t finished one sentence before spitting out a mouthful of blood, his hand supporting the bed’s edge as he coughed continuously, unable to say another word.

Feng Zhiwei hesitated for an instant, then finally slowly extended her hand, inputting a bit of true energy to help him guide the qi back to proper flow. Thinking of that crystal statue’s lascivious posture, she also understood why Ning Yi was so grief-stricken and furious—since the Tiansheng Emperor had made such a jade maiden welcoming mechanism in the passage he frequently used, and used Ning Yi’s mother consort’s likeness, his inner heart was clearly obscene. Then toward that woman of ageless beauty and peerless appearance, how could he truly let her cultivate her practice with a pure heart? And Ning Yi’s mother consort, for her young son, to be able to see him a few more times, how had she endured sorrow and humiliation, bitterly suffering through such endless time?

Her suffering was so prolonged, torment stretched into eternally endless night, yet she still refused to let go of freedom, only to exchange for brief joy when seeing her young son.

So she didn’t speak—perhaps she was afraid that once she opened her mouth, she couldn’t help but shed tears.

“…She was an extremely devout person, doing whatever she did with full concentration…” Ning Yi’s hand supported the bed’s edge as he said in a low voice. “She had clearly renounced the world and was cultivating, yet still had to… what suffering must have been in her heart…”

He hung his head toward the brazier, not speaking. After a long while, something heavy dropped. The brazier gave a “chi la” sound.

Feng Zhiwei’s hand pressing on his back moved, for an instant moving toward the direction of his shoulder, yet ultimately slowly lifted, suspended in the air for a while, then slowly withdrew.

She sat on the couch with lowered eyes, long eyelashes drooping. Dark red firelight reflected on her face, with fine painful expression between her brows.

Ning Yi turned and quietly looked at her, suddenly reaching out to grasp her fingertips, saying, “Zhiwei…”

This was the first time he called her name. Feng Zhiwei trembled and raised her head.

Her naturally misty water-vapor eyes, because they had just been moistened, appeared especially bright, so clearly reflecting this mysterious yellow universe, making one want to exhaust a lifetime’s affection in such eyes.

That sentence buried deep in his heart, which he had always hesitated over yet constantly pondered, couldn’t help but blurt out.

“Zhiwei, even if all under heaven become my enemies, I alone am unwilling to have you among them.”

Feng Zhiwei trembled again. Opposite her, on Ning Yi’s pale face, his gaze was deep and dark as an abyss, like a dense cocoon, profound meaning infinite, thousands of threads and ten thousand strands, instantly causing her heartstrings to quiver.

Such a gaze she had never seen before, nor had she ever imagined there would be a day when he would speak to her with such sincere words. Since their first meeting, she and he had been caught in each other’s schemes—struggle, suspicion, testing, avoidance, everything existed except trust, which had never been present.

Yet at this moment he held her hand, earnest and sincere, calling her name softly at the closest distance.

Rain outside the window, people within bedding, brazier heat warm, as if steaming the heart into surging tides.

She gazed at him, and “How could that be!” was about to burst from her lips.

Suddenly a great clamor of voices broke through the rain sound and this moment’s silence. Footsteps treading in the rainy ground went “splat splat,” instantly drawing near this room.

Someone loudly called out:

“Check over here—see if they’re here!”

Feng Zhiwei and Ning Yi were simultaneously shocked.

The unwed fiancée of Prince Consort Huchuo, Young Lady Feng, and Prince Chu, improperly dressed and alone together in a dark room—if this were discovered, what tremendous waves would arise!