After Lu Qianqiao fainted, he never woke up again.

The way Si Lan and Li Yan looked at her made her feel like she had died many times over…

So that night, for the first time in Xin Mei’s sixteen years—she had a nightmare.

She dreamed that she was captured by a group of War Ghosts to be buried alive, stuffed into a cold stone coffin, lying side by side with the dead Lu Qianqiao. His body was cold and stiff.

She remembered gently brushing her fingers across his familiar features, but her fingertips no longer touched warm skin.

That cold sensation that only the dead possessed seemed to pierce through her skin and stab into her heart.

Xin Mei woke up in terror, everything before her eyes blurred and moist, a tear sliding down from the corner of her eye.

She sat up in confusion, clutching the blanket, her throat seeming blocked by something, unable to catch her breath. Even she was somewhat frightened by herself, sitting dazed for a long time.

The tent flap was suddenly lifted as Si Lan entered with an ashen face: “Get up quickly! The General’s… the General’s mother has arrived.”

…Was she here to settle accounts with her? Xin Mei’s rarely vulnerable little heart instantly plummeted into a deep valley. Come to think of it, Lu Qianqiao might have been fine originally—could she have accidentally caused some problem by hitting him with that stone?

She hastily washed and dressed, left her small tent, and indeed saw a snow-white carriage stopped in front of Lu Qianqiao’s tent.

Here she first met Lu Qianqiao’s mother, completely different from her previous imagination.

Li Chaoyang wore snow-white clothes, quietly stepping down from the carriage. Her long hair and eyebrows were black as ink, her entire person seeming sculpted from ice and snow.

She had thought all War Ghosts had red double pupils, but apparently this wasn’t so. Only young War Ghosts under twenty-five had red eyes. Once they successfully passed through their transformation ordeal, they looked no different from ordinary people on the outside, only bursting forth with blood-red when killing intent erupted.

Li Chaoyang seemed to glance back at her before entering the tent. Xin Mei wasn’t quite sure, because she looked too hollow and absent-minded, as if shrouded by a cloud of smoke, so no one could see her true expression.

Behind her also followed the long-absent Li Min, who kept glaring at her viciously—he still remembered being felled by a handful of Sichuan peppercorn powder at the Imperial Tomb, which was simply a tremendous humiliation.

Xin Mei felt somewhat unsettled. Looking up at Si Lan beside her, she asked: “Do you think… cough cough, could Lu Qianqiao fail to pass his transformation period because I hit him?”

Si Lan kept a straight face: “I don’t know.”

“…Just say ‘it has nothing to do with you’! I’m very worried and guilty and sad and despairing right now!”

“I don’t know.”

Xin Mei could only pout toward the tent, worrying with furrowed brows.

Inside the tent, Li Yan carefully turned the sleeping Lu Qianqiao over, pointing to the swelling on the back of his head, saying indignantly: “Madam, please look—the General fainted after being struck by a stone right here.”

At that time, Young Master was erupting, going mad, enjoying the War Ghost’s newborn power in the sky full of blood and light… then a stone flew over and destroyed everything!

Li Chaoyang said nothing, only sat gently beside the bed, put on snow-white silk gloves, and lightly touched Lu Qianqiao’s forehead.

He still had body heat, his breathing remained steady, his skin reacted to her touch. His five senses should have returned, yet he just wouldn’t wake from sleep.

Li Yan remained indignant: “It’s all Miss Xin’s fault for creating complications by knocking him out with a stone!”

Li Chaoyang glanced at him coolly: “Blaming others proves you’re still childish. How could our clan be so fragile? A War Ghost who can be killed by a single stone—it’s better if he dies.”

Li Yan fell silent.

“The tasks I gave you and Li Min—you accomplished none of them. Get out. There will be punishment when you return.”

Li Yan left the tent with a pale face.

Li Chaoyang sat quietly by the bedside for a long time, then suddenly moved, removing her gloves, hesitantly, slowly, even awkwardly, gently reaching toward Lu Qianqiao’s cheek.

From his birth until now, exactly twenty-five years, she seemed to have never touched him so quietly.

Looking at his face so similar to that person’s, Li Chaoyang suddenly felt a kind of nostalgia. Back then, when he died, he was just this quiet, placing his face in her hand as his breathing quietly stopped. And now, the son of herself and him lay before her in the same pose. She had a long-lost feeling, as if witnessing his death once again.

Her pitch-black eyes instantly turned blood-red. Not holding grudges? How ridiculous—even she couldn’t do it.

Turning back, she called: “Li Min.”

The War Ghost outside the tent immediately understood, bowing to Xin Mei: “Miss Xin, Madam requests your presence.”

…The ugly daughter-in-law was finally going to meet her in-laws.

Xin Mei hesitated, then finally lifted the tent flap and slowly walked in.

She met a pair of cold, bloody red eyes and was slightly startled, but she didn’t avoid them, quietly gazing back.

As if three autumns had passed, Li Chaoyang finally spoke in a low voice.

“…The last day. If he doesn’t wake up, he never will.”

Xin Mei struggled for a long time, held back and held back, but still couldn’t resist quietly asking: “Is it really because of that stone?”

Li Chaoyang didn’t answer this question.

Clearly she was sitting while Xin Mei stood, one high and one low, the distance between them not far, yet Xin Mei felt as if she was positioned at an extremely distant height, looking down at her from above with emotionless eyes.

“If he doesn’t wake up, it’s the same as dying. I’ve already had people open Qianqiao’s tomb chamber at the Imperial Tomb. He likes it there, doesn’t he?”

…What did that mean?

“While he’s alive, I can’t give him what he likes. When he’s dead, I’ll give him everything he likes.”

Li Chaoyang’s distant gaze finally focused a little, settling on Xin Mei’s face: “Including you.”

Xin Mei opened her mouth, hesitating. She thought she would ask about burial sacrifice, but what came out was: “He won’t die.”

Li Chaoyang didn’t want to discuss such baseless emotional talk with her, turning away coolly: “Miss Xin, please go outside and await news.”

“I’m not leaving.”

She answered firmly but gently.

“I’m not leaving. I’ll stay here with him. Lu Qianqiao won’t die—he’ll wake up.”

“I don’t like listening to meaningless pleasantries.”

“You’re his mother, yet you won’t believe he won’t die. These aren’t pleasantries—don’t you understand that?”

Blood-red eyes met hers again. Li Chaoyang’s voice carried a trace of coldness: “Miss Xin, the ignorant’s fearlessness has no meaning.”

Xin Mei didn’t answer her, instead sitting directly beside the bed, gently stroking Lu Qianqiao’s hair. The warmth in his hair inexplicably calmed her unease.

How could she be ignorant? She knew many things.

She knew Lu Qianqiao liked the leisurely, peaceful life at the Imperial Tomb; knew he enjoyed making figurines in his spare time; knew he actually didn’t like fighting wars; knew that although his words often sounded unpleasant and his stone-faced expressions weren’t endearing, his heart was warm.

“I’m staying with him.”

The blood color in the red eyes gradually faded. Li Chaoyang sighed almost inaudibly.

“Mixed-blood members of our clan—it’s not that none can pass through transformation ordeals. Earlier, Qianqiao asked that little immortal to investigate, so he must already know. The specific method of passing through varies for each person and cannot serve as reference. But how can my son Li Chaoyang be ordinary? Tell him for me—I forbid him to die so cheaply.”

The tent flap closed, and she boarded that snow-white carriage again, quietly waiting outside the tent.

The sky gradually darkened. Si Lan came in once to deliver food, his eyes red as he glanced at Lu Qianqiao but said nothing, clenching his fists before going back out.

Xin Mei gently patted Lu Qianqiao’s cheek: “…Hey, dying from a stone doesn’t count as heroic. If you don’t wake up, are you trying to push all the blame on me and make me uneasy?”

No answer.

“Let me tell you, don’t think you’re so clever, wanting me to be buried with you after death. I’ve prepared everything. If you die, even if they bury me in a pit, I’ll dig a hole and crawl out to remarry. Hey, I really will remarry—don’t think I’m joking.”

Still no answer.

Xin Mei leaned back against the flexible tent wall. Above was a large window for ventilation. The weather was nice—the Milky Way glittered with brilliant silver light. But the scent carried by the night wind was hardly flattering, with gunpowder smoke and the smell of blood. From distant places came the painful moans of wounded soldiers.

Xin Mei held his head in her arms, her fingers gently running through his soft long hair, suddenly beginning to miss the Imperial Tomb.

Everyone was still at the Imperial Tomb waiting for them.

Cool, refreshing summer winds were waiting, hillsides full of wild grass fragrance were waiting, and the sky full of stars and little moon were also waiting.

The time since they met wasn’t long, yet it seemed like it had been very, very long—as if she and he had always been together. His ears that turned red at the drop of a hat, like agate, and that gaze of his she still couldn’t understand—it was as if it had all happened just yesterday.

It turned out she remembered everything, not forgetting a single fragment.

Remarry? What a joke. She didn’t want to marry anyone else now, no matter who.

The one she wanted to marry, the marriage destined by heaven, the perfect match made by heaven—there was only Lu Qianqiao.

Lu Qianqiao, when will you wake up?

Night passed, then day came again.

Xin Mei quietly watched the moon gradually fading at the sky’s peak when suddenly the head in her arms moved—and it wasn’t just the head moving. Lu Qianqiao’s entire body was moving, like someone just waking up. He turned over, raised his hand to touch the swelling on the back of his head, and opened his eyes in confusion.

Still blood-red pupils.

She didn’t dare move, holding her breath, her eyes wide as saucers, staring fixedly at him.

…Was this the normal Lu Qianqiao? Or that War Ghost who randomly killed people with his blade? Come to think of it, if it was the War Ghost, was it still in time for her to run now?

Lu Qianqiao looked at her in bewilderment for quite a while, probably still not fully awake. He just opened his mouth to yawn, hugged her tightly with his arms, closed his eyes and murmured: “Xin Mei… stop making noise… sleep.”

Xin Mei was excited, tears welled in her eyes, her lips trembled. She opened her arms to embrace him tightly and tell him about her days of worry and hope—she had always believed he would wake up, she knew it, he really would wake.

But he turned over, wrapped himself in the blanket, completely ignored her, and fell asleep again.

Her outstretched hands instantly turned into fists, pounding hard on the bed board. The fragile bed immediately collapsed.

“That’s not fair! You’re awake but still sleeping like hell!”