For four or five consecutive days, He Yan didn’t attend training at the practice grounds.

She actually didn’t take her leg injury seriously, but Shen Muxue, the physician of Liangzhou Guard, would unfailingly come to deliver medicine every day and repeatedly instruct her to avoid strenuous activity. Hong Shan also chimed in: “Just listen to the physician. If you worsen your condition, you won’t be able to take first place during the flag competition and won’t make it into the vanguard camp. Don’t cry then.”

After some thought, He Yan relented, deciding there was no rush.

However, during these days, her room was constantly full of visitors after training hours. Today, Jiang Jiao brought some sour plums, tomorrow Huang Xiong brought some overcooked quail, but most bewildering was Wang Ba, who couldn’t bring himself to come in person and instead had his roommate deliver half an eaten flatbread, clearly spoils plundered from someone else. He truly treated the military camp like his personal territory.

Instructor Liang came twice, both times seeing He Yan cheerfully surrounded by people, glancing at the mountain of food on her table, and leaving with a sour comment: “Well, living quite comfortably, aren’t you?” He Yan could only feel helpless.

In this bustle, by the time the scab on He Yan’s elbow had mostly healed and her leg could hop and jump again, seven or eight days had passed, bringing the flag competition day ever closer.

On this day, Hong Shan and the others returned before sunset. He Yan asked in surprise: “It’s not time to finish training yet, why are you all done?”

“Today is the fourteenth of the seventh month, the Ghost Festival,” Little Wheat rushed to answer. “The Head Instructor let us finish early to eat and go to the riverside to release water lanterns to honor our ancestors.”

“This Liangzhou Guard isn’t bad, actually giving time for people to honor their ancestors and loved ones,” Hong Shan sighed.

He Yan smiled, knowing this was a military tradition. When she was in the Fuyue Army, at every Ghost Festival, local officials would set up memorial halls specifically to honor soldiers who died in battle. Now Liangzhou Guard, backed by mountains and facing the river, was very convenient for releasing water lanterns.

“My brother and I need to release lanterns for our parents,” Little Wheat mentioned his deceased parents without sadness, only a slight melancholy. Perhaps because his parents passed too early, the memories had faded. He asked Hong Shan, “Brother Shan, are you going to pay respects?”

“Yes, my mother passed early, I’ll release one for her.”

Everyone turned to look at He Yan: “Brother He, are you going?”

Among them, He Yan’s identity was probably the most mysterious. She didn’t like talking about her family with Little Wheat and others. Hong Shan only knew that He Yan joined the army because her family had fallen on hard times, but seeing her confident and spirited manner at the training grounds, he felt she couldn’t be from an ordinary family.

“Me? I’ll go too.” He Yan lowered her eyes, her voice dropping, “I also have people to honor.”

Little Wheat and the others sensed the change in atmosphere and didn’t dare ask further, immediately changing the subject to lighter matters.

After dinner, when the sun had completely set and moonlight broke through the covering clouds, almost all the recruits of the Liangzhou Guard came out.

The water lanterns needed to be folded by hand, with paper piled in several large baskets at the training grounds. He Yan took a sheet, not being particularly skilled at such craftwork. Little Wheat noticed and quickly folded it into a lotus lantern shape, fixing a short white candle in the center before handing it to He Yan: “Done!”

“Thanks,” He Yan praised, “You’re very skillful.”

Little Wheat smiled sheepishly: “During past Ghost Festivals, my brother and I folded many lanterns to sell, so I’m used to it. If the paper were bigger, I could fold an even prettier, bigger one!”

Stone knocked his head, disapproving: “This isn’t the time to show off.”

Little Wheat stuck out his tongue and ran toward the Wulu River with his lantern: “I’m going to release mine first, Brother He, hurry up!”

After the Beginning of Autumn, Liangzhou’s nights became increasingly cool. It had rained that morning, and the coolness hadn’t dispersed. Frost and dew formed in the dense forest on the mountain, and under the bright moon and sparse stars, the river gleamed white.

The riverbank was already crowded with people paying respects to ancestors. Candlelight flickered like countless silver flowers across the great river, reflecting dancing flames. The fiery lotus lanterns carried people’s remembrances downstream, becoming brilliant points of light where the water met the sky before gradually disappearing.

“This spot is fine, Brother He…” Little Wheat turned around, startled, “Where’s Brother He?”

Hong Shan and Stone looked at each other, “Don’t know, he was just here.”

At the innermost part of the riverbank, He Yan sat on a rock. This wasn’t the most open area, so few people released lanterns here. He Yan silently looked at the lotus lantern in her hands, her heart filled with indescribable bitterness.

Suddenly she remembered He Wanru’s words just before drowning her in the water: “You are pregnant.”

At that moment, she had felt more joy than confusion.

But this joy hadn’t lasted even a moment before it, along with her and her unborn child, sank into the Xu family pond.

He Yan had always felt that in her previous life, she had never wronged anyone. For the He family, for He Runfei, for Xu Zhiheng, she had done everything she could. Her only regret was for the child in her womb. She had given it life, but before bringing it into the world, she had taken away that possibility because of herself. Perhaps because she had killed too many people as a military commander, creating countless karmic debts, heaven punished her this way. But while punishing her was right, why punish an innocent child? She didn’t even know if the child in her womb was a girl or boy before it perished.

He Yan took out her flint, and a spark landed on the candle, instantly lighting it. The water lantern slowly bloomed in her hands, the firelight reflecting in her eyes, becoming a small flame, tears threatening to fall, quickly blurring her vision.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, sadly, “You and I, mother and child, have no fate in this life. If there’s a next life, you must be born into a good family, live a happy and worry-free life, and never meet me again.”

“I also…” she placed the water lantern in the river, “will avenge you.”

The river flowed gently, tenderly carrying the small lantern forward. He Yan watched it until it merged with countless other points of light, indistinguishable from each other, before finally looking away and rubbing her eyes.

“Brother He, what a coincidence to find you here!” an excited voice sounded behind her. “What luck, you’re releasing water lanterns too!”

He Yan turned to see a fair-faced youth holding a bundle of lanterns, happily walking toward her – it was Cheng Lisu.

He wore neat, new clothes and carefully lifted his robes as he approached He Yan, afraid of river water splashing them. He shared some of his many lanterns with He Yan.

He Yan asked: “…Are these all the lanterns you’re releasing?”

“Yes!”

“Why so many?” He Yan was speechless.

“I didn’t originally have so many to release, I don’t even know my Cheng family ancestors. But I thought my uncle wouldn’t come today, so I’ll release some on his behalf. This is for my great-aunt, this is for my great-uncle, this is for my…”

He listed them one by one, showing no trace of sorrow, so cheerful that one might mistake these for Lantern Festival decorations rather than Ghost Festival remembrances.

“Wait,” He Yan interrupted him, “Why are you releasing them for your uncle? Can’t he come himself?”

“With so many people here, he wouldn’t come,” Cheng Lisu sighed, looking like he was carrying the weight of the world, shaking his head, “I’ll do it since he’s my uncle.”

He Yan found it somewhat amusing, the pain from her memories somewhat dulled. Though Cheng Lisu seemed to have a few screws loose compared to normal people, he was quite serious about releasing the lanterns. He lit them one by one, solemnly placing them in the river, anxiously praying they wouldn’t be blown out by the wind or overturned by waves. Fortunately, all went smoothly, and the lanterns gradually floated away.

After releasing the last lantern, Cheng Lisu let out a relieved sigh, took out a coarse cloth from his pocket to place on the rock, and only then sat down.

“Liangzhou Guard is quite cool at night,” he mumbled, “It was so hot these past days, I’ve never experienced such heat in all my life.”

He Yan inwardly laughed. In Shuojing, Cheng Lisu’s family would surely have ice blocks for summer heat relief, and staying indoors daily meant no exposure to the sun – naturally less trying than Liangzhou Guard. She asked: “If so, why follow your uncle here to suffer?”

“No choice,” Cheng Lisu spread his hands, “If I didn’t come with my uncle, I would have been betrothed.”

He Yan was startled: “What?”

“I’ll tell you a secret – I ran away from an arranged marriage.” Cheng Lisu pouted, “I’m still young, how could I get engaged? Besides, I don’t like her, so I ran.”

He Yan: “…” This child was truly straightforward. But what surprised He Yan more was that Xiao Jue would agree to bring Cheng Lisu along. Wasn’t he afraid of the Cheng family’s displeasure? After all, secretly taking away their young master and helping him escape marriage – even as relatives, this would likely create friction.

“You and Commander Xiao seem quite close,” He Yan said carefully.

“It’s alright,” Cheng Lisu said proudly, “I’m the one who actively pursued his company.”

He Yan found this incredible. “Your uncle has such a difficult personality, yet you actively approached him?” Impressive indeed – whoever called Cheng Lisu a “useless young master” was wrong. Such patience and persistence weren’t something everyone could achieve.

“My uncle is amazing. If it weren’t for him when I was little, I might not be here today.”

Perhaps because the moonlight was so beautiful tonight, Cheng Lisu spoke enthusiastically about the past.

Cheng Lisu’s mother, Madam Cheng, was close in age to Xiao Jue’s mother. Thus, when Xiao Jue was born, Madam Cheng was already married, and although Cheng Lisu and Xiao Jue were of different generations, their age difference wasn’t very large.

Though the Cheng and Xiao families weren’t particularly close, they weren’t distant either. However, when Cheng Lisu was young, he rarely saw Xiao Jue, more often seeing his eldest uncle Xiao Jing. Xiao Zhongwu had two sons – the eldest, Xiao Jing, was physically weak in childhood and unsuited for martial arts. By the time his health improved, he had passed the best age for training. Madam Xiao didn’t want Xiao Jing to pursue a military career, so he took the civil service path.

After Xiao Jue was born, Xiao Zhongwu paid special attention to this son.

Xiao Jue didn’t disappoint Xiao Zhongwu, showing extraordinary talent from an early age. Xiao Zhongwu took Xiao Jue to the mountains, where four masters personally taught him. As for which mountain or who these masters were, Cheng Lisu wasn’t clear. In any case, they might only see him once a year, sometimes not even that.

After Xiao Jue turned fourteen, he came down from the mountains and returned to Shuojing, entering Xian Chang Academy to study civil and military arts with other noble children. That year, Cheng Lisu was nine and was kidnapped by traffickers while playing with friends during the Mid-Autumn Festival. At his age, traffickers would usually consider him too old, but he was so delicate and beautiful, like a porcelain doll from a painting, that they took him out of the city. Cheng Lisu’s cries went unanswered as he trembled in the carriage.

He would cry when awake, eat tearfully, then sleep again. After who knows how many cycles of sleeping and waking, fighting sounds came from outside the carriage. While Cheng Lisu was lamenting his bruised face from the bumpy ride, the carriage stopped.

He hurriedly lifted the curtain and crawled out, seeing corpses scattered everywhere, all killed with a single throat-slitting stroke. There hadn’t been just one kidnapper – there were dozens, and the kidnapped children were all tied up in carriages. Some had fallen out, others were still inside, all wailing unceasingly. In the chaos, as Cheng Lisu trembled and crawled out, he touched a snow-white robe hem.

He looked up to see a handsome youth in white robes and a silver crown standing before him, holding a long sword that dripped blood like frost and snow. The blood was vivid but couldn’t match the youth’s crimson lips. His expression was calm as his gaze fell on Cheng Lisu.

It should have been a frightening scene, but Cheng Lisu inexplicably felt somewhat reassured. Trembling, he hugged the youth’s leg and, imitating his mother’s fawning tone when talking to others, said, “May I ask the hero’s name and where you’re from? I’m the young master of the Right Commissioner’s household. You saved me – our household will surely reward you generously.”

The youth’s mouth twitched as he looked down at him, his clear eyes undisturbed as he said coldly: “I’m your uncle.”

“That’s when I learned he was my rarely-seen young uncle,” Cheng Lisu said, resting his chin in his hand while looking at the moon. “I thought then, this young uncle is amazing.”

Xiao Jue saved him and the other kidnapped children. Cheng Lisu felt proud to have such an uncle and wanted to stick close to him. However, Xiao Jue didn’t particularly like this young nephew. After sending him back to the Cheng family, he never visited once. When Cheng Lisu sent invitations asking him to visit, Xiao Jue never came. Moreover, Xiao Jue was very busy, so Cheng Lisu’s encounters with him were truly rare.

He Yan couldn’t help but smile at the scene Cheng Lisu described. It must have been quite a predicament for Xiao Jue to have such a nephew.

“So how did you become close later?” He Yan asked.

If it was just a life-saving grace, as Cheng Lisu said, and it hadn’t improved their relationship much, something else must have happened later for uncle and nephew to come to Liangzhou Guard together.

“Our Cheng family, including my mother and the friends who knew the Xiao family, didn’t like my uncle,” Cheng Lisu said. “They preferred my eldest uncle.”

Both Xiao sons were exceptionally handsome. The eldest, Xiao Jing, was also blessed with good looks, refined as jade and modestly cheerful. From a personality standpoint, interacting with Xiao Jing was certainly more comfortable, but that shouldn’t have led to disliking Xiao Jue.

“Why?” He Yan asked. “Didn’t Commander Xiao save your life? Your mother surely wouldn’t dislike someone who saved her son.”

“That’s true, but Uncle spent so little time with our relatives, that nobody knew him.”

Before age fourteen, Xiao Jue rarely stayed in Shuojing. After fourteen, he entered Xian Chang Academy. Not just relatives and friends, even Madam Xiao wasn’t close to this son. Cheng Lisu knew that several times when Madam Xiao spoke with his mother, she expressed worry about not knowing how to interact with her younger son.

Without understanding him, people naturally held prejudices. Xiao Jue was already lazy about socializing, and compared to his warm, jade-like brother, the contrast was even more stark. But as He Yan said, this wasn’t enough to create dislike. True dislike came after Xiao Zhongwu died in the Battle of Mingshui.

Xiao Zhongwu’s death was sudden and a massive blow to the Xiao family. Madam Xiao had never experienced such hardship, having lived her life centered around her husband. After his death, when no one was watching, she hanged herself to follow her husband, leaving behind two sons.

Of the two Xiao sons, Xiao Jing was grief-stricken, while Xiao Jue didn’t shed a single tear. After the General and his wife were buried, Xiao Jue’s first action was to petition the Imperial Court to take control of the Southern Army.

Before the seventh day of mourning for Madam Xiao had passed, he led the Southern Army to suppress the Southern Barbarian rebellion. Xiao Zhongwu had died in that same war – some said Xiao Jue was avenging his father, and others said he was being opportunistic. Whether regarding his father’s death or his mother’s suicide, Xiao Jue never showed excessive grief. Thus, the labels of cold-heartedness and iron-hearted were permanently attached to him.

The capital lost its precious Second Young Master Xiao, and people could only learn of Xiao Jue’s situation through fragments of news from the battlefield. Rumors said he was a young killer general, with countless deaths by his sword, and that he was extremely strict and completely unsentimental.

“Have you heard of Zhao Nuo?” Cheng Lisu asked.

He Yan vaguely felt the name was familiar but couldn’t recall where she’d heard it, so she shook her head: “No.”

“Zhao Nuo was the eldest legitimate son of the current Minister of Revenue and served as Military Governor of Jingzhou,” Cheng Lisu’s expression darkened. “The misunderstandings that the Cheng family and Xiao family’s relatives had about my uncle arose because of this person.”