Being a summer evening, the daylight seemed particularly long. The night sky had not yet fully darkened, and a faint twilight still lingered outside. Yan Shao sat with his head bowed, reading a book at his desk. The red candlelight cast his shadow on the wall—elegant, upright, and incredibly captivating. The room was filled with the lingering fragrance of ambergris, subtle yet enduring. He liked to burn this incense while reading. He was unaccustomed to using items from the inn; bedding, tea sets, and other such things had to be his familiar possessions… Now you understand why we always traveled by carriage—there were simply too many things to bring along. Haha!
From somewhere in the small town came the sounds of children playing, accompanied by the indulgent scolding of adults, which had a unique tranquility and leisure when heard in the thin dusk. Smoke with the rich aroma of cooking wafted from someone’s kitchen next door, smelling particularly intimate and real—it was the most ordinary, most common, yet most blissful kind of life in this world.
I turned my head to stare at the pristine canopy above, unable to resist smiling as I dozed off drowsily. In my hazy state, I seemed to hear a knock at the door. Yan Shao got up to answer it, lowering his voice to say: “Let’s talk outside.”
I forced my eyes open to look; the window paper was faintly whitish, a grayish dimness—still quite a while before daybreak.
Feng Ming’s voice came from outside: “Just received a message by carrier pigeon—”
Yan Shao made a gentle “shh” sound, and Feng Ming’s voice immediately lowered: “News from the capital…”
My drowsiness had been heavy, but hearing this, I became somewhat alert. I heard Yan Shao give a light laugh and say softly: “I thought it was something serious. Don’t worry about this in the future. Go back to sleep.”
Feng Ming acknowledged and his footsteps receded.
Yan Shao entered the room, quietly closing the door behind him. Turning around to see me watching him, he smiled and said: “Still woke you up after all.”
I asked curiously: “What news came from the capital?”
“Nothing much, the new Emperor has ascended the throne.” He lay back down beside me, casually saying: “He secretly killed a group of people, including two spies I had previously placed in the capital. Now, let’s sleep a bit more. I’m so tired…”
I was dumbfounded for quite a while before coming to my senses: “Do you think he might send people to hunt us down?”
He closed his eyes, ignoring me, and soon began to snore.
I nudged him: “Stop pretending.”
He turned over to embrace me, sighing helplessly and drawling: “No, silly, he’d be delighted if I left. He’s not so foolish as to actively seek trouble. Doesn’t he fear that I might suddenly appear in his bedchamber one day? Ah—I’m really tired. Can we sleep now, wife?” After speaking, he opened his dark eyes and gazed at me innocently.
I hugged him with a grin and began to sing: “Ah, ah, ah, my little darling wants to go to sleep…”
He burst out laughing, lightly tapping my arm and scolding: “Asking for trouble!”
I obediently nestled against him, but after a long while still couldn’t fall asleep. Watching the sky gradually brighten, I finally decided to get up and go outside for some fresh air. Just as I sat up, Yan Shao spoke: “Where are you going?”
“Can’t sleep. Going for a walk outside.”
“It’s not light yet.”
“But I can’t sleep.”
“Alright—” he drawled, resigning himself as he got up, “I’ll go with you.”
“No need!” I said while getting dressed, “You sleep well. I’ll just walk around nearby.”
He glared at me and said irritably: “Who told me to marry a future-minded wife who constantly talks about how new good men should respect and care for women, and even invented some three obediences and four virtues for husbands? Heh! I suppose I have no choice but to keep up with the times…”
“Keep up with the times? Haha…” I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Am I wrong?”
“Not at all. A promising student!” I rewarded him with a smiling kiss.
—————————————————————————————————————————————–
It was around five o’clock in the morning. In the main hall of the inn, a candle was almost burnt out, with layers of red wax piled on the table. A thin red glow flickered feebly. The night watchman was dozing at the counter, and the main door was half-open, presumably for the convenience of travelers arriving overnight.
We quietly walked out and strolled along the street paved with blue flagstones. None of the shops had opened yet, and everything around was quiet. Occasionally, a rooster’s crow or a dog’s bark came from someone’s courtyard, emphasizing the serene and peaceful early morning. In the distance, the mountains were blueish-black like eyebrow ink. The air was fresh all around. I lifted my head to take a deep breath and began to speak nonsensically: “Stealing half a day of leisure from life.”
Yan Shao scolded with a smile: “You can be as leisurely as you want—no need to steal it.”
I looked at him and smiled: “Today is a special day. Don’t keep acting so indifferent…”
He raised an eyebrow slightly: “Special? What’s special about it?”
“Hey! The Emperor is ascending the throne today.”
“Since I can remember, he’s the fourth emperor to ascend the throne. I don’t see anything special about it.”
“But I feel very differently. Look, I already know what will happen in the future. I know he’ll be a diligent and benevolent emperor. I even know in which year he’ll depose the Empress and in which year he’ll pass away. Don’t you think that feeling is strange?”
He laughed, repeatedly saying: “Yes, yes, yes! You’re a prophet!” As he spoke, he turned his head to plant a firm kiss on my cheek, then asked with a grin: “So did you foresee that I was going to kiss you just now?”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
He laughed and took my hand as we continued walking. The two of us chatted idly about various trivial matters. From the eastern horizon rose the thin glow of sunrise. Layers of reddish clouds surged like waves, and radiant light streamed down from the mountaintops. As far as the eye could see, forests, fields, and villages were all shrouded in hazy red light, inexplicably giving one a sense of warmth and the joy of being alive.
He suddenly said: “The sunrise on Mount Emei is more magnificent than this.”
I asked with a smile: “And are the people on Mount Emei better than the person in front of you?”
He looked at me with slight surprise, then nodded with a smile: “Yes, very rare indeed!”
“Rare?”
“Your jealousy is finally erupting…”
“Ha! Is it?”
“Isn’t it?”
“Fine!” I spread my hands, honestly confessing: “I am quite curious about what happened between you two. Why not tell me some stories from the past?”
He spread his hands just as innocently: “I’ve already told you everything that needed to be told.”
I was speechless, glaring at him for a while before finally smiling: “You know, pregnant women shouldn’t get angry, and shouldn’t be too jealous…”
He pressed his hand to his brow and rubbed it, mimicking my tone: “Alright! I did think Lei Youle was a very good girl, but, you know, at that time, I was too young and hadn’t learned how to appreciate a good girl, so…”
He paused, then suddenly laughed.
I frowned: “What are you laughing at?”
He shook his head helplessly, self-mockingly: “I’m laughing at myself. I was too young then, too impetuous. Whenever I heard about Shaolin, Wudang…”
I immediately cut him off: “Don’t try to change the subject.”
“Who’s changing the subject?” he protested, “Isn’t this about the past?”
“For now, just limit it to Lei Youle.”
He was silent for a moment, then suddenly sighed: “Lei Youle had feelings for me, and I knew it, but at that time I was obsessed with martial arts. I believed that romantic entanglements would erode one’s will, and I particularly disliked the feeling of… having my emotions controlled and my freedom manipulated by others. You know, life always has different phases and different mindsets. Perhaps at another time, in another frame of mind, there might have been a possibility between us. But Shukuang, you must understand, life has no hypotheticals. Feelings in this world depend on timing—too early doesn’t work, too late doesn’t either.”
As he spoke, he looked at me with a smile.
I said softly: “Thank heaven for letting me meet you at the most appropriate time!”
He deliberately widened his eyes: “That’s exactly what I was going to say.”
I smiled, holding his hand, and said: “I’m a bit tired. Shall we go back?”
He said with a serious face: “Do you need me to carry you?”
I was startled: “In the middle of the street?”
He laughed: “Are you shy? That’s not like you.”
I shook my head with a smile: “I can still walk.”
He didn’t press the matter, and we walked back hand in hand. Shops along the street had begun to open one after another. In the dimly lit main hall, one or two figures were bustling about, with rustling sounds coming from inside, interspersed with one or two heavy coughs, allowing one to imagine the weight of the phlegm as it hit the ground. Breakfast stalls were also being set up at the alley entrances. The street instantly became lively, with the air filled with the steaming aroma of food. The morning sunlight shone on their faces—unfamiliar, simple, weather-beaten faces—looking at you with a trace of kindly smiles, a habitual sort of ingratiation.
Suddenly, I couldn’t bear to face them.
In peaceful times, the greatest turmoil one might personally experience is disillusionment. But in such times, even complaining about life’s hardships seems overly affected. Though one couldn’t say corpses were littering the roads, Emperor Chengzu had led multiple northern campaigns against the Yuan, leaving heavy tax burdens on the common people who could barely sustain themselves, which eventually led to Tang Saier’s rebellion. In Lord Tianping’s “Remnant Song of the Western Journey,” he said: “Those whom the world calls great heroes exhaust the strength of ten thousand people to fulfill their ambitions; those whom the world calls great villains drive countless lives to satisfy their desires. Hero or villain, what is the difference? It lies between success and failure. History judges heroes by their success or failure. For the sake of an emperor’s eternal reputation and the pleasure of conquest, all that is spent are the blood and tears of the common people. What sin have the masses committed?”
This day was the twelfth day of the sixth month in the first year of Hongxi’s reign. Crown Prince Zhu Zhanji ascended to the imperial throne.
As power shifted in the court, a series of changes were also quietly taking place in the jianghu. The White Lotus Sect had completely vanished, the Ghost Valley Alliance had fully withdrawn from the Central Plains, and Yu-Chi Mountain Villa once again firmly secured its position as the hegemon of the jianghu. Yan Fufeng, the former head of the Azure Dragon Altar, emerged victorious at the villa’s leadership election assembly, becoming the new master of Yu Chi Mountain Villa with widespread support. Having assisted the Crown Prince in ascending the throne, Yu-Chi Mountain Villa naturally received various benefits, and its future seemed exceedingly bright.
The story could end here. But some say that the end of one story is often the beginning of another. As far as I know, the story of Prince of Han Zhu Gaoxu’s rebellion was far from over. He would officially raise troops in rebellion in the eighth month of the first year of Xuande’s reign. At that time, what changes would occur in the jianghu? We cannot know. The future is an unknowable journey full of variables, and we must proceed with greater courage.
Lei Youle
Lei Youle sat in the courtyard, looking down at a piece of paper. Her expression was both serious and melancholy. The wind of Mount Emei whistled through the pine forest, endless leaves falling with a rustling sound. The leaves whispered together into a great noise that carried from the distant rear mountain, coming in waves. This sound would normally seem magnificent, but in her current distracted state, it seemed to fade in and out, like Liang Bing’s soft singing from days past.
But she knew clearly in her heart that this was not Liang Bing’s singing. Liang Bing had been gone for many years. She had been quite a melancholic person with a weak constitution that couldn’t withstand Mount Emei’s climate. Lei Youle had once offered to accompany her to live down the mountain, but she had adamantly refused. She said the mountain was peaceful and she liked staying there. In truth, she had grown weary of the mortal world. That human realm had left her with only painful and humiliating memories. All the joys of this world are fleeting, while only unbearably painful memories are repeatedly recalled and difficult to forget.
Liang Bing could not forget, and so, she was not happy.
And what about Lei Youle herself?
She stood up and gazed at the mountain peaks wreathed in clouds and mist. The mountain wind made the paper in her hand rustle loudly. She raised her hand as if to throw the paper away, but hesitated midway, and finally didn’t throw it. There are many things in this world that cannot be discarded.
Lei Youle slowly lowered her arm, feeling a dull pain.
Her arm was injured, though not severely—it had almost healed. By the time that person arrived at Mount Emei, he certainly wouldn’t see the bandage wrapped around her arm. She didn’t want him to see it either. Twenty years had passed, and she had grown accustomed to it.
She had heard people say that the longer one lives, the hazier one’s memories become.
But it wasn’t like that for her. She was already thirty-eight years old, and for some reason, her memories were becoming increasingly vivid. Events from twenty years ago seemed as if they had happened just yesterday, frighteningly clear.
Even today, she still remembered how the wind on Mount Emei had been both gentle and fierce that day. It blew in from the distant horizon, rushing through Emei’s dense forests, bringing the freshness of leaves and the scent of decaying foliage. It embraced the rich white mist between the mountain ranges, transforming it into any shape it desired. At first glance, it resembled a dragon, then a tiger, and then countless dragons and tigers, seemingly accompanied by several muffled beast cries. But when you looked carefully, they appeared to be in their original form, as if they had never changed at all…
Then, she saw a brilliant crimson light breaking through the clouds between the peaks, the blue and red colors against the backdrop of white clouds like immortals dancing. At that moment, she truly believed her piety had moved the heavens. But immediately, she knew it wasn’t so. She heard the dragon-like song of swords amidst surging true qi and saw the Taoist robe of Emei’s sect leader appearing and disappearing in the white mist. The black and white Taoist robe danced in the mountain wind, fluttering like a butterfly—like a dying butterfly.
White clouds drifted, the forest swayed, and nature used its subtle rustling movements to contrast its immense stillness—a deathly stillness.
In this tranquility, the crimson-robed youth turned around and smiled slightly, like a bright and passionate midsummer.
This smile accompanied her through an extremely long period in the years that followed. Later, she learned that he was not a man who smiled often, which made this smile all the more precious. Her martial arts benefited from his teachings, allowing her to avenge her grievances. For a time, she attributed this strange feeling to gratitude, as if this gave her more reason to remember.
Many things are better left as they were if your eyes still hold the reflection of your eighteen-year-old self.
Lei Youle was like this—her memory remained fixed at eighteen.
But now it was different. A letter had pulled her back to reality.
That person—he was coming back.
Incredibly, you wouldn’t believe it, but she had never known his name.
They hadn’t spent many days together. Besides teaching martial arts, he rarely spoke. More often, he would look up at the bright moon or face flowing waters, silent for long periods.
His crimson robe reflected in the clear ripples of water, like a lonely narcissus.
She had followed him from Emei to Qingcheng, then traversed throughout the major sects of the Central Plains. She witnessed with her own eyes how those renowned masters and sect leaders of the jianghu were defeated one after another under his sword.
Yet, he was not happy.
He was nearly invincible in the world, possessing everything, but a trace of bewilderment and melancholy always lingered between his brows.
Like all young wandering knights of the jianghu, he easily stirred tender feelings in women’s hearts. She had harbored thoughts for him, as had Liang Bing. They never spoke of it to each other, but such feelings couldn’t be hidden in their eyes.
However, he always maintained a cold and calm demeanor, expressionless, as if he knew, yet also as if he didn’t.
Sometimes, memory is a very distressing thing, especially these elusive memories filled with anxiety and insecurity.
Therefore, Lei Youle had spent many years trying to forget, but she couldn’t.
In her mind, she had imagined countless times: perhaps one day they would meet again. She imagined what that scenario would be like. Had he already married and had children? What kind of person would his wife be?
The answers to these questions, she would soon know.
Tonight, just tonight, he would arrive at Mount Emei with his wife.
[End of Text]