Fei Luo screamed loudly and desperately slammed her head backward. Jing Hengbo dodged, the dagger slipped, and with a hiss, a hideous gash opened from Fei Luo’s neck to her cheek, blood spattering everywhere!

Fei Luo screamed in agony, twisted her body, and suddenly a blade shot out from her waist, aiming at Jing Hengbo’s lower abdomen.

Jing Hengbo retreated again. Fei Luo sought only this moment’s gap and threw herself forward with all her might toward the muddy pool.

As she lunged, she heard Jing Hengbo’s giggling laugh, which chilled her to the bone, then wind roared behind her!

The wind was so heavy and fierce!

A boulder!

Fei Luo’s heart and courage failed her as she desperately let out an extremely ugly whistle.

Black light suddenly flashed in the mud, several black lines shot out like lightning. Fei Luo caught them mid-air and used their pulling force to desperately leap forward.

“Crack!” A sharp cracking sound—the boulder that should have struck Fei Luo’s waist instead smashed viciously into her right leg. The horrifying sound of breaking bone was as crisp as snapping twigs. Her right leg from the hip down immediately hung down in a grotesque position.

“Ahh!” Fei Luo let out an inhuman scream! Her body crashed down heavily, her right leg twisted behind her like a slug.

In the black muddy river crossing the mountain cavity, a black shadow suddenly flashed, leaping out a massive figure that caught Fei Luo. This was the giant creature that Yélu Qi had grabbed from the muddy river when he rose up to kill—one had been used to crush the clan’s Grand Scholar to death, but apparently one still remained.

Fei Luo screamed while still struggling to emit a low whistle. The black shadow immediately plunged rapidly toward the bottom of the swamp.

“Whoosh!” The wind roared fiercely as Jing Hengbo’s second stone arrived, sharp-pointed at the bottom, descending like lightning, aimed directly at Fei Luo’s skull!

“Splash!” The black shadow also sank extremely fast, disappearing beneath the swamp surface in an instant. The sharp stone immediately struck the mud surface, splashing countless mud, the mud tinged red with blood!

The swamp bubbled and roiled, a deep furrow quickly appeared and moved forward rapidly, shooting straight outward like a sword. Jing Hengbo rushed to the muddy pool’s edge and stabbed down viciously with her dagger at that furrow, but stabbed empty air. The furrow then disappeared.

All the action happened in just an instant—a moment that shocked both blood and soul.

The cave returned to calm, only the heavy scent of blood lingered.

Jing Hengbo stared at the muddy pool for a long time, then disregarding the filth, wanted to reach in and fish around. Yélu Qi stepped forward, grabbed her hand and pulled her back, angrily saying, “Who knows what’s down there—don’t you value your life?”

Jing Hengbo raised an eyebrow, lifted her head, and smiled with a sinister curve at her lips. “I want to see the corpse!”

Yélu Qi stared at her in a daze. This woman who loved cleanliness was now covered in blood and mud from head to toe, yet seemed completely unaware. Squatting by the swamp edge, those hands that had always been clean and white, with fingernails clean as flowing springs, now groped around in the black mud, looking like she wanted to jump in and drag someone out to hack them to death.

He felt somewhat shocked, somewhat strange, somewhat chilled, but more than anything, suddenly overwhelmed with heartache.

Heartache.

He understood too clearly what had transformed this woman who used to be lazy, carefree, romantic, fastidious, reluctant to be troubled, and disliked killing, into the current ruthless and fierce laughing killer who could calmly search through blood and mud with a dagger in her teeth, ready to kick someone.

Her former smile had been alluring and composed. Her current smile still carried allure and composure, but with several more degrees of hidden sharpness and killing intent.

Like how she struck at Fei Luo—so decisive and vicious. The domineering and tyrannical spirit hidden in her bones had finally been polished bright by that night’s snow.

Perhaps this was a good thing. The path of an emperor requires ruthless suppression of emotion and doing what others cannot.

But for such a person to reach this point, what soul-crushing and heart-rending spiritual baptism had she endured?

How much hatred, how much ruthlessness.

His heart tasted bitter as he couldn’t help gripping her wrist tighter. “Hengbo, stop looking. She can’t survive, and even if she lives, it’ll be worse than death. You’ve already avenged one grievance.”

Jing Hengbo stopped, casually wiped the mud from her hands on his clothes, and said, “Killing her would be best, but if I didn’t kill her, it doesn’t matter. When she was Female Chancellor, she couldn’t kill me. Now that she’s fallen and wretched, could she actually harm me?” She turned to smile at the swamp. “If you’ve got guts, don’t die. Sister will play with you all slowly—perfect for practicing my killing skills. Tch, if all the mice are dead, wouldn’t the cat be bored to madness?”

The mountain cavity was filled with thin mist, light and shadow shifting mysteriously. In the misty light, her smile was intimately charming yet ghostly and sinister. Yélu Qi felt that if Fei Luo could see this, she would definitely hide under the swamp forever and never come out.

Jing Hengbo turned her head, the ghostly aura vanished, returning to that lazy, seductive smile, and asked him, “Can people survive under the swamp?”

“Logically, no,” Yélu Qi said. “But you know, the wilderness has many swamps. Harsh environments most easily create extraordinary people. Perhaps someone has already developed the ability to survive briefly under swamps.”

Jing Hengbo deeply agreed. The wilderness was famously mysterious—one couldn’t be careless with anyone.

“I need to meditate and regulate my breathing,” Yélu Qi sat cross-legged and smiled up at her. “You go back first. I’ll return at dawn, and we can discuss whether to go stir up trouble in Ash Gray Valley.”

“Alright.” Jing Hengbo yawned, called to Feifei, and waved lazily. “Remember to come back.”

She swayed as she walked out. Behind her, Yélu Qi watched her retreating figure until she turned a corner, then suddenly stood up. While tearing cloth strips from his clothes to tightly bandage his arm wound, he walked to the corpses of the Yélu clan members, carefully searched through them, found something, tucked it in his bosom, and turned to leave.

Looking at his direction, he wasn’t heading toward the village.

“Where are you going?” A lazy voice drifted over, sounding sandy in the quiet night. Jing Hengbo poked her head out from behind the mountain wall, arms crossed, her mouth still moving as if eating something.

He stopped, thought for a moment, smiled bitterly, and sighed. He didn’t try to say anything more.

He was leaving because once you start killing in rage, you must end it with blood and slaughter. Xun Ru was still in the Yélu clan’s hands. Having killed the people here, he had to strike first before dawn when the others realized something was wrong and moved against Xun Ru—eliminate them first.

This was very difficult work, and he preferred to go alone.

Whether she wanted to follow him out of distrust or willingness to help, he didn’t want to think about it anymore.

As long as she was beside him, heaven and earth were at peace.

“Let’s go.”

“Where to, and to do what?”

“Kill people.”

…

Imperial Song.

On this night approaching the New Year, curfew was rarely lifted. Though it was already late, the streets were still bustling with crowds and flowing lights.

Because the government offices had been sealed, including Jade Photo Palace, all Imperial Song bureaus had their gates tightly shut, but people were no longer prohibited from lingering nearby. So even near Jade Photo Palace, temporary night markets had opened, selling fresh novelties transported from the six kingdoms and eight tribes.

In previous years, such situations would absolutely not be allowed, because everyone knew the master of Jade Photo Palace loved quiet.

This year, for some reason, was an exception.

Therefore, when the gates of Jade Photo Palace suddenly opened wide, when a black-feathered rider shot out from the palace gates like an arrow, bearing the distinctive white mountain and black water insignia of Jade Photo Palace uniform orders and racing through the bustling crowds before disappearing in a cloud of dust, everyone was startled.

The people of Imperial Song all knew that black-feathered riders were special messengers for Jade Photo Palace to transmit major commands to the world. Moreover, they only transmitted bad news—such as the death of rulers, royal household changes and demotions, or the demotion of officials of second rank and above.

Not long ago, the people of Imperial Song had seen black-feathered riders once before—that was after the recent Jade Photo Palace forcing incident, announcing the deposition of the Queen and her re-designation as Blackwater Queen, with black-feathered orders spread throughout the world.

What bad news could there be again at this time of year? The people anxiously dropped what they were holding and looked back.

“Royal Decree: Jade Photo Dragon Cavalry Grand Commander Ying Bai, of wild and rebellious nature, consorts with external ministers, usurps military authority, indulges in wine and lust. By joint decision of the ministers, he is dismissed from office. He shall immediately surrender the Jade Photo Dragon Cavalry and is permanently forbidden from returning to Imperial Song without imperial edict. By imperial decree!”

The marketplace erupted in an uproar.

The Jade Photo Dragon Cavalry Grand Commander was a first-rank military official equal to the Kang Long Army Grand Commander. How could such a prestigious important minister be dismissed just like that before New Year’s Eve?

Moreover, Grand Commander Ying Bai was different from Cheng Gumo. He was a true confidant under the State Preceptor, someone who had accompanied the State Preceptor from common origins to the position of State Preceptor, walking through mountains of corpses and seas of blood. If the two armies were the State Preceptor’s left and right hands, Cheng Gumo could only be considered the left hand, while Ying Bai was the most powerful right hand.

Casually chopping off the State Preceptor’s right hand? Would he agree?

Royal decree? The Queen’s decree?

Ming City Queen had resumed her position. Originally she had requested to hold another ceremony to celebrate and announce her return, but the State Preceptor had vetoed it. The State Preceptor stated that someone who had already been enthroned once performing a second enthronement would be truly illegitimate. Ming City Queen had thus quietly returned to her own chambers in Jade Photo Palace, continuing her puppet days.

How dare Ming City Queen move against Ying Bai? How could the State Preceptor accept this? Would the two clash over this? Would there be another bloody incident at Jade Photo Palace?

The people of Imperial Song had always been politically sensitive. Thinking of this, they quickly dropped what they were holding and scattered like birds and beasts.

That night in Imperial Song could never recover its New Year’s joy and excitement. Countless people worried in their mansions, countless people calculated and speculated in their residences, countless people gazed toward Jade Photo Palace, waiting for or fearing that place might suddenly explode again, replaying that recent heart-shaking upheaval.

Jade Photo Palace.

Unlike what was imagined outside, Jade Photo Palace was very quiet—so quiet it lacked even New Year’s atmosphere.

Actually, Jade Photo Palace never had New Year’s atmosphere in previous years, but somehow, the recent Jade Photo Palace was particularly silent. Even palace servants walked lightly and spoke softly—if voices were slightly raised, they echoed through the corridors and courtyards, sounding particularly abrupt and hollow.

Someone’s arrival had once brought liveliness, and everyone had grown accustomed to such liveliness. When she left, the sudden quiet became so unbearable.

Jade Photo Palace’s lights were sparse and scattered. In the Quiet Courtyard, lights glowed dimly.

Under the lamps, two people were drinking together.

The one in snow-white robes was Gong Yin. The other had casually tied hair, stubbled beard, very black and long eyebrows, eyes that often squinted but curved slightly when smiling, with a kind of charming, carefree allure.

Jade Photo Dragon Cavalry Grand Commander, Ying Bai.

The criminal official who, according to outside rumors, had been imprisoned, stripped of office, and banished from the capital, was currently drinking with the State Preceptor in the central Quiet Courtyard.

The lamp light was dim yellow, shadows swaying. Someone coughed lightly, accompanied by the sandy sound of falling snow outside.

“You should drink less,” Ying Bai poured wine for himself while casually pouring the wine from Gong Yin’s cup into his own pot. “Forcing yourself at this time—I won’t praise you as a hero.” He drained his cup in one gulp, shook the wine cup, and complained dissatisfiedly, “You’re already driving me away, yet you don’t bring out better wine. I heard you have hundred-year Dragon Mountain Ice Brew here. How about it? Bring it out and let’s finish it? I’m about to wander the wilderness—if I don’t get some good stuff to replenish myself, I’m afraid I won’t be able to come back, State Preceptor.”

Gong Yin retrieved his wine cup, used a handkerchief to wipe the rim his fingers had touched, and said flatly, “The Dragon Mountain Ice Brew is gone.”

“Gone? Gone!” Ying Bai stared wide-eyed, looked at Gong Yin for a long time, confirmed he wouldn’t lie, and his expression immediately became mournful. “You clearly promised to save it for me to drink in the future!”

“The second jar will be a hundred years old in three years,” Gong Yin gazed at the snow outside the window in a trance. “If you come back properly in the future, it will be yours.”

“I’d also have to perform to your satisfaction to get to drink it, right?” Ying Bai raised an eyebrow. “This isn’t drinking wine—this is dangling bait for me to chase. Like teasing a dog! How can you be so shameless?”

Gong Yin only smiled faintly, personally pouring wine for him. “Then let this cup serve as an apology.”

“Don’t, don’t, I can’t accept it. Your apologies don’t come free. When you apologize, I suffer disaster.” Ying Bai waved his hands, looking annoyed. “A month ago when you poured wine to apologize, I was so excited thinking you finally knew you’d wronged me. I was even planning to ask you to repay the three taels of silver you owed me years ago. Who knew you’d give me this now—turns out your apology was advance preparation for driving me out of the capital. So what’s this apology for? What disaster am I going to face next?”

“Leaving Imperial Song is fraught with danger. The six kingdoms and eight tribes have undercurrents surging,” Gong Yin raised his cup. “Safe travels.”

He raised his sleeve to cover his cup and drained it in one gulp. His sleeve paused slightly, then lowered. A faint blush appeared on his face like sunset glow illuminating white jade, the crimson color alluring.

Ying Bai’s expression didn’t look good. He glanced at him and said, “Stop being secretive. I won’t check your condition like some woman.”

Gong Yin merely curved his lips slightly.

“You’re too relentless—can’t you wait a bit?” Ying Bai drank heavily. “Who’s next?”

Gong Yin drank slowly, not lifting his head. “The Huangjin Tribe may have unrest. Grand Commander Cheng has been idle too long—perhaps his precious sword should emerge again, riding horses in the mountain shade.”

Ying Bai’s hand paused, stunned for a moment, then burst into loud laughter. “Serves him right!”

Gong Yin said impassively, “You’re not allowed to take any of the people you’ve trained over the years.”

Ying Bai snorted coldly, saying resentfully, “You’re really exterminating everything.”

Gong Yin said nothing, holding his cup and watching the cold snow and dark sky outside. Snowflakes pattered against the window paper like divine fingers tapping the sounds of fate.

“Banished from the capital, and I can’t even drink a cup of Dragon Mountain Ice Brew.” Ying Bai was unwilling to let it go, still muttering, “Then tell me—who drank my wine?”

Gong Yin’s hand paused slightly. He reached for the wine pot again, but Ying Bai pressed down on his wrist and sneered, “Enough! Stop trying to change the subject with toasts! I know!”

His voice was full of anger, but Gong Yin acted as if he hadn’t heard.

“How’s the matter I asked you to handle?”

Ying Bai rolled his eyes and clapped his hands. After a while, the door curtain lifted and someone slowly approached.

Gong Yin looked up at the person walking from the darkness, his eyes seeming to reflect his own once-innocent past.

The person approached with a somewhat panicked demeanor, instinctively about to bow to Ying Bai. Ying Bai waved his hand to stop him, saying coldly, “Stop! I’ve taught you so many times—no bowing! Be cold! Be proud! Be high above, as if in the clouds!” He gestured toward Gong Yin, “Watch!”

Thinking again, he drank wine dissatisfiedly. “Far off! Far off! Too difficult!”

Gong Yin only glanced once, then waved for the person to withdraw. After being lost in thought for a while, he said, “Acceptable. After more careful study, it should work.”

Ying Bai ate and drank without speaking, seeming to vent all his anger on this table of food.

“Before dawn, you should leave the capital. Forgive me for not being able to see you off.”

Ying Bai finished his last cup of wine, casually pocketed Gong Yin’s wine pot, and walked out while waving his hand. “Fine, who wants you to see me off? False sentiment!”

As his figure was about to step outside, Gong Yin suddenly said, “Ying Bai.”

Ying Bai turned back.

The room’s lamplight was dim yellow. He sat cross-legged, his snow-colored robes quietly draped. Half the lamplight was blocked, and behind him a painting of snow falling on plum blossoms was illuminated with mottled colors. Snowflakes swept in through the half-open window, floating and settling around him without melting. Occasionally falling on his black hair, making his skin appear luminously cold.

Ying Bai suddenly felt that Gong Yin at this moment seemed about to melt away with the snow.

“Ying Bai. The last jar of Dragon Mountain Ice Brew is in the hidden compartment three steps down from this Quiet Courtyard study.” He said quietly, “When you return, if I’m not here, remember to get it yourself.”

Ying Bai stared at him, but he had already turned away his gaze, once again lost in thought watching this night’s snow.

Every night’s snow was similar, but people were already different.

“What a beautifully said line…” Ying Bai suddenly looked up, murmuring, “My emotions suddenly came…”

His expression suddenly turned furious. He raised his hand and violently smashed the wine pot.

The sound of shattering echoed throughout the Quiet Courtyard.

Guards turned in shock, then quickly turned back.

“Gong Yin!” Ying Bai stood in the long corridor, pointing at his nose and shouting harshly, “I can’t stand your behavior! I’m not serving anymore! Farewell!”

His voice also echoed throughout the Quiet Courtyard, clearly heard by everyone.

Everyone was silent as cicadas. Meng Hu, who had been anxiously waiting, rubbed his hands and rushed over, his face full of anxious unease. He blocked Ying Bai’s path, wanting to say something but not daring to. After a long while, he stammered, “Grand Commander, don’t blame the State Preceptor…”

“Don’t call me Grand Commander! I’m no longer Grand Commander!” Ying Bai angrily pushed him aside and strode away, still cursing as he walked, “Good riddance! This damn deadly silent Jade Photo Palace—I must have had eight lifetimes of bad luck to ever want to come back! Ptui! Gong Yin, you’ve got guts—you’d better stay in Jade Photo Palace until you’re seventy or eighty, living your whole life alone and dying here!”

“Grand Commander…” Meng Hu wanted to chase him, but was also angry. These words were truly hurtful—what would the State Preceptor think hearing them?

He looked back worriedly at the Quiet Courtyard study, which remained completely silent. The pale yellow lamplight stretched that figure’s shadow long across the snow and plum painting, motionless for a long time.

…

The imperial palace had always been a strange place. It appeared heavily guarded with strict protocols, where everyone was cautious and spoke little, but whenever something happened, news always spread particularly fast. It was as if those events could instantly sprout secret wings and flow like water through the entire court along hidden glances and moving lips.

Ying Bai’s furious smashing of the wine pot and cursing of the State Preceptor in the Quiet Courtyard had happened just a moment ago. The next moment, at a corner on the path from the Quiet Courtyard to the Queen’s chambers, someone was waiting for him.

Under a black bone umbrella, the woman wore a deep red cloak and ceremonial crown. Snow had already covered her shoulders as she personally held a tray with a pot and two cups.

Ming City Queen, who had lived in seclusion since her restoration and whom almost no ministers had seen, now waited in the wind and snow.

Ying Bai stopped, his anger already gone from his face, expressionless.

“Your Majesty.” He gave a casual bow.

Ming City Queen seemed completely oblivious to Ying Bai’s disrespect, raising the tray in her hands slightly.

“I heard the Grand Commander enjoys wine,” she smiled. “I also have a jar of precious wine in my collection. Though it’s not hundred-year Dragon Mountain, it is rare fifty-year aged wine. I specifically waited in the wind and snow, only wishing to send off the Grand Commander.”

A palace maid beside her stepped forward to pour wine for Ying Bai. Rich wine fragrance filled the air, and Ying Bai’s Adam’s apple moved unconsciously.

Ming City smiled even more beautifully and charmingly.

“Grand Commander,” her eyes flowed as she fixed on his face. “A cup of humble wine for your journey’s courage. Don’t worry about having no old friends on the road ahead. Even if old rains often disappoint, you have an ice-pure heart reflecting snow’s radiance. These are Ming City’s heartfelt words. I hope the Grand Commander won’t be discouraged or lose heart. No matter what, Ming City will always admire the Grand Commander.”

The palace maid raised the wine cup high above her head with both hands and presented it. Ying Bai paused, then accepted it.

Ming City smiled even more happily, waving for the maid to pour for her as well. Holding the cup, she said sweetly, “Come, Grand Commander. For the stormy roads ahead, for this moment when our two hearts understand each other, let us drink this cup.”

She raised her cup, smiling as she met Ying Bai’s gaze. She didn’t even realize she had unconsciously copied Jing Hengbo’s habitual smile and the angle at which she tilted her face.

Ying Bai raised his cup.

His lips suddenly curved in a wicked smile.

Then.

He slowly poured the cup of wine over her hair.

Ming City’s body suddenly went rigid.

Her pink face instantly turned deathly pale, her lips trembled several times. She seemed to want to speak but couldn’t, as if the night’s swirling snow had struck her face and blocked her throat.

The wine slowly flowed down her hair, over her forehead, onto her eyelashes. Her eyelashes couldn’t bear that weight, and the wine trembled and fell like tears.

There was indeed liquid at the corners of her eyes, slowly flowing down, mixing with the wine. The skin it passed over burned painfully.

“Grand… Grand Commander… are you… are you misunderstanding me…” In the wind and snow, wrapped in her thick cloak, she sobbed incoherently. Her broken words were blown away by the wind, but her raised gaze remained pitiful—reproachful and uncomprehending, with endless sorrow.

This was an expression that would soften even hearts of stone and cause self-reproach, but Ying Bai continued smiling.

“When men drink, they only toast those worthy of respect,” he said gently. “I certainly can’t toast a whore, so I had to toast the crown on your head.”

Ming City was struck as if by lightning, her pitiful expression completely frozen on her face.

Ying Bai bowed theatrically to the seven-jeweled golden flying phoenix crown on her head, smiling, “Ah, Your Majesty’s crown, do you find this wine delicious? Ah, Your Majesty’s crown, it’s late. Please forgive this minister’s departure.”

He straightened up, not even glancing at the Queen, and left with loud laughter, his broad sleeves dancing in the wind and snow.

“Clang!” The wine cup fell to the ground. Ming City’s body went limp as she collapsed in the snow. Palace maids frantically called for guards, but Ying Bai left without looking back.

The twenty-ninth day of the twelfth month in the year of Renshen.

Jade Photo Dragon Cavalry Grand Commander Ying Bai departed the capital.

…

This night’s snow was different from that night—it never fell heavily, just continuously dropping snow pellets with endless rustling.

A slender figure stumbled forward in the snow, cotton boots constantly crushing the snow pellets on the ground with crunching sounds.

Behind her, palace maids followed anxiously but dared not speak or intervene.

The Queen had suffered a shock and seemed to have fallen ill. The attendants had called for guards for a long time, but no one paid attention. Tonight the guards had received special favor from the State Preceptor, allowing them to warm themselves by fires and eat meat in the offices. People clustered around warm braziers—no one would care about a palace maid’s pitiful cries.

Actually, there were still guards present. The Quiet Courtyard was always heavily defended on all sides, but those figures in the shadows with snow-covered shoulders coldly watched the figure in the snow, their eyes showing no pity, only disgust.

Let her go mad!

Let her court death!

Whoever forced away that person on a snowy night should taste the bitter fruit herself on a snowy night!

…

Meng Hu stood on the wall, watching the figure stumbling and crawling in the snow, his expression even colder.

His gaze suddenly shifted toward the Quiet Courtyard—Gong Yin had suddenly opened the door and headed directly for the side gate.

Meng Hu’s expression tightened.

Next door was Jing Hengbo’s former chambers…

Since that night, the tightly closed side gate had never opened again. Guards avoided that area, but sometimes when their eyes swept over it, they would stare blankly, as if suddenly seeing the side gate open and Her Majesty the Queen walking in with various dishes and sweets, laughing loudly.

Everyone would smile at such moments—the approachable and kind Queen who never got angry when her treats were refused, would invite everyone to eat, even sitting cross-legged under trees to share food with them.

The smiles from those hazy memories would be instantly shattered by that tightly closed side gate.

In that moment, everyone’s hearts filled with melancholy.

Not just the side gate, but also the red maple grove, Langsheng Pavilion, Feilan Pavilion, Cuihua Tower, Yechun Lake… all the places she had visited and walked, he no longer set foot in. The Nine-Arch Long Bridge where she had once loudly confessed her feelings stood lonely across the water, with no one left to stand upon it and gaze at reflections in the river.

But he still couldn’t escape—the entire Quiet Courtyard was filled with memories and traces of her. He couldn’t flee or hide, only grinding the past finely in day after day of silence.

They had thought this door would never open again, waiting for the day the State Preceptor would order it permanently sealed.

Unexpectedly, tonight, at this moment, the side gate opened.

He slowly walked inside.

Meng Hu glanced at the State Preceptor, then at Ming City in the distance. She stumbled forward in confusion, seemingly also heading in this direction.

Meng Hu wanted to warn him but ultimately remained silent.

Some immersions should not be disturbed.

As for whoever might intrude, let her face her own fate!

…

Jing Hengbo’s chambers were completely dark.

Though people had been cleaning regularly since her departure, somehow a faint dusty scent had settled in the air. It smelled aged and ancient.

Perhaps when the master was gone, the palace lost its soul.

He walked in gently.

Or rather, not like walking but like sleepwalking, his snow-white robes flowing over the scattered snow pellets without crushing even the smallest one.

Walking in like a dream, drowning like a dream.

Wind stabbed sharply, his chest aching faintly. He hazily remembered that the wound there still remained.

He slowly raised his hand to that spot near his heart where she had once placed burning kisses, murmuring vows to warm him. Not long after, at the same location, a blade had replaced that kiss, cutting coldly into flesh and skin.

Who had stolen spring breeze to replace falling snow, bringing eternal deep cold.

He curled his fingers, pressing his knuckles against the wound, as if only by pressing tight could he find evidence of his body’s existence.

The path beneath his feet was so familiar he wouldn’t lose his way even with eyes closed. Three more zhang forward lay the steps to her chambers.

The steps had once been very smooth. After she slipped on them once, he had ordered them covered with hemp stone so they wouldn’t be slippery even in snow.

Snow fell, but no one walked those steps again.

Three steps, snow pellets rolling down rustlingly, level by level with tinkling sounds.

Ahead, no threshold.

She disliked high thresholds and never got used to them. At first she had fallen flat on her face countless times at high thresholds. Later, the thresholds at both her palace and his were sawed off. Hers was fine, but his caused havoc for the ministers—the lucky ones would always lift their legs high over the non-existent threshold, making silly gestures. The unlucky ones would also fall flat on their faces.

He didn’t lift his leg.

He passed like a cloud.

Seven steps into the hall, a screen.

The screen had originally shown twin phoenixes facing the sun. She had replaced it with an embroidered screen bearing the portrait of the famous beauty Mao Zhinan from the previous dynasty. Then he had replaced it with an embroidered screen of the Seven Flower Fairies from wilderness mythology. She said those seven women were ugly as death and seeing them daily would make her ugly too. Finally they compromised and switched to the current myriad-colored peonies.

She was satisfied, and so was he. She loved how peonies crowned all flowers, and he felt only peonies matched her magnificent bearing.

He stepped forward and stood before the bed.

There was no footstool before the bed. Usually palace maids would sleep before the footstool, but she wasn’t used to it, so it was removed. He thought this was good too. This way, when he sometimes worked through the night until dawn and quietly came to watch her sleeping face, he could be closer to her.

Those dawn twilight hours remained incredibly clear in his memory. Seeing morning light like light gauze draping her cheeks, her features different from their usual boldness—peaceful and serene—his mood would also become peaceful and serene. He would involuntarily reach out gently, wanting to touch her brow, but would quickly withdraw just before contact, afraid of disturbing her dreams.

Sometimes he would guess from her dreaming expression what she was dreaming about. Most of the time it should be sweet, because her lips curved slightly upward, showing an intoxicating little dimple.

Did she still dream now? Did she still have sweet dreams? Please don’t be like him, dreaming nightly of pale red and white, waking to nightmare skies.

Or perhaps her dreams now were also pale red and white—the originally brilliant and romantic dreams forcibly erased, leaving only the colors of other-shore flowers from the yellow springs.

And this was what he had personally erased.

He stepped forward and sat on the bed’s edge. The bedding was soft and cold—no, not like her cheeks.

Those days of waiting for her to wake in thin morning light were among life’s most beautiful memories. Watching the warm light ignite bit by bit on her cheeks, he would feel it wasn’t sunlight illuminating her, but the day being lit by her radiance.

But he hoped that in the future, she would return to illuminate these dark mountains and rivers.

His fingers slowly stroked through the bedding, naturally tucking in the corners. She used to sleep restlessly, always kicking off covers, and he would tuck her in many times each night.

Halfway through tucking, he stopped. The bedding was empty and cold, no longer holding her body warmth.

Now, who could tuck her covers at night and warm her fingers left in the cold air?

He paused quietly, then still tucked every corner of the bedding properly.

Suddenly there was a rumbling sound beside him, as if something stirred in the side room. He knew that was what she called her dressing room.

Lifting the curtain to the side room, he saw the door of a wall cabinet had somehow been pushed open, revealing half a box.

Tonight’s wind was strong, constantly shaking windows and vibrating the cabinet door.

He walked over and gazed down at the box. This was something she treasured greatly. She jokingly called it her treasure box, saying she would use it to master the wilderness. The box truly deserved to be called a treasure—the things that came out of it were strange and wonderful, completely unlike anything this era could possess.

He therefore disliked this box.

He always felt it was a product of another world, belonging neither to him nor the wilderness, proof of her origin from some primordial alien age. As long as this thing existed, there seemed to be a barrier between her and him, as if she existed in some ethereal realm.

He feared this thing was a bridge connecting her to another world, that someday she would abandon him and cross that bridge.

She had left without being able to take this box, and he had no intention of sending it back to her.

Treasure boxes couldn’t master the wilderness. No external objects could master the wilderness. Rather than depending on those illusory supernatural arts, it was better to rely more on oneself.

Remove her dependencies and let her use her own feet to measure her own land.

He crouched down and lifted the box. The lid was slightly open, revealing a corner of the topmost garment—bright, colorful, thin. Twisted in his hand like a mass of dreams.

He recognized that garment.

It was a flowing, fairy-like colorful long dress. When she wore it with a ribbon-tied hat and slightly curled long hair, with starlight dotting her lips, she was as beautiful as an elf walking from wild mountains and ocean waves.

He would forever remember that moment’s stunning beauty, even though he had been angry and cold due to Zirui’s impersonation.

His fingers gently stroked the garment, as if her fragrance still lingered, suffusing the quiet night palace.

Click—the box locked.

He put the box back, running his finger over it to lock it tight.

Her things could only be touched by her. Forever.

He was about to rise and leave when suddenly his steps paused. Then with a wave of his hand, the side window opened.

On the windowsill, somehow, a small ice ball had appeared. The ice ball vaguely contained something, with dark light flickering.

His eyes showed disgust, as if very reluctant to see this thing, but ultimately he raised his hand. The ice ball slowly rose and fell into his palm, then shattered.

Among the scattered ice crystals was a section of bone—finger bone by the look of it, not fresh, showing some dark black color like blood or accumulated poison. He kept turning the finger bone until finally he saw a small area on the mottled bone showing the bone’s original white color.

He trembled slightly.

A small insect suddenly emerged from the bone, somewhat like a ladybug, emitting faint blue light with spots on its back. He counted the spots—seven.

His expression was hard to read—disappointed or relieved.

He turned over the ladybug’s belly, which had three marks.

“Three months…” he murmured.

Then he immediately threw out both the insect and bone. The bug flashed blue fire in mid-air—small but extremely fierce, instantly burning both the bone and itself to nothing without leaving a trace or igniting anything around.

The fire consumed the bug and bone but didn’t extinguish, passing through the window as if targeting something, flashing into the darkness.

He didn’t move.

No need to chase out and find whoever left the ice ball. This kind of hellfire would instantly burn all targets it meant to destroy.

He had chased before, using every method to try to capture the message bearers, but each time he arrived, he could only see a wisp of ash.

Those people always had ways to prevent him from finding any clues, from finding the person he wanted to find.

Such messages had come four times over the years, twice this year alone.

Were they growing more urgent?

All these years of dedicated effort, climbing to high position, all to possess enough power to overturn these mountains and rivers, to cover what he wanted with strong hands. However, the wilderness was too vast, too mysterious.

They couldn’t wait anymore, and he had no patience or time to wait either.

Some very distasteful things ultimately had to be done.

He took a breath and slowly stood.

Leaving the side room, five steps to the side was the dressing table.

The bronze mirror’s dark light flickered, reflecting shadowy figures. He braced his hands on the dressing table, hazily seeing himself standing behind it with hands on a woman’s shoulders.

That day, he had mistaken someone else for her and poured out his heart, but fate was so perverse—what it didn’t want to give remained forever stingy. The heartfelt words spoken with gathered courage were misdirected.

That was his first fierce argument with her, heart-wrenchingly painful. He had thought that moment was the coldest resolution, only to later learn that worldly suffering had no end, reaching the deepest levels of hell.

Now he seemed numb to it all.

His body suddenly tilted downward.

Blood flowed unexpectedly from the corner of his lips, down his chin, dripping onto the smooth table surface.

Blood drops splattered like scattered plum blossoms.

Unable to stand anymore, he supported himself on the table and slowly sat down, using his snow-white sleeve to slowly wipe the blood-spattered mirror.

His hand suddenly stopped.

In the bronze mirror, another reflection suddenly appeared.

His whole body turned cold—not from fright but from shock at his own decline, that someone could approach within three zhang without his notice.

Then his eyes turned cold as he recognized who that figure was.