Xiao Huan departed in the winter of the second year of Dexin.

Since the nineteenth year of Deyou, the empire had continued to prosper until the autumn of the twenty-eighth year of Deyou, when Xiao Huan coughed blood onto a memorial he was reviewing in the temporary palace. Cangsong, who was sitting beside him keeping him company, watched as he tried to cover his mouth, but the bright red blood still slipped through his pale fingers, dripping onto the xuan paper before him, staining the impeachment document about Liu Shi’an, the Regional Commander of Liaodong, who had executed a general without authorization.

Just as he had punished Chi Chengliang ten years ago, he punished this trusted minister whom he had personally elevated. However, when he attended Liu Shi’an’s public execution, he once again coughed blood and collapsed into Xiao Qianqing’s arms.

In the emergency, Crown Prince Xiao Lian took charge of state affairs for the first time, presiding over court sessions.

Years of exhausting work had depleted his already weak body. In the spring of the twenty-ninth year of Deyou, when Xiao Huan’s condition slightly improved, he appeared for the last time in the Qianqing Palace of the Forbidden City. This time, he issued the edict announcing his abdication to the Crown Prince, thereafter retiring to the temporary palace and no longer personally managing state affairs.

He spent the last three years of his life in the Daiyu temporary palace with Cangsong, who had also retired there.

After Lian’er ascended the throne, things were not smooth. Natural disasters struck and border unrest continued. At an age not yet twenty, he shouldered a burden no lighter than what his father had carried, and even with the help of his uncle and the Prime Minister, it was not easy.

In the first two years, Xiao Huan would still teach him as he had before his ascension.

Until one day, when Lian’er, as usual, rushed to the Daiyu temporary palace with a thick stack of memorials, throwing the most difficult problems to his father. Xiao Huan reclined on the couch, carefully reviewing and explaining until late into the night. When the enlightened Lian’er rose to take his leave, he received no response, only to find his father leaning against the soft couch, face pale, already unconscious.

It was at this moment, as Lian’er anxiously held his father and called for the Imperial Physician, that he finally understood why Li Mingshang had insisted on his father’s abdication and rest—this body had indeed deteriorated to such an extent.

It was also from this day that Xiao Lian truly became an emperor. He no longer relied on the strength of his father’s generation and doubted his judgment, becoming firm, resolute, wise, and decisive.

Many years later, when he had established his dynasty and achieved peace and prosperity, he thought back to that night when he watched his father collapse and suddenly burst into tears. He knew that his father had not only entrusted him with the future of the country but had also given him his life’s work.

However, after the first year of Dexin, Xiao Huan’s body continued to weaken. He began to suddenly fall unconscious; one moment he would be chatting idly with Cangsong, and the next he would lose consciousness, only regaining awareness several hours later.

This condition disappeared after autumn in the second year of Dexin. Just as Cangsong was rejoicing over his improved condition, she discovered Xiao Huan one morning by the bedside, suppressing his voice as he covered his mouth and coughed blood.

Each episode of unconsciousness could have been his last, but to prevent them, he had to take a poisonous medicine to suppress the condition. Each of Xiao Huan’s days was filled with constantly coughed blood and excruciating physical pain.

That day, holding his body, Cangsong cried out loud for the first time in two years. But Xiao Huan only smiled faintly, silently wiping away her tears: “Cangsong, as long as I can be by your side…”

Cangsong shook her head, holding him and crying silently.

His weakened heart vessels bore the toxins of the medicine, and the heart palpitations he had suffered for many years frequently recurred. His body, long since burnt out, left even Li Mingshang helpless. They could only watch as from autumn to winter, along with the heart spasms, he coughed up more and more fresh blood, his face as white as snow.

Finally, when the second heavy snow fell, Li Mingshang looked at the gloomy sky and said: “Let’s have Lian’er and Qing come for a visit.”

When he said this, Cangsong was standing with him under the corridor. The world before her eyes suddenly blurred, and after a long while, she softly agreed: “Alright.”

As it turned out, a day later, not only did Lian’er and Xiao Qianqing come, but many others as well: Hong Qing and Ying, the newly married Shi Yan, the white-haired Feng Wufu, Prime Minister Zhang Zhuduan, and finally, walking slowly into the courtyard, Su Qian in plain white.

Looking up, Su Qian smiled: “I’ve come on behalf of everyone at Fenglai Pavilion to bid farewell to White Master.” As her words fell, a crystalline light flashed from the corner of her eye, disappearing into her white clothes.

Cangsong smiled: “Good, but he’s not feeling well, so take your time.”

A fire was lit in the outer hall, and Jiaoyan brought freshly boiled tea. Cangsong left the waiting people and walked to the inner chamber.

Xiao Huan had just suffered heart palpitations in the early morning and was resting with his eyes closed, leaning against the brocade cushions. Hearing the sound at the door, he opened his eyes and smiled at Cangsong: “Who’s here?”

Cangsong pretended to be angry: “Just those people who keep thinking about you and won’t give up. How annoying!”

Laughing lightly, Xiao Huan shook his head helplessly: “Is that so? I can’t do anything about it then.”

Cangsong smiled and walked over, sat on the bed, and held him up to lean against her shoulder so he could speak more comfortably.

The first to enter were Hong Qing and Ying. Though usually confused, this time Ying knew it was time for farewell. She silently walked over and hugged Xiao Huan’s waist: “Brother.”

Xiao Huan raised his hand to pat her shoulder lightly, smiling softly: “Little Ying.”

Hong Qing held Ying’s hand nearby, forcing a smile: “Your Majesty, I will take good care of Ying.”

Afterward, Shi Yan and Su Qian entered separately, and the children in the temporary palace were also called to the outer hall. Feng Wufu brought them in—Little Yan was still calm, but Little Xie had swollen eyes from crying, while Ran and Can were still young, all crowding at the head of the bed with tears in their eyes.

Xiao Huan coughed lightly as he comforted them one by one. Cangsong, fearing he would tire himself too much, quickly had Little Yan take his younger siblings out.

The last to enter were Lian’er and Zhang Zhuduan. Lian’er was still wearing his court robes that he hadn’t had time to change, and walking to the bedside, he lifted his robes and knelt: “Father Emperor.”

Xiao Huan smiled at him, then looked at Zhang Zhuduan who followed behind: “Zhuduan, Lian’er is still young, the future of the state and its people will trouble you.”

Kneeling properly before the bed, Zhang Zhuduan kowtowed: “Your subject understands.”

Smiling, Xiao Huan coughed lightly. Cangsong heard his weariness and quickly held his hand: “Brother Xiao, do you need to rest?”

Xiao Huan shook his head slightly, and smiled at Lian’er, his voice weak but tone firm: “Lian’er, always remember, you are the Emperor of Great Wu.”

Lian’er had been kneeling since he entered, biting his lip to hold back his grief, nodding forcefully.

Giving him an approving smile, Xiao Huan coughed once, fresh blood surging to his lips.

Lian’er was greatly alarmed, quickly calling out “Father” and rushing forward to wipe it with his sleeve, but the blood was endless. Xiao Huan turned his head and took a light breath: “Lian’er, you should go…”

Knowing he had long been exhausted, forcing himself to speak so long while holding back blood, Cangsong gestured to Feng Wufu, who hadn’t left, to help Lian’er up and take him out, and also asked him to escort Zhang Zhuduan out.

Feng Wufu wiped his tears, walked to the door, bowed deeply, and retreated to close the door, leaving only her and Xiao Huan in the room.

Placing his cold palm in her hand, Xiao Huan coughed lightly and smiled: “Cangsong, I’m sorry…”

Holding his hand against her cheek, Cangsong smiled: “What are you sorry for? You originally promised me ten years, now it’s been thirteen… I’m more than satisfied.”

Xiao Huan’s gaze lingered lovingly on her face as he coughed softly.

Raising her hand to gently wipe away the blood from his lips, Cangsong lowered her head and kissed his blood-stained thin lips, smiling: “Brother Xiao, I will go with you.” She had said these words thirteen years ago, and now saying them again, there was still not a hint of hesitation, her tone extremely calm.

His gaze flickering slightly, Xiao Huan coughed lightly, and finally smiled: “Cangsong…”

Cangsong lowered her head, sealing his slightly cold thin lips with hers, this kiss carrying a faint taste of blood, particularly long and deep.

After this meeting, Xiao Huan held on for another month, coughing blood with each heart palpitation, yet he insisted on swallowing his medicine, never showing a trace of pain, his gaze towards Cangsong as gentle as ever.

A month later, it was nearly the new year, and heavy snow fell again that day, covering the earth in silver-white.

Xiao Huan had been coughing blood intermittently since the previous night, and by the next morning, the blood stains had covered the white silk handkerchief in Cangsong’s hand.

Supporting him to sit up and personally helping him wash, Cangsong brought prepared warm water for him to rinse his mouth, but as soon as the water touched his lips, he leaned forward and spat it out, red blood streaks dispersing in the celadon bowl.

Watching from the side, Jiaoyan turned away, quietly wiping the tears from her face.

He couldn’t eat, so Cangsong stopped urging him, found a snow-white fur coat to drape over him, helped him into the wheelchair, and took him to the small pavilion by the lake to watch the snow.

All the ponds in the temporary palace were connected to hot springs and never froze in any season. The ground heating was lit in the pavilion, and even the wind from the lake surface wasn’t too cold.

Xiao Huan had no strength left. Cangsong carried him down and placed him on the prepared velvet blanket in the pavilion, holding his waist, letting him lean against her chest as they watched the snowflakes fall from the sky onto the misty lake surface, melting into the water and disappearing.

Lying in her arms and coughing softly, Xiao Huan didn’t have time to raise his hand to cover his mouth, bright red blood flowing from the corner of his lips, sliding onto the fur coat.

Using the silk handkerchief in her hand to wipe away some of it, knowing his habit of holding back, Cangsong placed the handkerchief under his lips, smiling: “Brother Xiao, don’t hold it back, let it all out.”

Curling his lips in a smile at her, Xiao Huan coughed lightly, blood surging between his lips. Before long, it had soaked through the silk handkerchief Cangsong was holding, but he still hadn’t finished coughing, the bright red blood flowing down his jaw into his collar.

This endless coughing only happened when he had held it back for too long. Cangsong didn’t know how much pain he had endured, holding his body, listening to his soft coughs, gently rubbing her face against his: “Brother Xiao, promise you won’t hold it back anymore, alright?”

His blood-stained lips curled up, taking her hand very gently, Xiao Huan looked at her, smiling softly: “Cangsong…”

Cangsong lowered her head to lightly kiss his brows and eyes, smiling: “Brother Xiao, it’s enough…” She held him up gently, continuing to smile, “It’s alright… Brother Xiao…”

Without speaking further, Xiao Huan simply looked at her, his deep eyes full of tenderness.

They sat in the pavilion for an entire day, she holding him gently, he leaning on her shoulder, each extremely soft cough, those bright deep eyes, light flowing within them, yet always staying on her face, unwilling to leave.

From dawn to dusk, they nestled together, Xiao Huan lying in her arms, his breathing weak.

As twilight deepened, Cangsong brushed aside the black hair at his temples, used her fingers to wipe away the remaining blood at his lips, and lowered her head to softly kiss those cold thin lips: “Brother Xiao, wouldn’t it be nice to go to the seaside?”

Smiling faintly, Xiao Huan slowly gripped her hand, his voice very soft, yet clear: “Cangsong…”

A lantern light slowly approached from the lake shore, the bearer was Xiao Qianqing, his features unclear in the heavy snow, standing silently outside the pavilion.

Cangsong smiled at him, shifted her sore legs and waist, let Xiao Huan lean against her shoulder, lifted his body in her arms, stood up, and nodded: “We’re going to the seaside.”

Silent, Xiao Qianqing looked at Xiao Huan in her arms, the blood-stained clothes so startling to the eye, yet that snow-white face still peaceful and serene.

After a while, he finally spoke: “I’ve prepared the boat.”

As Cangsong nodded and was about to pass by him, he suddenly said, his voice unprecedentedly deep, without a trace of its usual frivolity: “Imperial Brother Huan, the children still have me.”

Without answering, Xiao Huan smiled and raised his pale hand, reaching out to him.

Dazed for a moment, Xiao Qianqing also raised one hand, gripping his cold hand.

The wind’s whisper came through the snow, the world momentarily silent and wordless.

This was the first time the adult Emperor Deyou and the Prince Regent had held each other’s hands, like their unspoken understanding, this first and only handclasp entrusted the next several decades.

Smiling as he closed his eyes, Xiao Huan gently leaned on Cangsong’s shoulder. Xiao Qianqing took a deep breath, released his hand, and placed it at his side.

Cangsong smiled at him, carrying Xiao Huan toward the carriage waiting at the lake shore.

The Northern Sea wasn’t far, but the carriage moved slowly through the heavy snow. Cangsong held Xiao Huan in her arms, lowering her head to kiss his closed eyes.

During the two days and nights, every jolt of the journey was harmful to Xiao Huan’s body, yet he never lost consciousness, gradually becoming too weak to even speak, those deep eyes just gently watching Cangsong.

The heavy snow never stopped, the world a sheet of silver white, until finally the sound of waves breaking came from outside the window. Cangsong lowered her head to kiss Xiao Huan’s lips, now pale beyond color, smiling slightly, after many years, her smile still carrying a maiden-like brightness: “Brother Xiao, we’re almost there.”

His chest rising and falling with difficulty, weakly, Xiao Huan’s lips carried a faint smile as he gently gripped her hand.

The body in her arms, always slightly cool, had become ice-cold, neither charcoal fire nor body heat could bring back any warmth. Cangsong opened the carriage’s leather curtain, looking outside at the white-foamed waves breaking against the rocks, snowflakes still falling tirelessly.

She smiled and lowered her head, kissing his relaxed brows, smiling as if seeing the sea of begonia flowers in Daiyu City from years ago: “Brother Xiao, we’re here.”

Empress Ling of Great Wu chose a special way to bury her love and herself.

In the snowy weather, she carried the dying Emperor Deyou, taking two days and nights by carriage to reach the seaside, then launched a large boat loaded with fuel and dry wood onto the not-yet-frozen Northern Sea.

In the heavy snow by the sea, Emperor Deyou passed away peacefully in her arms. She carried her love aboard the large boat and lit the oil-soaked dry wood beside them.

The boat burst into towering flames, the raised sail carrying the fire ship deep into the sea.

That day, those who saw it said that the tongues of flame rising in the wind and snow were as magnificent as flowers, dyeing the sky and sea surface red.