Part 1: Wandering the Jianghu

The end of the eighth month of the fifth year of the Xize reign. Qucheng, Hua Prefecture.

Though autumn had already arrived, the southerly Qucheng retained its heat. The noon sun blazed without mercy, dazzling and sharp — yet no matter how fierce the sun, it could not suppress the bustle and prosperity of Qucheng.

Since the unification of the realm, the former Hua Kingdom had been divided into Hua Prefecture, Chun Prefecture, and Ran Prefecture, each prefecture subdivided into six counties. The names of these three prefectures together formed the personal name of the current Empress — the Emperor had named them after her as a demonstration of his deep devotion, and in doing so had also drawn the hearts of Hua Kingdom’s people to him and brought them peace. Before her marriage, the Empress had held the title of most beautiful woman under heaven in her days as a princess, and she had long been known for her virtuous nature and was dearly loved by the people. The people, loving her, naturally extended that loyalty to the Emperor — and the Emperor, loving her deeply, naturally extended his benevolence to the three prefectures in turn. What had once been the wealthiest of kingdoms now enjoyed, above it the Emperor’s wise governance, below it capable prefectural administration, and beneath that an already-rich foundation — so that today these three prefectures remained the wealthiest in the empire.

Qucheng, formerly the richest city in Hua Kingdom, had been incorporated as a county of Hua Prefecture. With the characteristic shrewdness of its people and the accumulated wealth of generations, today’s Qucheng could not claim to be the wealthiest in the empire, but its prosperity surpassed even what it had been in former days — it was a trading city of far-reaching renown. Bustling streets and markets, travelers and merchants of every description, goods and curiosities in dazzling abundance, hawkers’ calls unceasing from every direction… what would be a rare and remarkable sight in any other city was the most ordinary of scenes in Qucheng.

Toward the end of the noon hour, a man of about thirty in plain brown clothes, looking every bit the unremarkable traveler, entered this prosperous city through the eastern gate. He walked at an unhurried pace, moving along the busy main street, looking at the shops and stalls on either side — packed with goods both precious and peculiar — looking at the lively crowd that moved constantly in both directions. There was a faint confusion in his eyes, but this slight bewilderment did nothing to diminish his bearing. A square face with heavy brows, deep-set eyes, and a high nose composed a face of upright, striking quality, full of masculine vigor. His frame was tall, his eyes bright — and though he wore plain commoner’s clothing, those who saw him felt instinctively that this was a man made to wear armor and ride warhorses at the head of ten thousand soldiers. His clear and upright bearing drew many sideways glances from the women in the street.

The man in brown wandered through Qucheng for half the day. By evening, he had looked over nearly every part of the market, and the streets had grown gradually quieter as people headed home one after another. He had walked long enough to be hungry, and set about looking for somewhere to eat. He glanced left and right, and at last, roughly twenty paces ahead, found what appeared to be an ordinary eatery suited to common people. He headed toward it.

Clatter!

He had barely taken a few steps when something came flying out rapidly from the right, scattering all over the ground directly in his path, stopping his next step in its tracks.

What had scattered across the ground was no rubbish or refuse — it was all pearls, gemstones, jade, and agate. Lit by the setting sun, they blazed with brilliant light, dazzling enough to hold the eye.

The man looked at the precious jewels on the ground for a long moment, gave a faint inward sigh, and then shifted his gaze and turned his head to the right, wanting to see what manner of person could fling precious stones aside like dirt.

But that single look struck him like a bolt of lightning.

Was it a pomegranate flower burning like fire? Even the evening glow in the western sky was not half so brilliant, even the most stately peony not half so entrancing. It bloomed with reckless abandon, it displayed its allure without restraint, it spread ten thousand layers of rich, vivid splendor before the eye — dazzling the senses, bewildering the soul.

“What are you staring at! Never seen a woman before!”

That crisp, sharp voice jolted him back to himself. He reflexively lowered his head, his gaze falling on the jewels at his feet.

“What are you staring at! Never seen jewelry before!”

That sharp voice rang out again, carrying a pointed mockery and contempt.

The man turned to look once more. At the wide-open half-door of a building at the side of the street, a woman leaned against the frame — a fire-red silk skirt, hair half-loose, a gold hairpin set across it at an angle, skin white as snow, face like a flower in bloom, chin raised high, regarding everything beneath her with a cool, sidelong gaze.

Every inch of her carried the weathered air of the world — yet the untouchable pride of a princess.

Somehow it all seemed familiar.

The man considered: should he simply turn away and leave, as though he had seen nothing? Or should he—

He had not yet decided when a voice filled with deep pain broke in: “Miss Li, there is no need to take your frustrations out on these things — every single one of them is priceless! Even if you don’t want them, there is no need to throw them away — I chose every one of them with the greatest care! Miss Li—”

“Will you ever stop!” the woman snapped, her brows shooting up. “Your lady here simply does not like the look of these things today — what about it?! Your lady here simply enjoys throwing this rubbish — what are you going to do about it?!” One hand on her hip, one finger jabbing toward the man’s nose. “Your lady here finds the sight of you today revolting. If you know what is good for you, get as far away from me as you can! Otherwise it will be you I throw next!”

The man was richly dressed, with the well-fed look of someone long accustomed to luxury and being served. His brow twitched with anger at these words — but one look at the woman and he swallowed it. He said pleasantly: “You are not feeling well today — go rest. I will come see you tomorrow.” He lingered a moment longer to look at her, then turned and left without so much as glancing at the jewels on the ground. His servants picked them up one by one behind him.

The woman watched them go, a cold disdain at the corner of her eyes. She gave a chilly smile and turned back inside. Vague snatches of conversation drifted out.

“My dear, aren’t you afraid of offending Master Pang? And you needn’t have thrown the jewels out when you were angry! My darling, Aiwa’er, why throw away good things like that?”

“Mother, what’s the hurry — tomorrow he’ll be back with even more and better ones…”

“Oh my, my girl, you certainly know how to think…”

The man listening to this exchange found it both faintly amusing and faintly irritating. This world was never short of men who treated their devoted wives at home like chaff while spending everything they had to curry favor with women in pleasure houses — and the women of those houses thought nothing of them at all, and in their hearts likely held them in contempt besides.

He was about to leave when, for reasons he could not entirely explain, he found himself looking back through the doorway. The fire-red pomegranate flower was gone. In her place, directly facing the entrance, he caught sight of a painting. The light was dim, but he could make out the rough shape of a young general wielding a spear, with a few characters written alongside — too far to read clearly. The man’s brow stirred. He looked up at the signboard above the street-facing building: three large gilded characters — Li Fang Pavilion. He stood a moment in thought, then turned and walked away.

Qucheng by day was busy and brilliant. Qucheng by night was something else entirely.

When night drew its curtain over heaven and earth, Qucheng dressed itself in jeweled finery — gorgeous and alluring.

Beneath each bright lantern, a small stall.

Behind the stall of delicate embroideries, a young girl on the verge of womanhood stood sideways, with a faint shyness as she raised her head — and you could not help but feel a stirring in your heart.

Behind the stall of glittering ornaments, a woman in the prime of her youth was showing off a finely carved silver bracelet on her jade wrist — and could you truly resist a second glance?

Behind the array of rouge and powder, an older woman with eyes that held equal measures of experience and lingering grace was watching you — and could you not slow your step?

That earnest, solid-looking young fellow nearby was weaving a little tiger from strips of bamboo — and could you resist reaching out to touch it?

Behind a stall of landscape paintings and calligraphy, a scholar of lofty, solitary bearing was reading a volume of the sages in the dim lamplight — and could you not look back once?

A nimble older man flipped and turned his wrist, and a fragrant, sizzling pancake landed on the plate — and could you truly hold back your mouth from watering?

And then there were the rows of bright crimson flower lanterns beneath the eaves of the buildings, swaying gracefully in the light breeze — those were the most beautiful and brilliant sight in all of Qucheng.

The brightest and most beautiful flower lanterns in Qucheng were at Li Fang Pavilion.

Li Fang Pavilion stood in Qucheng the way Qucheng stood in the empire — known by all.

Qucheng was the empire’s city of accumulated gold.

Li Fang Pavilion was Qucheng’s place of extravagant pleasure.

When night fell softly and the stars and moon emerged in their clear brilliance, it was the hour of Li Fang Pavilion’s blossoming splendor.

Li Fang Pavilion was the largest and most celebrated pleasure house in Qucheng, and its mistress, Li Hua, was not only Qucheng’s foremost courtesan but preeminent throughout all of Hua Prefecture.

Whenever Li Hua was mentioned, one line was always quoted: Her face is the pomegranate flower that shames the morning glory — her songs fill Qucheng, her dances claim all Hua.

Li Hua was of outstanding beauty, and her singing and dancing were without peer throughout Hua Prefecture. Beyond that, she was accomplished in qin, chess, calligraphy, painting, poetry, and prose. Had her station in life been different, people would have compared her to the former Hua Kingdom princess and current Empress of the imperial court, Hua Chunran. When Princess Chunran had once held a gathering to seek a husband, the finest men in Hua came from all directions — and while Li Hua could not be said to have captivated men from across the entire realm, she had effortlessly captivated every man in Qucheng.

If this seemed too much to claim, the full house at Li Fang Pavilion was proof enough.

At the front of the great hall stood a performance platform roughly ten feet high, its curtains now hanging low. Every guest in the hall stretched their necks and craned their gazes upward, waiting impatiently for those curtains to part and the famed Li Hua to appear.

The night deepened. The lamps burned brighter.

Two full hours had passed since Li Fang Pavilion opened its doors, yet the performance platform had not stirred. Most of the guests were regulars who knew the rules of the house and knew that Li Hua was wonderful in every respect save her temperament — and so no one was particularly dissatisfied. They drank and ate, exchanged idle conversation with their neighbors, and waited without urgency.

But the guests in the private room on the second floor, directly facing the platform, were beginning to lose their patience. This room, with its open window commanding a full view of both the platform and the hall below, was the best-positioned and most expensive room in Li Fang Pavilion. At present it held two guests who had drawn attention from the moment they entered — both appearing to be around twenty-seven or twenty-eight years of age, both of remarkable appearance. One wore a pale purple brocade robe, a jade crown binding his hair, with fine and strong features that carried an aura of lofty nobility. The other had snow-white hair, snow-pale skin, and a face of exceptional beauty — and exceptional coldness — tempered only by his light blue long robe, which softened his austere bearing into something like the first snow on a lake: sharp-edged and crystalline.

“Just how beautiful is this Li Hua, that she dares make people wait like this?” the purple-robed man remarked with mild displeasure.

The blue-robed man paid him no attention, only tapping his fingertips on the hilt of the sword at his waist.

“Xue Ren, do you think this Li Hua could match the Empress’s beauty?” the purple-robed man asked again.

The blue-robed man still did not answer. He merely glanced at the other man from the corner of his eye.

That faintly contemptuous glance stung the purple-robed man. The pair of eyes in that upright, handsome face — somewhat too large for a man — suddenly flashed with a strange gleam. “Xue Ren, do you think this Li Hua could be as beautiful as you?”

The blue-robed man’s cold face went a shade colder still. His ice-pale eyes shot out the edge of a blade.

“Hehe…” The purple-robed man was entirely unintimidated, and grinned with a levity entirely at odds with his dignified bearing. “If she is…” He drawled it out slowly while his long fingers darted forward and flicked Xiao Xue Kong under the chin. “…as fine-looking as you are, I would not mind waiting several more hours.”

Crack. Xiao Xue Kong smacked his hand away and looked at him with cold eyes. “I heard Jiushuang shattered the stone lion at the gate of the Prince of Yun’s estate with one palm.”

At these words, the grin froze entirely on the purple-robed man’s face. After a long moment he gave two hollow laughs. “Heh heh… I am here on elder brother’s orders on official business. Now that I think about it… ah…” He suddenly sighed. “I was perfectly happily drilling troops in the capital — why did elder brother send me all the way out here to Qucheng the moment he returned to court, just to handle this trivial little matter?”

Xiao Xue Kong finally looked at him properly, and said with unhurried clarity: “Because you are too noisy.”

Brief and sharp. The purple-robed man immediately erupted, stamping his foot. “You infuriating Xue Ren, when have I ever been noisy!” — while managing, out of habit, to keep his voice down.

“Hmph.” Xiao Xue Kong gave a faint snort. “With Pinyu there to care for His Majesty, there is no need for you to prattle day and night.”

“You insufferable Xue Ren — that is brotherly concern! How dare you criticize this prince — I’ll have you punished for insubordination!” After all these years, he was still as fixated as ever on the matter of rank and hierarchy.

“Oh.” Xiao Xue Kong responded with a single syllable of profound indifference.

The purple-robed man was about to say more when the blue-robed man raised a hand. “Your beauty has appeared.”

The curtains on the performance platform began to lift, layer by layer, and a figure in red appeared, drifting forward with elegant grace.

“When we get back to court, I am absolutely going to impeach you,” the purple-robed man muttered in parting.

These two were none other than the current Prince of Yun Huang Yu, and the Sweeping Snow General Xiao Xue Kong. Huang Chao had returned from the great victory at Zhengwu in triumph, only to have an old ailment flare up upon his return to the capital — which had sent the entire court into alarm, and Huang Yu into particular anxiety. Though Jun Pinyu was attending to him with the utmost care, Huang Yu could not rest easy, hovering at Huang Chao’s side from one audience to the next, ceaselessly reminding him: “Elder brother must not overexert himself — elder brother must rest more and eat well…” He had become less like a royal prince and more like the Emperor’s personal attendant. Huang Chao was thoroughly exasperated, and when the time came to send Xiao Xue Kong to Hua Prefecture on military affairs, he bundled Huang Yu along as well, calling it “assistance” — when in truth he simply wanted his ears to have some peace. Upon reaching Qucheng, Huang Yu had heard of Li Hua’s fame and asked idly about it, and the Qucheng prefectural official, long acquainted with this Prince’s great name, had set aside any number of court protocols and regulations and booked the private room in Li Fang Pavilion to take these two distinguished visitors to see the performance.

Red was a color that could dazzle the eye but was often too rich and vivid for those of refined taste. Yet Li Hua in her red robes not only avoided vulgarity — the two complemented each other perfectly. Her skin was like snow, and against the sheen of the silk skirt a faint rosy warmth suffused it, as though morning clouds had spread across a snowfield — brilliant with radiance and yet carrying an underlying refinement and nobility.

“Well — waiting two hours for such a beauty is no loss,” Huang Yu said with genuine admiration. “Though still a little short of the Empress, she is exceedingly rare in this world.”

On the platform, Li Hua cradled a pipa and walked slowly to the brocade stool at the center of the stage, then settled herself and raised her eyes to sweep a glance across the hall. No bow, no words, no smile — just a cool, faint air of supreme superiority. Strangely, though most of the guests in the hall were men of some wealth and standing, not one of them felt the slightest irritation at her arrogance.

Xiao Xue Kong also looked at the beauty on the stage. That face was certainly rarely seen — but what he found himself watching were her eyes. Almond-shaped, with clear contrast between dark and white, those eyes looked out over the hall full of people as though looking at nothing at all. This was not manufactured disdain — it was pride that had been born in the bone, an innate quality.

“Why would someone like this be in a place like this,” he murmured involuntarily.

“My — does Xue Ren feel pity?” Huang Yu was quick to tease.

“According to the rules, the guests in the private room are invited to request a song.” Li Hua raised her eyes to the two men in the private room directly facing the stage.

The two in the room were taken aback, neither knowing of any such rule in Li Fang Pavilion, nor having any particular experience of visiting pleasure houses. Both were military men, and the songs they knew were the rousing, fierce battle hymns sung by soldiers — they could hardly request Song of the Battle Formation in a place like this. Xiao Xue Kong lowered his eyes and said nothing. Huang Yu, left with no choice, gave the beauty on the platform what he hoped was an easy smile — but found himself genuinely at a loss for what to request — and so he turned the question back: “Whatever you think is fitting for us to hear — play that.”

Li Hua’s brow arched. She looked at the two in the room — such bearing and appearance were the first she had ever seen in a place like this. Something stirred in her. The corner of her mouth curved in a faint smile, and she swept her gaze across the guests below, a subtle, understated mockery in her eyes.

“Since that is the case, Li Hua will venture her own choice. If the performance is lacking, guests are asked to forgive her.” With that, her fingertips plucked the strings. The pipa sang out — sparse notes at first, yet clear as the ringing of metal and stone, striking a chord in the chest.

“Rivers and mountains like a painting — beacon fires pale in comparison. Iron horses and golden spears contest who shall rise and who shall fall. Ten thousand leagues beneath the sky, one needs a long sword by the side. At midnight’s heart, one dances — and swears to mend the heavens!”

The moment Li Hua opened her throat, Huang Yu and Xiao Xue Kong in the room above both straightened and sat in full attention.

“The heavenly steed comes from the west — all for the hands that turn the clouds. Grip the tiger talisman, embrace the jade dragon, As feathered arrows break through — the gap in Changmang Shan!”

A woman’s clear voice, yet the singing came out ringing and forceful, the momentum immense. Every guest in the hall felt a northern gale sweep against their faces — the gilded railings and powder-perfumed air of Li Fang Pavilion dissolved in an instant into rolling yellow dust, the clash of blades, the thunder of ten thousand cavalry, until every person felt themselves transported to some battlefield drenched in crimson.

On the long street outside, a white-clad young man was walking slowly. When those first notes reached his ears, his steps halted — he could go no further. He turned his head in confusion. The song continued. His feet, as though drawn by the voice, moved of their own accord, step by step, into Li Fang Pavilion. The doormen reached out to stop him — and were sent flying into the street with a sweep of his sleeve.

“Declare that a man’s heart should remain firm as iron until death. Wash the rivers and mountains in blood — white bones covered by grass. Unafraid to be swallowed by dust and ash, let a heart of cinnabar illuminate the blue sky!”

Li Hua’s song continued. The pipa rang and rang, as though reverberating directly in the chest, stirring the blood to a surge.

The young man had already reached the front of the platform. The guests in the hall, all transfixed by the song, had not noticed.

The young man watched the singer on the platform with eyes that did not blink once. His expression was that of a man bewitched — though whether by the person on the platform or by the song, no one could tell.

“Wait until the red pavilion and green waters return to the painting — call for the slender moon, the clear voice in the empty valley, the water of peach blossoms — yet always, rain beats, wind blows, and drifting clouds scatter.”

As the song reached its end, all that sweeping momentum melted away, and what remained was the sorrow of ten thousand ages.

The song ended. The entire hall fell silent.

“‘Filling Qucheng with her songs’ — the name is well deserved,” Huang Yu said with easy admiration from upstairs. “I never thought I would hear the Feng Wang’s music in a place like this. And who would have thought this woman of the pleasure quarter could sing of iron horses and golden spears!”

“The world of wanderers has no shortage of extraordinary people.” Xiao Xue Kong raised his cup toward the empty air in a quiet salute.

On the platform, the singer’s gaze was distant and unfocused — as though it had fallen somewhere tens of thousands of li away, as though it had sunk into white bones and blue sky.

“You sing very well. Do you know where my sister is?”

A voice that seemed to hum like an ancient qin rang out softly, and it shook the whole hall back to its senses.

“Oh — how did that boy get in here?” Only now did Huang Yu notice the white-clad young man, and he was startled.

Xiao Xue Kong’s eyes found the young man. His brow shifted slightly. Inwardly he sighed. “Ten thousand waters and a thousand mountains — and still he does not stop, has not given up.”

“Ah — what a stubborn young man,” Huang Yu murmured with a mixture of sympathy and wistfulness.

“What did you say?” Li Hua came back from wherever she had been, and looked at the unfamiliar white-clad young man before her. His features were fine, but his eyes held a deep-buried anguish.

The white-clad young man looked at Li Hua, and then broke suddenly into a smile. “In former times, Elder Sister Feng’s singing was the finest under heaven — but it has long since gone unheard in the mortal world. Now that there is you, it is not so different.”

“Elder Sister Feng?” Li Hua’s whole body gave a jolt. Her almond eyes fixed tightly on the white-clad young man.

“‘In the tower at sunset, a wutong phoenix rests — opens its throat and its song tips the nine-heavens phoenix over,’ ” the young man recited. He suddenly looked somewhat displeased. “You call yourself a singer — surely you know this?”

“Feng Qi Wu!” Li Hua’s eyes lit with a strange brilliance. “You know Feng Qi Wu?”

“Yes.” The white-clad young man gave a nonchalant nod, as though knowing the once-famous singer of nine prefectures was nothing remarkable. “Your singing is very good. Let me treat you to a drink.” His tone was equally nonchalant — as though were he inviting the Emperor to drink, the Emperor ought naturally to accept with pleasure.

“Where did this brat come from — get out of here this instant!” The two doormen had limped their way to the front of the platform at last and reached out to drag the young man away.

“Stop!”

Their hands had not even touched the hem of the white-clad young man’s robe when a sharp command rang out from the platform. Li Hua’s brows rose high. “My guest — how dare you show disrespect!”

“Miss… miss, this boy, he—”

“Get out of my hall right now!” Li Hua rose abruptly to her feet, pointing a finger toward the door, her almond eyes wide. “Is it your place to speak here?”

“Miss…”

“Get out! Don’t make me say it again!” Li Hua grabbed the pipa from her lap and hurled it at the two men. They dodged. The pipa hit the floor and shattered into several pieces.

“Yes, yes — we’ll go at once, please don’t be angry, miss.” The two men retreated from the hall hastily.

Every guest in the hall was holding their breath. Every person in Qucheng knew that when Miss Li Hua lost her temper, you either went along with her or you didn’t stop until the hall was in ruins.

“Oh my — whatever has happened, dear?” Madam Li, the manager of Li Fang Pavilion, came rushing over at the first report, only to find Li Hua still catching her breath on the platform, the shattered pipa below the stage, one tall young man in white standing calmly, and a hall full of silent guests.

“Scolded a couple of servants,” Li Hua said, smoothing down her sleeves with an indifferent air.

“Well, scold them if you must, but don’t work yourself up over it — my dear is worth a hundred times more than any servant.” Madam Li was all smiles.

“I am tired today.” Li Hua raised a hand to smooth her hair, swept the hall with a cool, proud gaze that was, paradoxically, entirely captivating. “Li Hua will dance for everyone tomorrow.”

At this announcement, not only did Madam Li’s smile deepen several shades — the guests in the hall also lit up visibly. Li Hua’s singing was unequalled, but it was Li Hua’s dancing that truly captivated all of Hua Prefecture. Li Hua was willing to sing once a day, but it was a rare thing indeed to see her dance even once in a hundred days.

“My dear, if you’re tired, go rest. Chan’er — help miss back to her room.” Madam Li was immediately full of tender concern and called for someone to accompany her.

A neat and pretty little maidservant hurried up to attend her. Li Hua had taken a few steps when she turned back and looked at the white-clad young man. “Who are you?”

The young man answered calmly. “I am Han Pu.”

“Oh.” Li Hua nodded. Her almond eyes appraised Han Pu with mild interest. “I am Li Hua. I am inviting you for a drink. Coming?”

“Yes,” Han Pu agreed readily.

“Then come with me.” Li Hua turned and walked away.

Han Pu gave a light, silent leap onto the platform and followed behind her, disappearing into the backstage area.

“What a lucky young man!” A wave of envious sighs rose through the hall.

Madam Li watched Li Hua depart, then turned quickly to attend to the guests, her face blooming with smiles like flowers in spring — though they were thin, somewhat yellowed flowers.

“Honored guests, the young women of our Li Fang Pavilion have prepared the performance Drunken Begonia for your enjoyment, along with some fifty-year-aged daughter’s red wine from our private reserve — please, drink freely and be merry.”

“That fifty-year daughter’s red has quite a kick, Elder Sister Li — if we all get drunk, then what?” someone called out with a laugh.

The title “Elder Sister Li” delighted Madam Li so thoroughly that her eyes nearly vanished into crinkles.

“Oh, my lords — if there is one thing our Li Fang Pavilion never lacks, it’s a soft bed and an attentive beauty! Whether you sleep drunk for one night or for a lifetime, Li Fang Pavilion will see to your every need.”

“Haha — as they say, the wine doesn’t make you drunk — you make yourself drunk. Li Fang Pavilion’s begonia flowers are in full bloom — Madam, bring the wine…”

“Coming, coming…”

Strings and pipes started up again. One beauty after another glided onto the stage, and the fragrant wine flowed freely, and the hall was soon full of laughter and merriment.

Upstairs, Xiao Xue Kong rose. “Let us go.”

“Yes.” Huang Yu rose as well, though with some hesitation. “That boy is so young, and yet going off with Li Hua like that… if he does something he shouldn’t, what do we do? Shouldn’t we be at least a little concerned? He does have some connection to Feng Wang, after all.”

Xiao Xue Kong paused, then lifted the curtain and walked out. “Does Bai Fengxi’s younger brother require our guidance?”

“True enough.” Huang Yu nodded and took one last look at the hall below, then was about to step forward when he stopped short. “Hmm? Xue Ren — isn’t that Yin Lou, the Chief Constable of the Bureau of Law, whom elder brother holds in such great trust? What is he doing in Qucheng?”

Xiao Xue Kong, already out the door, stepped back at this and followed Huang Yu’s gaze, just as several people walked into the hall below — all dressed as ordinary people, yet with a quality about their brow and bearing that set them apart from the crowd.

“The man beside him looks like Tang Liang, the garrison commander of Qucheng, and Xian Xinyu, the local constable. The men behind them are probably their subordinates.”

“What are they doing here?” Huang Yu watched them closely. “They don’t look like they’ve come to enjoy the entertainments.”

The two exchanged a look. After a brief pause, the same thought surfaced in both their minds.

“Surely that boy Han Pu hasn’t done something,” they said in unison.

“Knowing his temperament, it would be stranger if he hadn’t been out ‘punishing the wicked, relieving the poor,'” Huang Yu murmured.

Xiao Xue Kong nodded. “Given his martial skill, sending the Bureau of Law’s Chief Constable would be appropriate.”

“Hey, Xue Ren — if he really has done something, are you going to get involved?” Huang Yu looked at him sideways.

Xiao Xue Kong thought for a moment. “Let us first find out what the matter is.”

“Agreed.” Huang Yu nodded. “Then you go call Tang Liang up to ask.”

“The Bureau of Law’s Chief Constable would know best. You call him up to ask.” Xiao Xue Kong said.

“Why should I be the one?” Huang Yu did not follow. “You calling would be just the same.”

“He answers to the Bureau of Law, which is not under my jurisdiction. You are a royal prince — is it not true that all officials bow to you?” Xiao Xue Kong gave him a sideways look.

Huang Yu stared at him for a long moment, then blinked. “What if he goes back to the capital and tells second brother I was here drinking, and second brother runs to elder brother to submit a report about me, and elder brother confines me to the estate for a year or two? Then what?”

“Then that would be a blessing for the realm,” Xiao Xue Kong replied without a moment’s hesitation.

“Xue Ren, you—!” Huang Yu was speechless with indignation.

“You don’t need to call. He has already seen us.” Xiao Xue Kong pointed toward the people below who were looking up at the two of them with stunned expressions — it was Yin Chunlou and his companions.

Li Fang Pavilion’s back garden was extensive, divided into several smaller gardens — these were where the more prominent young women of the establishment lived. White Blossom Garden was Li Hua’s residence.

It was the season of osmanthus fragrance. Beneath the osmanthus tree in the garden stood a small table set with a few side dishes and two wine jars. The food had barely been touched, but several empty jars lay on the ground.

Li Hua and Han Pu sat across from each other, talking like old friends with mutual appreciation, the wine flowing freely.

“I didn’t know there was a woman besides my sister who could drink,” Han Pu said. His face, white as usual, had taken on a faint flush, and he looked particularly fine.

Li Hua lifted the wine jar and poured half of it down in one long draught. Her jade-white face was flushed with pink, and the wine had already begun its work — her almond eyes had gone soft and blurred, heavy with an almost irresistible allure.

“I have already heard you say ‘sister’ countless times tonight. Just who is this sister of yours? You keep talking about her — one might think she was a little sweetheart.”

“Nonsense! She is my sister!” Han Pu glared.

“Hehe…” Li Hua shook her slightly dizzy head. “Sister she is then — but who is she? Tell me, let me see if I know her.”

Han Pu lifted the wine jar and took a large swig, his voice slightly slurred. “You were just singing her song — how can you not know?”

“Hmm?” Li Hua’s almond eyes blinked, slightly confused.

“I have been looking for her for a very long time.” Han Pu set down the wine jar and looked up at the osmanthus tree overhead. A deep anguish settled over his fine features. “All across heaven and earth there are traces of her — across ten thousand li of mountains and rivers her voice can be heard everywhere. But I just cannot see her.” His clear voice became dim and heavy. “So many people know who she is. I just cannot see her…” The clear light in his eyes clouded over, as though a thick fog had rolled in to cover the profound disappointment and sorrow within.

Looking at him, Li Hua felt her heart give a sudden lurch. “You remind me of someone!” The words were out before she could stop them, startling even herself.

“Remind you of whom?” Han Pu asked.

“Hehe…” Li Hua smiled with a meaning that was hard to read. “Of me.”

Han Pu frowned at this. He was a fine young man — how could he resemble a woman? But looking at her — cheeks bright red, gaze unfocused, plainly tipsy — he shook his head and decided not to argue.

“Hehe… you look just like I used to look.” Li Hua picked up the wine jar and took another long drink. “Sad, despondent, vexed, tormented… I have felt all of it… hehe… just like… truly just like… back then I was just like you, with my whole heart and soul yearning for someone, waiting for them with such devotion… such foolish devotion… waiting and waiting and waiting… haha… until finally… haha…” Her laughter grew louder, yet it was saturated with bitterness.

“Did he change his heart?” Han Pu guessed from the look of her.

“Change his heart? No — he never changed his heart.” Li Hua denied it immediately. “Such a wonderful person — how could he be the kind of scoundrel who changes his heart!”

Seeing her defend the man so fiercely, Han Pu found this somewhat strange. He held the wine jar against himself and only watched her, not pressing further.

“He truly never changed his heart,” Li Hua muttered again.

Han Pu gave an absent smile, lifted the jar and gulped down several mouthfuls. His head had begun to swim a little. He narrowed his eyes, trying to see clearly. “If he never changed his heart — then where is he? Why are you here?”

“Hehe…” Li Hua gave a foolish-sounding laugh. “Me? Because I ran away from home… I wanted to be a jianghu heroine, and so I came here. Him… hehe…” Li Hua let go of the wine jar and sat up straighter. She raised her face, and through the branches of the osmanthus tree, tonight’s moon was half-bright, half-dark. “He died.” She let it out gently and softly, carried by the wine-scented night wind, dissolving into the vast silence above. Something spilled from the corner of her eye, tracing along the edge of her temple and disappearing into her hair, leaving a thin, cold trace.

Han Pu lifted the jar and drank again. The wine rose to his head, and his body seemed somehow lighter.

“Since he never changed his heart, then you have no cause for sorrow. You should know — though this world has no shortage of couples who grow old together, their hearts have never truly drawn close. Compared to them, you are far more fortunate.”

“Fortunate… haha…” Li Hua burst out laughing abruptly, and pointed at Han Pu, her almond eyes swimming with moisture. “You silly boy, what do you know at your age! Haha… he never changed his heart — because his heart was never with me to begin with!” The words broke out of her before she could stop them. In that instant she felt all her facades, all her stubborn defenses, crumble at once. Those broken pieces fell in all directions — some landing on her heart, cutting deep furrows, stingingly, piercingly raw. The heat in her eyes surged and surged, and the tears would not be stopped.

Han Pu sat in silence for a long moment, looking blankly at the weeping woman across the table — so unfamiliar to him, yet extraordinarily beautiful. So deep in grief and resentment — and yet he found he had no impulse to comfort or console her. It felt entirely right for her to cry. It felt as though something inside his own body was pouring out through her tears.

“You have had too much to drink.” He murmured to himself, then lifted the jar and drank deeply.

“Haha… wuwuwu…” Li Hua laughed and wept at once, then suddenly raised the jar and tipped it, half going into her mouth and half soaking her clothes. “Back then I… haha… do you know who I am? Haha…” In this moment there was nothing to hold back — she did not care who sat across from her, did not care where she was, did not care about tomorrow. The wine had broken open the cage. “I was the princess of Bai Kingdom — the Langhua Princess, given the title ‘Flower of the Jade Grass.’ Did you know that?”

“I did not,” Han Pu said, eyes narrowed. The tree was swaying. The moon was rocking.

“Ha… you brat, you truly don’t know!” Li Hua slapped the wine jar irritably. “I, Bai Langhua, my beauty outshines jade — that so-called most beautiful woman Chunran Princess, that supposedly dazzling Xiyun Princess — none of them could compare to me! Do you understand?”

“You are… talking big… hehe…” Han Pu grinned stupidly.

“It’s true!” Li Hua widened her almond eyes, though however wide she opened them, she could not manage the slightest intimidating effect. A face like red jade, eyes blurred with drink, alluring to the marrow — a pity that the person across from her was the romantically oblivious Han Pu. Any other man would have gone weak at the knees.

“I was once a noble princess — beautiful, pure, so very good… I loved him so much… so why… why did he not love me?”

“Why?” Han Pu dutifully echoed, his head swaying back and forth.

“Why… hehe…” Li Hua laughed with a strange, cold edge, leaned close to Han Pu’s ear, and breathed out cool, quiet words: “Because he was hiding someone in his heart!”

“Hiding who?” Han Pu continued to ask.

“Hehe… hiding someone he could only look up to forever… hehe… however deeply he hid it, however heavily he carried it, he could never attain that person… haha… don’t you find that laughable?”

“Not laughable!” Han Pu answered cooperatively. “Why are you laughing?” He looked at her in bewilderment. “Are you laughing at yourself?”

“Laughing at myself?” Li Hua repeated the words, then burst out in sudden, dawning realization, slapping the table and laughing loudly, nodding even as she laughed. “Haha… isn’t that exactly right… haha… little brother… you are the clever one… haha…”

“Your laughter looks terrible,” Han Pu wrinkled his nose.

“Nonsense!” Li Hua slapped the table — only for her entire body to go limp, and she slumped forward, muttering against the tabletop: “I, Bai Langhua, my beauty surpasses Hua Chunran and my brilliance rivals Feng Xiyun — how dare you say I look terrible!”

“What did you say?” Han Pu leaned forward on the table, making an effort to lift his head and hear clearly.

“I said… why did he not love me?” Li Hua raised her head, clutching the wine jar and swaying. “I was so wonderful — why did he not love me… why…”

“Hmm, I also want to ask my sister — why hasn’t she come to see me after all this time?” Han Pu also picked up his wine jar and swayed with it. “Five years long passed. I finished my training and came down from the mountain — why hasn’t she come to meet me?”

The two faced each other across the wine jars, and then both broke into foolish laughter at the same time. The laughter shifted, without warning, into loud sobbing. Night birds startled and flew from the garden trees. Flowers and plants seemed to weep along with them. Only after weeping for a full half hour did they finally stop. Having cried so long, the wine seemed somehow lighter in their heads.

“Do you think my sister will come see me?” Han Pu wiped his face with his sleeve and asked.

“Do you think I could go back to being seventeen?” Li Hua asked through tear-blurred eyes.

“Haha…” Both burst out laughing again.

“Seventeen — what a wonderful age… that was when I met him.” Li Hua stared vacantly into the night sky, and tears crept back over her eyes. The sky above was pitch dark, the faint stars barely visible through the blur. “In the prime of my youth, innocent and untouched — not like now, scarred all over, my heart old as a crone’s…”

“Hmm.” Han Pu straightened at this and leaned over the table to look at her face closely. After a moment of study he said: “You are not yet old. In terms of appearance, among all the people I have ever seen, aside from Princess Chunran and Elder Sister Feng, you are the most beautiful. Someone so beautiful as you should have someone with eyes clear enough to see it and love you for it. When that time comes, you will be happy again.”

“Hehe…” Li Hua laughed softly and gave Han Pu a little push. “How do I compare with your sister?”

“My sister…” Han Pu’s muddled mind suddenly cleared, and his wine-hazed eyes lit up. “How could you even be compared with my sister!”

“Haha — you little fool, there is truly no hope for you!” Li Hua pointed at Han Pu and laughed. “But — who on earth is your sister? That she can make you like this?”

“‘Rivers and mountains like a painting — beacon fires pale in comparison. Iron horses and golden spears contest who shall rise and who shall fall.’ You have been singing her songs all evening — how is it you don’t know who she is?” Han Pu smiled broadly.

Then he suddenly stood up, his hand swept to his side, and his long sword left its scabbard. In this moment, his bearing was steady as pine and cypress.

“I know how to sing my sister’s songs too,” he said quietly.

His body moved. The sword arced out. In an instant the garden was filled with flickering swordlight like snow.

“A cup of wine in a moment of defeat — what mad words are spoken, bitter poetry recited to give voice to the wound of sorrow. A fish in shallow waters cannot know its own fate, a goose that falls in foreign lands is easily heartbroken. Coarse linen tries to dance like rainbow silk, a withered tree attempts to give off orchid fragrance. Fallen from glory, I come north along the winding path, lean on the rail and look south — the moon is like frost.”

He sang slowly and softly, yet his sword moved swift as wind and rain, carrying at the same time an ease entirely its own. His body moved like tall bamboo in a breeze, his sword like a silver rainbow circling in the air. The tiny osmanthus blossoms were swept up by the sword’s energy and drifted and danced like a light shower of rain.

Li Hua watched the white-clad young man dancing with his sword in the garden. In a trance, she seemed to return to the age of seventeen — back to that iron-armored, wind-and-cloud cavalry camp. She seemed to see that young general who blushed so easily, coaxed on by his comrades, rising somewhat reluctantly, cheeks red, to draw his sword and begin to dance. The swordlight was like a bolt of cloth unfurling, the person moved with the fluid grace of a dragon, and amid the sword’s sweeping arc was a face of handsome beauty and heartbreaking tenderness…

“Jiurong…”

The swordlight dispersed. The person turned. White robes, bright and clean — but it was not that silver-armored, fine-featured young man.

“Who were you looking at?” Han Pu turned back and asked.

A gaze that sad and pained could not have been meant for him.

The sword gleamed cold. Li Hua’s wine seemed to clear all at once, and she gave a quiet smile. “You bold little fool — you dare say Feng Wang is your sister.”

“You can be the princess of Bai Kingdom — why can I not be the younger brother of Feng Wang?” Han Pu pressed a hand to his chest, where half a jade pendant rested. In former years he had been young and knew little. But over all these years he had grown, seen much, and come to understand many things that had once puzzled him.

“Hehe — fair enough.” Li Hua rose to her feet, her steps a little unsteady. She gripped the table and raised a hand to point at the moon above. “Heaven has clear eyes that see all things. I am Langhua of Bai Kingdom, wife of Xiu Jiurong the Great Valor General of Feng Kingdom. You are Han Pu, younger brother of Feng Wang Xiyun of Feng Kingdom. Hehe… we truly have a bond… meeting tonight beneath the osmanthus tree and getting drunk together… hehe…”

But Han Pu seemed not to have heard her words at all, reciting softly: “Who last night heard the sound of the xiao? Cold crickets and solitary cicadas cry without cease. The clay pot’s tea is cold, the moonlight holds no glory — yet in dreams one walks along singing.” He sheathed his sword with a sweep of his wrist. “Back then, my sister said I did not understand the cold emptiness of ‘the clay pot’s tea is cold, the moonlight holds no glory.’ Now I understand — but she is not here. Do you know where she is?”

“I don’t,” Li Hua answered without hesitation. Those two people — whether as the legendary Feng Xi twin kings of a thousand accomplishments, or as the martial legend that was Baifeng Heixi — whatever the world held them to be, however highly the world revered them… she wished only to never think of them again. Her life’s wish was to never lay eyes on them again.

“Thank you for the wine. I am going to look for her.” Han Pu turned to leave. His long sword carved a solitary shadow on the ground. “Even the ends of the earth and the corners of the sea have a place where they meet.” His white robes swept out — and in the blink of an eye, he had vanished into the night sky.

Li Hua watched him go until his back disappeared from sight. That figure — slight, but unyielding.

A gust of wind blew through, and she could not help but shiver, wrapping her arms tightly around herself, seeking some small warmth.

His path ahead was shrouded in fog — yet he had decided to walk it to the end.

As for her… the road had run out.

The night deepened. She turned back — the table a mess, the garden desolate, only the night wind, unceasing, blowing across the wine jars with a hollow, empty sound.

Part 2: The Past Like a Dream

All sounds had gone to sleep. All things had gone to sleep.

In the depths of the dark night, Li Hua still sat alone in the garden. The lamp had long since burned out and gone dark, leaving only the slanting moon at the edge of the sky, casting a faint light, company to the lone shadow in the garden.

Bang! Bang!

A sudden, forceful knocking at the door rang out loud in the quiet night, jolting her from the stillness. She looked up in confusion, for a moment unable to tell where she was.

“Open up!” The voice was crisp and commanding, and the knocking that accompanied it was steady and measured.

“Li Hua — open the door quickly.” Madam Li’s voice, sounding a little urgent.

Her spirit returned to her body piece by piece. She rose — and nearly fell. She gripped the table and steadied herself, her head swimming, her limbs numb and clumsy.

She staggered to the gate and had barely opened it before a crowd of people poured in. The dark garden was immediately awash with lamplight.

“What is it?” Li Hua said with frowning distaste.

“Search!” The man at the head of the group gestured, and several people had already rushed into the house.

“What are you doing?” Li Hua called out sharply. There was no time to stop them — she could only watch as they headed straight inside.

“Please forgive us, miss.” The man cupped his hands in a salute, his manner composed and courteous. “The matter is urgent — we apologize for the intrusion.”

“Forcing your way in at this hour of the night — have I killed someone and robbed someone?” Li Hua looked at him coldly.

“Hush, my dear.” Madam Li grabbed Li Hua hastily, gave the man a careful, apologetic smile, then moved close to Li Hua and said in a low voice: “My dear, your back garden is so far from everything that you didn’t hear — the front of the pavilion has been turned upside down tonight. This gentleman is Chief Constable Yin of the Bureau of Law. They are after a fugitive criminal of some gravity — this criminal somehow managed to get into the pavilion. Terribly skilled too — they had come fully prepared, and still the person managed to escape. The constable is worried the criminal may still be hiding in the pavilion, so they are checking each garden in turn. Don’t be upset, my dear — they are doing this for the safety of our pavilion. Just think — with a serious criminal lurking about, how could anyone rest easy? It would be terrible if afterward…”

“All right, Madam.” Li Hua cut off Madam Li’s stream of words impatiently and turned to look at Chief Constable Yin. “Finish your business quickly, and don’t disturb your lady’s rest.”

“Of course.” The man who served as chief of all constables in the empire showed no offense at Li Hua’s manner, and replied with the same courtesy as before. “Chief Constable Yin also wishes to ask: did the miss hear any unusual sounds or notice anything out of the ordinary tonight?”

Li Hua gave a yawn and said: “After I sang a song tonight, I happened upon a Young Master Han who was quite pleasant, so I invited Young Master Han here to drink. We had a fine conversation — and heard and noticed nothing unusual.” She glanced sideways at Chief Constable Yin, her eyes luminous and soft yet carrying a cool undercurrent of mockery. “After Young Master Han left, I couldn’t hold my drink, and I sat resting here in the garden to clear my head in the autumn breeze — I had not even gone back inside yet when the constables arrived.”

“Oh?” Chief Constable Yin looked at the empty wine jars in the garden, the leftover food on the table, Li Hua’s weary expression, and the strong smell of wine that hung about her. He accepted that what she said was true, and walked around the garden himself, his sharp eyes not overlooking a single blade of grass or leaf.

“Chief Constable.” A call came from outside the garden, followed by light, even footsteps. Then two more figures walked through the gate.

The moment Chief Constable Yin heard the call, he turned at once, and upon seeing the two arrivals, immediately bowed in greeting with the utmost respect.

“Anything?” Huang Yu, walking in front, asked.

“Nothing so far,” Chief Constable Yin answered respectfully.

Xiao Xue Kong raised his eyes and swept a careful gaze across the garden.

Li Hua, standing to one side, felt a jolt at that gaze — as though in that single sweep, the whole garden inside and out had been seen through clearly by those ice-pale eyes, walls and doors no barrier at all. At this closer range she could see both men clearly: the purple-robed man with his jade crown and fine features, unmistakably someone of high position; the blue-robed man with his white, flowing hair — striking and unusual — his beauty such that even she, the foremost courtesan of Hua Prefecture, felt a pang of inadequacy. Something clicked in her mind, and she recalled having heard someone once say in jest: “The Sweeping Snow General’s snow-white hair and snow-pale face — among men he is like Chunran, not unworthy of the name Xue Kong.” She glanced again at the bearing of both men, and then at Chief Constable Yin’s manner toward them, and felt quite certain in her own mind about their identities.

“The smell is very strong.” Xiao Xue Kong suddenly frowned slightly.

Everyone sniffed. Aside from the osmanthus fragrance in the garden, there was indeed a rich, concentrated scent drifting out from the open door of the room.

“Sandalwood incense,” Chief Constable Yin said, and turned to Li Hua. “The miss has not been inside — who lit the sandalwood incense?”

Li Hua smoothed back the hair the night wind had loosened around her face with a languid hand. “Sandalwood incense has burned in my room day and night, month in and month out, without a single interruption,” she said indifferently.

“That is so, Chief Constable.” Madam Li hurried forward. “Miss Li Hua has always had difficulty sleeping — she originally burned sandalwood incense to settle her nerves and help her sleep, but later she said she liked the smell, and now she burns it in the daytime as well. Since she first moved into this garden, the sandalwood has never been interrupted. It is specially made at Shu Xiang Zhai — each stick is quite thick and long, and one lit in the morning can burn through to the next morning. And it is always Miss Li Hua herself who lights them — she never lets anyone else do it. Everyone in our Li Fang Pavilion knows this, and anyone in all of Qucheng who has ever visited White Blossom Garden knows it too. Our Miss Li Hua is such a beloved figure — who in Qucheng does not love her? White Blossom Garden has never lacked for visitors, just like the sandalwood that never goes out, and the visitors are all distinguished guests, mind you — like Master Pang from the Pang estate in the western city, the eldest son of the Qiu Lang Commandery family, Master Liu from Liu’s Silk House, Master Bai of the Hundred Porcelain Workshop, the second young master of the Zeng Administration, and then there’s Lieutenant Li, and Literary Registrar Huang, and…”

“Be quiet!”

Out of nowhere Xiao Xue Kong’s voice cut off Madam Li’s unceasing torrent — not loud, yet it silenced the entire garden. Madam Li did not dare breathe, and looked at him timidly, unable to understand which word she had said to have angered this man who was beautiful as a snow Bodhisattva.

The constables and soldiers standing nearby in the garden had already been losing their self-composure to varying degrees in the presence of the dazzlingly beautiful courtesan in the lamplight. But now, listening to Madam Li list out the parade of men who had passed through White Blossom Garden, discomfort took over every one of them. Their gazes at Li Hua shifted subtly — a few even stepped back unconsciously, as though the beauty they had each privately hoped to get closer to had somehow become soiled and tainted, and the sandalwood-scented White Blossom Garden had turned suddenly rank.

Li Hua heard the anger in Xiao Xue Kong’s voice and was taken aback. She found herself turning to look at him — and met those eyes, transparent and clear as ice. Her heart gave a sudden jolt. She turned away. Then, unable quite to bear it, she turned back. Her almond eyes blinked, soft with an irresistible allure. “This gentleman should come visit White Blossom Garden more often — you get used to the smell.”

At these words, Xiao Xue Kong was momentarily lost for a response.

“Ha—” Huang Yu beside him could not suppress a laugh.

At just that moment, the men who had gone to search the room came back to report one by one — nothing found.

Chief Constable Yin frowned at the reports, then glanced at Huang Yu. Huang Yu gave a nod.

“Everyone withdraw,” Chief Constable Yin instructed his subordinates, then turned back to Li Hua with a bow. “We have disturbed you, miss.”

Li Hua gave a noncommittal nod, her eyes not on anyone in the room, but fixed on the osmanthus tree.

The group made to leave. Huang Yu gave Xiao Xue Kong a tug. “Let’s go.”

Xiao Xue Kong followed — but at the gate, he could not help turning back. He found himself looking directly into Li Hua’s eyes as she too turned to look. Li Hua quickly lowered her gaze and looked away again. Xiao Xue Kong gave a quiet sigh, and left.

“Xue Ren — don’t tell me your heart was moved,” Huang Yu teased as they walked away.

Xiao Xue Kong shook his head. His heart felt a heaviness he could not entirely account for. “Only that she ought not to be here.” This Li Hua — for all her wind-and-dust weathering, there was something about it that felt deliberate, forced. A person’s eyes are the truest mirror of their inner self, and the clear, proud light that surfaced in hers without her meaning it to was enough to reveal her origins. And moreover… that gray, hopeless look in her eyes was familiar. It was the same as he himself had worn years ago. Only… he could not help but give a quiet sigh.

Inside the garden, Li Hua heard those words — and that long, quiet sigh — and felt a sudden ache in her chest.

“My dear, you’re tired as well — go rest early.” Madam Li reached out to help her toward her room.

“Madam, go rest yourself.” Li Hua’s hand turned, smoothly avoiding hers, and walked Madam Li to the gate instead.

“All right, then.” Madam Li nodded and turned to leave.

Li Hua shut the garden gate, walked into the room, and closed the door behind her. The darkness of the room rushed at her from all sides, heavy and pressing. Her strength failed her, and she sank to the floor. Grief came flooding up from within. She could no longer hold it back — she wept, but suppressed it, so that it came out small and thin, like a wounded solitary goose that must be careful even in its pain not to cry out, lest a single sound bring danger upon itself. All the more desolate for that restraint. It was the kind of crying that broke the heart of anyone who heard it.

Seventeen… seventeen… seventeen…

That had been the happiest and the most painful year of her life.

She was the noble Langhua Princess of Bai Kingdom. She was the beautiful, pure Flower of the Jade Grass. She was deeply cherished by her father and brothers. She had met him in a blaze of fire and glinting swords! She and him — a princess and a general, a beauty and a hero, a match given by Feng Wang himself… it had truly been the most joyful, most blessed thing in the world!

And yet… in the blink of an eye, kingdom fell, family was destroyed, father dead, love lost! Heaven and earth, so easily overturned! Kingdom no longer a kingdom, home no longer a home, loved ones dead and scattered, nowhere safe to rest. She had wanted to leave the place that had pierced her heart and frozen her to the marrow, had wanted to escape all that grief, to breathe free air beneath a vast sky and sea, to begin again. But who knew… how foolish, how ignorant she had been. She had never truly known human suffering. She had never truly seen hell. The battlefield she had witnessed — but that still did not count. The battlefield had only life and death. It was the place where you could neither live nor die that was hell. At seventeen… she had also lived through the most painful days of her life.

She had passed through hell and back, had seen the demons and monsters it housed, and shed the ignorance of her youth. She had grown up, but the price was a body full of wounds. Having tasted all the bitterness of the world and understood all its loves and hates, she had finally come to understand: the marriage she had once thought so wonderful was laughable in the end. The man she had given her whole heart to — his heart had never rested on her for a single moment. Those shy eyes of his — had they ever held a ripple, ever held a thread of tenderness, when they looked at her? That last bracelet he had reached for… that token of their bond… had he not taken it back in the end? How foolish she had been, not understanding even then, telling herself so pitifully that he wanted it as a keepsake… a keepsake it was, but not for her — for the person who had given it! She… had been nothing more than a gift from his king. He would never disobey his king’s command — not for a single moment.

Enough. It was done. He had died. Langhua had died. She was Li Hua now.

She had survived — and so she would live on. She wanted to watch. She wanted to see whether heaven truly had eyes. She had lived her life doing no wrong — and yet was this to be her fate?

And them… why did they get to be an immortal pair? Why?

She would exhaust herself with worldliness, cover herself with filth — and she would live on. She would live to see what the end of it was, what kind of ending she would finally arrive at.

But that man… those clean eyes, that pitying gaze… what right did he have to pity her, to feel the same as her? She was a princess! He was nothing but a general! What right did he have to look at her that way, to say those words… she was a princess! She was a princess who had stood high above all things — what right did he have to stand high above her and feel sorry for her? What right!

She wrapped her arms tightly around herself and gritted her teeth to force back the sobs that rose into her throat.

What good was crying? She would not cry. She absolutely refused to cry.

In this world — if there is no one who cherishes your tears, you must never shed them.

Thud!

A muffled sound, as though something heavy had fallen. It jolted her out of the depths of her grief. She looked up blankly, for a moment unable to place herself.

After the sound there was silence.

After a long while, she clenched her fist, rose to her feet, and felt her way by memory through the darkness to light the lamp.

In the dim yellow lamplight, she could see a figure lying collapsed on the floor — dressed in black. The body was hunched in on itself, but one could tell it was a tall man. His eyes were closed, his face white — he appeared to have fallen unconscious. Yet his hand still gripped a scroll of painting tightly, and on his back was a long sword.

She walked over, crouched down, and looked at him carefully. Was this not the man from the street this afternoon — the one she had berated?

Now closer, she could see that the black clothing was torn in several places and was damp — saturated with the dense smell of blood. One shoulder was missing a patch of fabric entirely. She looked up and found a small scrap of black cloth caught on a nail in the ceiling beam. The man had clearly been hiding up in the rafters, collapsed only when he could no longer hold on. His injuries were evidently severe.

She thought of the people who had just forced their way into the garden, and began to understand.

“So you are the serious criminal that the empire’s Prince and General were trying to catch…” She curved her lips in a faint smile. “It seems my room’s sandalwood incense inadvertently covered up your blood scent.” Her eyes swept across the man’s heavy dark brows. She rose and stood looking down at the man who hovered somewhere between life and death, and after a long moment said, not without a certain self-mocking edge: “Since they are trying to catch you, I will save you then. At this point I am already what I am — it is hard to imagine what worse I could be. Hehe…”

The morning light filtered in through the bamboo blinds and fell on an osmanthus sprig on the table. The pale yellow petals, tiny and delicate, seemed to gather an extra vibrancy in the warm glow, and a wisp of clean, subtle fragrance curled gently through the room, refreshing and pleasant.

He opened his eyes to crimson red canopy above.

“You’re awake?” A crisp voice.

He turned his head. Against the light stood a graceful, slender silhouette — her face unclear in the brightness, like a fairy drifting through a dream.

“Since you’re awake, it seems you won’t be dying after all.” That crisp voice carried a cold, cutting edge — and it was familiar.

He jolted fully awake, turned to get up — and the movement pulled his wound. A muffled groan, and he sank back down.

“You are… I… you…” Seeing the person clearly gave him quite a start. Was this not the woman who had been throwing jewels about yesterday afternoon? And it was thanks to her tirade that he had found what he had been searching for all along.

“I saved you — naturally enough, when you crept into my room.” Li Hua sat down in front of him, a bowl of porridge in her hand. “This congee is for you — there is nothing else. I saved this for you from my own portion.” She set the bowl on the small stool beside the bed and rose to go to the dressing table to do her hair and face.

The man on the bed looked at her unhurried, self-possessed manner with some puzzlement, then glanced around the room — richly and luxuriously furnished, befitting the top entertainer of Li Fang Pavilion.

“No one will enter this room without my permission, but you should still be careful not to be discovered by anyone in the pavilion, so as not to implicate me.” Li Hua arranged her hair as she spoke.

Black hair smooth as flowing spring slid through white fingers, coiled strand by strand into a knot, secured loosely with a jade hairpin, a long golden step-ornament added, its dangling beads trembling softly at her temple. Her brows needed no pencil — naturally arched and dark. Her skin needed no powder — naturally white and smooth as cream. Her lips, pressed together, were a vivid deep red. She tried a coral chain against one wrist, then a red jade bracelet against the other. At last she clasped a strand of crimson red beads around her wrist — the white of her skin like snow against it, the red like fire, eye-catching and vivid. The crimson skirt settled around her, a jade-green sash tied at the waist to define her slender figure, and she turned before the mirror — ten thousand layers of grace and allure bloomed.

The man on the bed watched in a slight daze. He had grown up in a military family and had spent every day since childhood among the rough and vigorous soldiers of the camp. As he grew older he knew only the enemies on the battlefield. Then came years of wandering through the jianghu. He had never truly understood the gentleness of women, never had a single day of idle leisure, and certainly never lay like this on a brocade bed beneath silk curtains watching a beauty arrange herself before a mirror. Such gorgeous refinement — for an instant he had the peculiar sensation of having entered a dream.

“I washed your wounds down while you were unconscious. The medicine on them is from some former guest’s left-behind supplies, I don’t know which year — whether it works or not is up to your luck. Your clothes were already in shreds, so I burned them last night.” She glanced back at him on the bed. “Don’t be embarrassed — I’ve seen plenty of men’s bodies. There are plenty better-built than yours. I took no advantage of you.”

She turned back, hung a gold-ringed jade lock pendant around her neck, gave her reflection a final examination, and rose with satisfaction.

“Thank you, miss.” The man on the bed cupped his hands in thanks. His expression was composed — no awkwardness, no discomfiture.

“I don’t need your thanks.” Li Hua turned down the corners of her mouth, walked to the pear-wood stand, and took down the painting scroll. “This painting scroll seems to belong to our pavilion. You risked your life for this — you were trying to steal it?”

“That painting — please give it to me.” The man on the bed tensed visibly the moment he saw the scroll.

Li Hua unrolled the painting and looked it over. On it, a young general in silver robes was wielding a spear — young, with the bright energy of a man in his prime, exactly the sort of dashing figure a young woman might dream of. Beside the figure were four characters: Piercing Cloud Silver Spear. Other than that, there was nothing particularly remarkable about it.

“I have seen a fair number of famous and well-executed paintings. This one, to my eye, is at best middle-upper quality. Why are you so set on having this painting?” Li Hua held it up and raised a questioning brow.

The man on the bed said nothing. He appeared to have reasons he could not easily speak.

“This painting is mine. I’m not going to give it to you just because you want it.” Li Hua rolled the painting back up.

At these words, the man’s eyes suddenly sharpened. He fixed his gaze intently on Li Hua. “You said… this painting is yours. Might you tell me where you came to have it?”

“This painting…” Li Hua thought briefly, then said, “I believe it was given to me by a guest who came from Feng Prefecture.”

“Feng Prefecture?” The man’s eyes went still. His brow furrowed as he fell into thought.

Li Hua unrolled the painting again and looked at it. The young general’s brows radiated an energy that no passage of time could diminish, as though it was there to mock her own present despondency. Irritation and resentment rose suddenly in her chest. Her fingers applied pressure. The paper began to give a faint tearing sound.

“Miss!” The man’s voice dropped low and urgent. His eyes fixed on Li Hua. “Please do not damage the painting!”

“Oh? Why not?” Li Hua smiled with a provocative edge. “It is my possession — what can you do?”

The man looked at her steadily, and then said, quietly: “If you are displeased, you may vent that on me. But please do not damage the painting. To me… to me, that painting is worth more than my life.”

“Worth more than your life?” Li Hua repeated the words, then lowered her eyes to look at the painting again. Her puzzlement deepened to anger. “Worth more than your life — in what way? Because of the person in the painting? Is a Mo Yu Cavalry general truly so remarkable?”

The man was startled. “You recognize the person in the painting?”

Li Hua went silent. But the hand holding the painting had begun to tremble.

“Miss — you know this person? Can you tell me who he is? Where is he now?” The man ignored the pain of his wounds and pushed himself upright, asking with sudden urgency.

Li Hua was taken aback at his questions, and held up the painting. “You don’t recognize the person in this painting?”

“I have never seen this person,” the man said with a shake of his head.

“If you don’t know him, why are you so determined to have this painting? I kept it only because the person in the painting was once someone I knew — but aside from that, what could there possibly be about this painting that is remarkable enough to be worth more than a life?” Li Hua studied the painting carefully once more, and truly could not see anything in it exceptional enough to warrant that.

The man was silent, seeming to weigh whether or not to speak the truth.

Li Hua looked at him for a moment, then gave a quiet, self-deprecating smile. “You need not trouble yourself. I have no interest in your secrets. I will tell you — this painting was acquired about two years ago. The person in it is Ren Chuanyun, the Piercing Cloud General — one of the four generals of the Mo Yu Cavalry of the former Feng Kingdom.”

The man looked up at Li Hua. His eyes were bright and clear, his expression frank and open. “Thank you for telling me. It is not that I am unwilling to speak truth to you — I am a wanted criminal, and I did not wish to implicate you.”

“Oh?” Li Hua looked at him with a faint, ambiguous smile. She had been on the verge of a cold, cutting remark, but something about those bright and honest eyes stopped it in her throat. “Since you want it, I will give it to you. I am not asking for payment.” Li Hua held out the painting.

The man looked at her for a moment. “Thank you.” Simply, but with gravity. He extended both hands, lowered his head until his forehead nearly touched the bed covering, and received the scroll with a posture of deep respect.

Li Hua felt something move in her at the sight of this. The hand that held out the painting tightened involuntarily.

“Miss?” The man looked at her in puzzlement, not understanding why she had suddenly gripped it so tightly.

“Oh… rest now. I will go and see if I can find you clothing and medicine.” Li Hua turned to leave. She had barely reached the door when the man’s voice came from behind her.

“Who is the miss?”

The quiet words fell on Li Hua’s ears like a clap of thunder.

Her step faltered. She nearly lost her footing. She closed her eyes and breathed in, decided she had heard nothing, and yanked the door open, striding out quickly — but that low, steady voice clung to her like something impossible to shake off.

“The miss does not belong in a place like this.”

Bang. The door swung shut behind her. The autumn sun blazed — the brightness stung her eyes and nearly brought tears.

Inside, the man looked at the closed door, his gaze thoughtful and searching. If the person in this painting was a general of Feng Kingdom — why would a Hua Prefecture courtesan recognize him? He did not know General Ren Chuanyun personally, but the name was long familiar to him. Not only him — the four generals of Mo Yu’s fame spread far and wide, yet he had never heard any stories of romantic entanglements among them. If she were from Feng Kingdom, there would be no reason in those war years — when Feng Kingdom itself had remained untroubled — for her to have traveled all the way from Feng to Hua. And moreover… though her speech was crude and she had the full worldly air of her profession, something about it felt overdone and deliberate. Those eyes of hers — clear black and white, vivid and unmistakable — were not the eyes a pleasure-house courtesan, however proud, could possess. That occasional sidelong sweep of hers was not something any woman of the pleasure quarters, however haughty, could have. It was innate. It was the look of someone who had stood at the heights and gazed down at all beneath them.

When Li Hua returned to the room, she found the man on the bed gazing intently at the painting scroll, his fingertip tracing the characters written alongside the figure, his expression a mixture of reverence and lingering longing.

She tossed a set of black clothing onto the bed, then reached into her wide sleeve and produced a few steamed buns and held them out.

“These are all stolen — make do with them for now.”

The man returned from wherever his thoughts had taken him, but showed no change of expression at the word “stolen” — only accepted them calmly. “Thank you for your trouble, miss.”

Li Hua glanced at the painting scroll, which the man had placed carefully and reverently beside his pillow. Her lips moved, but in the end she held the words back.

“Miss?” The man looked at her with mild curiosity, not understanding why she had tensed so suddenly.

“Oh… rest. I will look for some clothes for you and medicine for your wounds.” Li Hua turned to leave, and had just reached the door when the man spoke from behind her.

“Who is the miss?”

The quiet words struck Li Hua like a thunderbolt.

Her foot caught. She very nearly fell. She closed her eyes, drew a breath, acted as though she had not heard, yanked the door open hard, and walked out quickly — but that low voice clung to her like a burr.

“The miss does not belong in a place like this.”

Bang. The door shut. Autumn sunlight blazed down, harsh enough to sting her eyes almost to tears.

Inside the room, the man watched the closed door with a thoughtful, searching gaze.

By evening, Li Hua was back — but she came back drenched in blood. Li Fang Pavilion erupted in alarm.

“Oh, oh — my dear, what happened to you? You went out perfectly fine — how did you end up like this?” Madam Li came rushing at the news, and went pale at the sight of Li Hua covered in blood. She moved quickly to look her over, then turned to the crowd that had gathered and snapped: “What are you all standing there for? Go call a doctor this instant! If there is any delay, I will have your skin!”

Someone ran off at once.

Madam Li held onto Li Hua, crying out all the while: “Oh my dear, all this blood… heavens, what happened? Chan’er, I told you to look after miss carefully, and you bring her back covered in blood like this? I’ll deal with you when this is over! Oh my dear, you are breaking your Madam’s heart — come, come, lie down first, the doctor will be here shortly. Na’er, go hurry them along — where is that doctor? My dear, be careful, I have you, E’er, come help support miss…”

She guided Li Hua to the soft room and had barely laid her down when the best doctor in Qucheng, old Doctor Chen, was dragged over panting and out of breath. He examined the wound, applied dressings, wrote a prescription, gave his instructions, and departed, by which time word had already spread throughout Qucheng: the top courtesan of Li Fang Pavilion, Miss Li Hua, had attended the birthday banquet of the Second Young Master of the Zeng Administration House, where she had offered the young master a toast — only to be stabbed with a hairpin by his wife, nicknamed “the second tigress,” in front of all the guests.

“All right, Madam — I only took a wound to the shoulder. I can go in by myself. Everyone hasn’t eaten yet — it is past dinnertime. Go eat first — being hungry is miserable.”

At the entrance to White Blossom Garden, Li Hua turned away the whole crowd that had accompanied her back.

“Oh, look at me being so scatterbrained.” Madam Li clapped her hands. “Miss must be hungry too — Chan’er, go to the kitchen and have them make something light and easy to eat for miss, and remember to simmer a good restorative broth for miss’s blood.”

“I haven’t eaten all day, so send quite a bit. Keep the flavors light.” Li Hua pressed a hand to her injured arm and frowned.

“Of course — after an injury you must watch what you eat. Chan’er, tell the kitchen to prepare some medicinal dishes as well.” Madam Li immediately added.

“Yes.” Chan’er accepted the instruction and went to the kitchen.

“It has been a long fuss and everyone is tired — go eat and rest early.” Li Hua raised her right hand to rub her temple, and looked impatiently at the crowd of sisters and servants gathered at the gate.

“You must be exhausted too, dear. Rest early — we’ll go back now. I’ll come check on you later tonight, and E’er can stay to serve you tonight.” Madam Li, reading Li Hua’s expression, was quick to take the hint.

“No need to trouble yourself later tonight, Madam — the wound is only in my arm, I can still move around. I don’t need attending to.” Li Hua glanced at her bandaged left arm, then took the packet of medicine the doctor had left from Madam Li’s hand. “Just have Chan’er bring food and hot water over. I want to sleep early.”

“Very well.” Madam Li nodded. It was common knowledge that Li Hua preferred not to have people in White Blossom Garden. “Go rest. E’er, go prepare the hot water.”

“Yes.”

Madam Li led Li Fang Pavilion’s staff and residents away.

Only when they were well out of sight did Li Hua push open the gate and go inside. The sky was dark now, and the garden felt deeper and more silent for it, without a sound or movement to be heard.

She deliberately made her footsteps heavier as she walked, and pushed open the door. The dense fragrance of sandalwood incense rushed at her. She crossed the outer room, rounded the screen, and drew aside the bead curtain. The red canopy hung just as she had left it when she went out. Her heart gave a small, tight lurch — she did not know whether the man had listened to her, or whether he had already…

She slowed her steps, walked quietly to the side of the bed, reached out her hand, hesitated briefly, and then gently lifted the edge of the curtain. In the dimness of the bed enclosure, a pair of bright eyes were looking at her. In that instant, her heart stopped — and then, just as suddenly, it began to beat like thunder, rapid and hard.

“You…” The word came out, and then she did not know what to say.

“The miss has returned.” The man on the bed was the one who spoke, calm and steady.

“Yes.” Li Hua nodded and turned to light the lamp. The room brightened at once.

“Miss, that is…” The man’s sharp eyes caught Li Hua’s discomfort with her left arm at once.

Li Hua lifted the left arm slightly and said without inflection: “A jealous woman — gave me a scratch with a hairpin. It bled a lot but the wound isn’t deep. Nothing serious.”

“I see.” The man relaxed.

“As luck would have it, this situation actually worked out in my favor — the doctor left quite a lot of medicine. No need to worry about how to find supplies for you.” Li Hua set the medicine packet on the table, opened it with her right hand. There were quite a few bottles and jars. She picked out a white porcelain bottle. “Doctor Chen’s skill is very good, and his own-made medicines are famous in the city. Sit up — I will apply medicine to your back. The front you can do yourself.”

“This…” The man recalled his state of undress beneath the covers.

Li Hua glanced at him and understood perfectly well what his hesitation was about. She felt a small flicker of amusement, and something like wistfulness. “You only need to sit up. I will apply it to your back. You can do the front yourself.”

The man nodded, and slowly sat up, turning his back to Li Hua.

Once the medicine was applied and the clothing put back on, Chan’er’s voice came from outside the garden — dinner had arrived. Li Hua opened the door, took it, and sent the girl away.

The dishes were all light and simple, but the portions were generous — enough for two people with plenty to spare. The rice, however, had been prepared for one person alone and could last two meals at that — but for a large man it would barely amount to one serving. There was a good-sized pot of soup. Li Hua moved a small side table to the bedside, arranged the dishes on it, and using the two small bowls she had brought in, ladled out one bowl of soup and one bowl of rice for herself. Everything else — the remaining dishes, box and all — she passed to the man on the bed.

“Make do. Better not to have too many bowls, in case it raises suspicion.”

She turned back to fetch a pair of silver chopsticks from the cabinet for herself.

The man looked at Li Hua’s small bowl of rice, and something moved in his chest. He scooped rice from his large box into her bowl and said: “I have gone four days without a single grain and survived. A bowl of rice to fill the belly each day is more than enough. Don’t deprive yourself, miss.” He pressed it down firmly, again and again, until her small bowl held two full portions’ worth.

Li Hua watched this person scooping rice into her bowl — his expression calm and natural, as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world. And yet she… in this entire life of hers, no one had ever given her a portion from their own bowl. Whether in her former life of wealth and nobility or in her current life of low station — this simple, intimate gesture was something she had never once experienced. Looking at that face in the lamplight, weathered by hardship yet full of resolve, Li Hua felt herself drift for a moment.

The man took a few bites and noticed Li Hua sitting beside him still staring at him with a peculiar expression. “Why aren’t you eating, miss?”

“Oh.” Li Hua came back to herself, looked at the heaping bowl of rice, and — though she normally couldn’t even finish a small bowl — opened her lips as if to say something and then said nothing, only eating the entire bowl quietly, one mouthful at a time. Then she drank the soup as well.

When they had finished, the man scraped all the remaining dishes into his own bowl and cleaned them off, then picked up the soup pot to pour Li Hua another bowl. Li Hua quickly stopped him. “You drink it — I have genuinely eaten a great deal today.”

The man glanced at her, then smiled, set aside his politeness, and slowly drank the rest of the pot himself.

They had just finished when E’er came bringing hot water. Li Hua put away her silver chopsticks and gathered the bowls and dishes back into the food box to give to E’er, then took the hot water inside herself.

She poured a basin for the man to wash with, then lowered the bed curtain, moved the screen into place, and emptied the remaining hot water into the bathing tub.

In the quiet night, there was only the soft sound of silk garments falling to the floor, and then the splash and pour of water. A fragrance — different from the sandalwood, light and clean — drifted gently through the room.

The man lay on his side within the bed enclosure, eyes closed, trying to sleep. Yet his mind was unusually clear, with not a trace of drowsiness. He listened to the sounds beyond the curtain, breathed in the fragrance that drifted to him, and felt — in this moment — a kind of warmth that his half-life of hardship had never offered him.

When the bed curtain parted again, fragrance and lamplight came together against his face, and he opened his eyes without thinking — and was held there by what he saw.

A plain white underrobe. Hair dark and damp. A face of jade and vermillion lips, all the artifice washed away — and yet a natural beauty utterly beyond compare, clear and lovely in a way that could not be matched.

Li Hua too went still for a moment at the look on his face.

*”Langhua was always a jewel… of the jade terrace…”*

Just as both of them were on the verge of being lost in the moment, a soft, unhurried voice drifted from beyond the door — and both of them startled.

*”Nurtured in the heavenly pool… pearled in its fruit…”*

The voice was quiet, yet every word was distinct, carrying a faint note of wistful regret. Li Hua recognized the voice and felt a smile surface involuntarily. Her heart settled. She shook her head at the man and went out to the door.

Beneath the osmanthus tree, the white-clad young man was dancing with his sword like a dragon — the wheeling swordlight more brilliant than the moon above, silver radiance pouring through the tiny gold blossoms until they scattered across the whole garden. His clear, unhurried recitation was like the resonant hum of an ancient qin, each word and note drawing on the heart.

*”Then in one stroke of thunder and rain… heaven’s decree was severed…”* The sword’s wind swept sharp and sudden, and the yellow blossoms swirled in its wake.

*”Fallen into the world of dust… drifting unseen…”* Blossoms flew in the air, weary and mournful. The swordlight gathered and withdrew, and the petals came to rest in the dust.

Moonlight on osmanthus, shadows softly swaying. The night quiet, the breeze cool. The young man, pure as jade.

“I came to ask whether you would like me to take you away from here.”

Beneath the osmanthus tree, the white-clad young man said it lightly and without ceremony — yet in Li Hua’s heart, a thousand waves surged.

The garden was quiet. The person at the door stood still. The person beneath the tree waited in silence.

After a long while, Li Hua spoke slowly: “Will you take me away and never abandon me for the rest of my life?”

Han Pu’s brow creased involuntarily. “I’m not some relation of yours — how could I promise you a lifetime? Can you not manage to live on your own?”

At these words, Li Hua stared at Han Pu for a long moment, then suddenly burst out laughing — laughing until tears came, laughing until she bent double, the sound unstoppable.

“What are you laughing at?” Han Pu raised an eyebrow. “If it weren’t for the connection between you and my sister, I wouldn’t bother with you at all.”

Li Hua stifled her laughter, her gaze sharp. “You wish to ‘save’ me out of regard for Feng Wang?”

Han Pu’s expression settled. “You were once the Langhua Princess, so your fall to this place must have its own pain. I am offering to help you leave.”

“Leave?” Li Hua looked at Han Pu with a smile that was half mockery. “Is the outside world so lofty and wide, so clear and beautiful, so full of kind and generous people?”

“The outside world is no paradise,” Han Pu answered. “But in my eyes, it is freedom.”

“Ha ha… freedom…” Li Hua gave a long laugh, cold and cutting as frost. “Do you know what I suffered for that word ‘freedom’? You wish to ‘save’ this wretched person from her sea of suffering out of regard for your sister — and yet… and yet if not for Feng Xiyun and Feng Lanxi, would I have today?! They destroyed my kingdom and killed my father king, left me with nowhere to rest — is all of this not the doing of your wonderful sister?!”

“You—” Han Pu felt a flash of anger. “I was not by my sister’s side in those years, but I found Xu Yuan and the others long ago, and had them tell me everything that happened. My sister treated you as a younger sister, cared for you and protected you — do not confound gratitude and resentment!”

“Gratitude? That kind of gratitude — do not speak of it again!” Li Hua’s voice cracked. A roiling feeling rose in her throat, and all the hatred and resentment she had suppressed for so many years came surging up at once, all of it aimed at the person before her.

“My sister and that… person destroyed your Bai Kingdom — that is true. But if you dare say my sister was wrong, if you dare to hold my sister in resentment — don’t blame me for being rude!” Han Pu’s fine face flushed with anger, those clear eyes sharpening to the edge of a blade and fixing themselves on Li Hua.

“And what if I choose to resent and hate? What will you do? Kill me?” Li Hua walked down the steps toward Han Pu, one step at a time, her almond eyes full of a poisoned, razor-edged hatred. “Why is it that she can destroy kingdoms and kill people and still achieve a great legacy of glory written in history? Why is it that I, with my kingdom destroyed and my family dead, am not permitted to resent it? Why was my body, a body born to wealth, violated by those savage men? Why was I, a princess, driven to the depths of a pleasure house? What gives you the right to stand here and lecture me?” One accusation after another broke out of her unguarded and unstoppable — all the bitterness and resentment buried so deep for so long, all of it surging at the one who had ripped open her wounds.

“You… you said you were violated by savage men — what do you mean?” Han Pu’s fury had been blazing a moment ago, but those last words extinguished it entirely. He furrowed his brow and stared at Li Hua. “How did you come to be in Li Fang Pavilion?”

“Ha ha — you don’t know? Then let me tell you.” Li Hua laughed openly, no longer caring whether she woke others, no longer caring that the secrets she had kept for so long would now be laid bare. In this moment she was entirely controlled by her hatred and resentment, her reason long since gone, wanting only to pour out everything — every love, every hate, every grievance. “Freedom — all of this was because of that word ‘freedom’! Back then — ha ha — he died, my father king died, the kingdom was destroyed and the family scattered. But I believed the world outside was vast and free. So I abandoned the feud of the kingdom’s destruction, abandoned the title of Langhua Princess, decided to live again as an ordinary person, to leave all wealth and glory behind, to escape that bone-deep pain, to seek the freedom of rivers and mountains throughout my life. Ha ha — was that wrong of me?” Li Hua looked at Han Pu with a wild expression, her eyes burning with an almost frenzied brightness.

Han Pu said nothing, only waited for her to continue.

“A free life… ha… see how beautifully, how easily I imagined it.” Li Hua laughed coldly. Those almond eyes were bright but carried a chill that went through the bone. “That winter I took Pin Lin and left Bai Kingdom, dreaming of vast skies and a joyful jianghu life, certain that there was a world of my own waiting for me, Bai Langhua, full of freedom and elegance. Ha ha… but do you know what we encountered? Ha ha… where are these clear and clean mountains and rivers? Before we had even crossed the first mountain, we ran into a nest of bandits, and they… they…”

Li Hua’s voice suddenly went hoarse. Her gaze fixed on some point in the empty air, burning with malice and hatred, staring hard. Han Pu felt a sudden chill pass through him in that moment. The autumn wind seemed to have grown cold enough to pierce the bone.

“Dozens of grown men. They took me and Pin Lin and took turns with us, day and night, without end.”

That ghostly gaze turned and fixed on Han Pu. The voice came low and hoarse, as though rising from the underworld, draped in a chill and a cloying dread, ringing on and on, over and over.

“Do you understand what I am saying?” Those dim ghost-fire eyes drew closer, that malevolent face bared its white teeth toward him. “Dozens of grown men — a whole nest of bandits — they violated me and Pin Lin, drugged us, abused us day and night without cease — do you understand all of this now?”

Han Pu lurched backward a full step, his face white, looking at the person now only a pace away. That contorted, anguished face was like something from the depths of hell — nothing at all like the beauty who had commanded the hall the previous night.

“Are you frightened? Do you find this filthy?” Yet Li Hua stepped closer still, close enough that her breath fell on his face. “But it is not over. You must listen well, and remember every word. That existence, neither life nor death, neither human nor ghost, went on for a month. When the bandits tired of us, they sold us into a brothel. Ha ha… at least the brothel stopped drugging us — because clients do not enjoy the company of the dead. But… but Pin Lin had gone mad! Do you understand — Pin Lin, who had been the most devoted person in my life, who had always shielded me, had gone mad! Those bandits had driven her mad! Ha ha…” Li Hua’s face twisted in a ghastly, weeping laugh, tears streaming down without her knowledge. Her hands had at some point seized Han Pu’s arm, gripping it tight, fingernails digging deep. “A brothel has no use for a mad girl, so they threw Pin Lin out. And then… and then a carriage came and just like that ran into Pin Lin… hit her alive… hit her alive and…”  Li Hua’s eyes were stretched wide, her pupils dilated, like a puppet with no soul left inside. Her body swayed and shook. Her voice grew lower and lower — yet Han Pu could still hear it clearly. “Pin Lin’s head was broken. Her body was covered in blood. Her hands and legs were twisted at strange angles. Her…”

“That is enough.” Han Pu cut her off. He reached out and steadied the person before him. “I understand everything. You… try to forget it.”

“No — how can I forget…” Li Hua came back to herself with a jolt. She pushed Han Pu away. The ghostly fire burned back to life in her eyes. “How can I forget Pin Lin! How can I forget the way she lay on that street like a pile of rubbish! I will never forget! Back then, no matter how they beat me or tortured me, I refused to take clients. But on that day I went to them and begged them — let me take clients, because I had to earn money, because I had to beg them to give Pin Lin a proper burial!”

Han Pu looked at her, his mouth opening and closing several times, unable to make a sound.

“Langhua was always a jewel of the jade terrace — ha ha — how very much obliged I am for the poetry!” Li Hua looked at the young man in white before her, saw the pain on his face, and felt a sharp pleasure in her chest. “When you see your sister, you must tell her that Langhua is living well, and will continue to live well — because she wants to watch. She wants to see whether heaven truly has eyes. She wants to see whether there is any justice left in this world. She wants to see whether the twin kings of unparalleled benevolence, Feng and Xi, will walk the ends of the earth hand in hand, laughing at the world together. She wants to see whether in this world evil goes unpunished and the good descend to hell. She wants to see what kind of life still awaits Bai Langhua, and what manner of ending she will finally meet!”

“You—”

“Go then! Go quickly and find your sister — and be sure to tell her everything.” Li Hua’s smile was radiant yet poisoned and twisted. “I have always been troubled that I cannot see her myself. How fortunate that you can carry the message for me.”

“You…” Han Pu looked at Li Hua’s venomous, smiling face, looked at those eyes brimming with hatred, and the sympathy and pity he had felt all rushed away. He looked at her steadily for a moment, and at last the words came out: “You and my sister are as far apart as heaven and earth.”

Li Hua’s expression flickered, but she quickly resumed her smile. “How could a woman of low station like myself be compared to the Feng Wang of unparalleled virtue and unrivaled brilliance!”

Seeing her mock again and again the sister he revered as though she were heaven itself, Han Pu — proud-natured as he was — nearly erupted on the spot. But one look at those eyes, raw with misery and pain, and the memory of what she had just told him stopped the anger cold. Still, having followed in Feng Xiyun’s footsteps from childhood, shaped his whole life by her example, he held the view in his bones that every person, man or woman, should be like his sister — strong enough to look down on the world, capable of holding up a kingdom and mastering one’s own destiny, not cowering in self-pity and blaming others when faced with hardship. And so, although he now knew the full horror of what Li Hua had suffered, although he felt sympathy for her, he did not excuse who she was now on account of her past — and in his heart, he could not help feeling a certain frustration and contempt toward her.

“You believe that everything you are today was caused by Feng Wang and Xi Wang destroying your kingdom,” Han Pu said at last, after a long pause. His young face still carried traces of youth, yet his eyes held a sober and quietly penetrating depth. “But have you ever considered your own responsibility? My sister was also born into a royal family, yet she became the Princess Xiyun, renowned throughout the world, of unmatched brilliance. You were merely the Langhua Princess, known for the beauty of your appearance. When the tumultuous age arrived, she not only protected her own kingdom but swept half the world with her armies — while you could only watch your kingdom fall and then flee from all the pain and responsibility. She could surrender her throne for the sake of all the people under heaven — while you, having fallen once, were never able to rise again. Whether the world outside was vast and free or treacherous and harsh, she could move through it with ease — while you only know how to blame all your suffering on others, spending your days and nights in resentment rather than ever considering how to save yourself and start over. How can someone like you deserve to have my sister regard you as a younger sister, and how can you presume to regard my sister as an enemy!”

“You… how dare you… how dare you compare…” Li Hua had thrown all her hatred at Han Pu, just as she had always wanted to throw it at the Feng and Xi kings she had resented for years. She had expected to see pain and guilt — instead she found herself on the receiving end of accusations. She was so ashamed and furious that the words would not come.

Han Pu was unmoved. He arched a brow. “You are right that you suffered terribly and deserve sympathy. But is not your situation today also partly the result of your own ignorance and helplessness?” The words struck the mark without mercy. “My sister and that… person never harmed even the former Emperor of the Eastern Dynasty — much less you. If you had stayed in Bai Kingdom’s royal palace, would you have encountered bandits? When my sister and the others departed, they made proper arrangements for the country, for the officials, for the people — do you really think they would have left you alone with no provision? The world has always had both good and evil in it. You naively imagined the world outside was clean and free, without ever thinking whether your own abilities were sufficient to survive in it — who is to blame for that? You were born a princess, yet you spent your life knowing nothing of the world beyond your palace walls.”

“You… you…” Li Hua wanted to refute him and did not know where to begin.

“Is anything I have said without reason? Is only what you say and think correct?” Han Pu’s somber eyes held a clear, bright edge. “People must know themselves. Yet you have not a trace of that knowledge. It is a pity that you have lived all these years without ever truly growing up, without ever truly seeing life clearly. Life is long — joy and sorrow, happiness and hardship, pleasure and grief, how many of them there are. How many people live a life of unbroken happiness? Did even someone like my sister never endure suffering and pain? To live — do not look only backward. Look squarely at today. Look forward to tomorrow.”

Li Hua stared at the young man before her, and she felt blank. He was younger than her, and his face still carried the freshness of youth — and yet he had just given her a string of lessons that left her with nothing to say.

And yet… these years had been sustained by this resentment, this hatred. Her belief was that she would watch and see what became of them — and what became of herself. But now this young man was telling her she was wrong, all of it was wrong… how could that be, how was that possible? Her mind was in chaos, resentment and pain, hatred and grief, all the bitter and sweet and sour and burning all twisting together in her chest…

Han Pu looked at that small, slight figure in the night wind, and a heaviness settled over him. He let out a slow breath. “I came because I heard you were wounded — I wanted to see if you needed help. Only…” He had come intending to lend a hand, out of regard for the connection between her and his sister — yet he had not anticipated uncovering wounds this deep and this raw. That had not been his intention, and he imagined it had not been hers either.

“I will not go with you, and I do not want your help.” Li Hua bit her lip. She raised her eyes to look at him. The bone-deep hatred was gone from her gaze now, but the desolation and heartbreak in her eyes had grown deeper and heavier than before. “Even if I leave here, it will be no different — I still cannot survive. You cannot protect me for the rest of my life, and I am not your extraordinary, matchless sister. I am the ignorant, helpless Bai Langhua. I… I…” Part stubbornness, part earnestness. “For the rest of my life I only want one person who will protect me, cherish me, and never leave me! If I have no such person — I would rather rot and die here than have the freedom and cleanness of the outside!”

Han Pu looked at her for a long moment, and at last said simply: “As you wish.”

Li Hua bit her lip and lowered her head.

Neither spoke for a time. Only the slightly labored breathing of both, the remnant of anger’s aftermath.

After a while, Han Pu’s gaze shifted to the closed door of the room. “The person you are hiding in there — he is the wanted criminal?”

“What… you…” Li Hua was startled, and went pale.

“Don’t worry, I don’t enjoy minding other people’s business.” Han Pu gave a dismissive look, and his gaze dropped to her injured arm. “That wound — is it because of him?”

Li Hua reflexively gripped her arm. She was silent for a moment, then said: “How did you know?”

“Hmph.” Han Pu gave a cold snort. “His breathing, however much he tried to suppress and slow it, would be imperceptible to ordinary people or those of modest martial skill. But it cannot be hidden from me, the second-best in the world. And the catching and heaviness when he breathes shows he is in great pain — the wound must be no small matter.”

Second-best in the world? Then the first could only be his sister. Li Hua found this both irritating and faintly amusing. She turned the thought over and said: “He isn’t—”

“You don’t need to tell me anything.” Han Pu stopped her with a wave. “I only came to warn you — if it were just that Chief Constable Yin, that would be one thing. But as it happens, both the Prince of Yun and Xiao Xue Kong are here. They are worth ten of any constable. Be careful.”

“Understood.” Li Hua nodded.

“Then I am leaving.” Han Pu turned to go, then stopped. He looked back at Li Hua, considered for a small moment, then produced a small porcelain bottle from his lapel and tossed it to her. “Since you mean to save him, this is for you. I will not come looking for you again. Whether you live or die, find joy or sorrow — that is all up to you now.” Before the last word had landed, his toe pressed down and he leaped, disappearing in the blink of an eye into the dark of the night.

Li Hua stood in the courtyard, staring at the small porcelain bottle still warm from his body. Tonight had been a night of great grief and great pain — nothing like the self she had suppressed for so many years. But having poured out all the resentment she had carried so long, she felt, strangely, as though a weight had been lifted.

She gripped the bottle tightly, pushed open the door, and went inside — whatever lay ahead, she would face it.

—

## Part 4: We Are the Same, Drifting at the Ends of the Earth

She had barely lifted the curtain before she saw the man who should have been lying in the bed standing dressed and upright in the middle of the room.

So — he found this place too filthy, too repellent, and meant to leave. She gave a self-mocking smile and walked inside with complete indifference.

“Dong Tao Ye pays his respects to the Langhua Princess.” The man in the room, entirely to her surprise, dropped to one knee in a full formal bow.

Li Hua froze on the spot. Then, as her mind caught up, she felt the biting edge of irony and cried out sharply: “Are you mocking me?!”

“In former days, Tao Ye had heard that the Langhua Princess of Bai Kingdom bore the title ‘Flower of the Jade Grass.’ Today I can see the name was not undeserved.” The man on his knee — Dong Tao Ye — spoke in a steady, resonant voice.

“Be quiet!” Li Hua said sharply, looking at him coldly. “Do you too dare to ridicule me!”

Dong Tao Ye raised his head. His gaze was direct and steady, those brown-black eyes candid and clear.

“What that young man said holds truth, but is not entirely correct. People should be self-reliant and strong — but that does not mean everyone must be like Feng Wang. Feng Wang’s literary and martial gifts are unparalleled — not just among women, but among men across all of history, very few can stand beside her. Though one should be confident and not undervalue oneself, one must also acknowledge that certain people are simply more extraordinary — whether in innate ability or achieved accomplishment — outstripping a great many others by nature. Such people inspire awe and longing. But such people are rare. Among the ordinary multitudes of this world, the Princess was a young woman who, having suffered the fall of her kingdom, was able to let go of hatred — that is wisdom. To abandon status and wealth and enter the jianghu — that is courage. To survive, in body and in spirit, to the present day — that is perseverance. To endure what should be unendurable in order to bury a loyal servant — that is loyalty. To save a gravely wounded and wanted man — that is benevolence. Among the people of this world, how many possess such wisdom, courage, perseverance, loyalty, and benevolence? And to have a servant who stayed by you through life and death speaks only well of you — to be loved so is to be worthy of love.”

Li Hua stared at him, as though not quite comprehending what he was saying. She stood breathless, as if transfixed.

“Feng Wang’s gifts are heavenly — already a legend. But the Princess has known grief and joy, suffering and happiness, love and hatred and resentment — that is the full truth of a real, living life. So the Princess has no need to compare herself to Feng Wang. No need to compare yourself to anyone at all. The Langhua Princess is the Langhua Princess — not the Princess Xiyun, not the Princess Chunran. She is the one and only jade-grass flower in all this world.” Dong Tao Ye had said all of this in one breath and was now pale-faced, his kneeling body beginning to tremble — yet his expression was as frank and open as it had always been.

The room was quiet, filled only with Dong Tao Ye’s labored breathing from the pain of his wound.

“I too am a person of wisdom, courage, perseverance, loyalty, and benevolence? I too am worthy and deserving of love? I am the one and only jade-grass flower?”

A long time later, Li Hua murmured these words, her expression hovering between laughter and tears as she looked at Dong Tao Ye.

“The Princess is the one and only Langhua Princess in all the world, celebrated as the Flower of the Jade Grass!” Dong Tao Ye affirmed.

Li Hua suddenly raised her hands and covered her face. There was no broken sobbing, no keening cry — yet her whole body shook like a candle in the wind, and tears fell between her fingers.

She — even as a princess, even in the fullness of wealth and adoration — had harbored a competitive spirit in her heart. She had resented that Hua Chunran was more beautiful than her. She had been rankled that Feng Xiyun was more talented than her. She had always told herself that one day she would surpass them. But even at her most glorious, she had lived in their shadow. Now — one was the Empress of the realm, motherly dignity extended over all the world; the other had become legend, her name to be spoken for ten thousand years. And she… she had sunk to the lowest places and endured every manner of suffering, the distance between her and those two now wider than heaven and earth.

And yet this man… he said she need not compare herself to anyone. Whatever her station, high or low — she was herself. She was the daughter of the Bai King, the Princess of Bai Kingdom. She too was worthy and deserving. She was the one and only.

In all her life, had anyone ever said such a thing to her?

In all her life, had anyone ever looked at her this way?

Not her father and brothers, who had always treated her like an innocent child — their eyes held only indulgent fondness. Not the ministers and palace servants, who saw her only as a willfully ignorant princess. Not even Feng Xiyun, who had once cared for her so warmly — the way she looked at her was the same as that Xi Wang, wasn’t it — tenderness threaded with a gentle amusement.

But this man… he looked at her differently.

He looked at her as an ordinary person. As a living, breathing person. He recognized that she was worthy of love and respect.

In this moment the bitterness was almost unbearable. In this moment sorrow and joy were indistinguishable.

In this moment — even if heaven and earth collapsed, even if all nine levels of hell opened — she… had no regrets.

Dong Tao Ye only knelt quietly, watching quietly, without any tender wiping of tears or soothing words — only watching and waiting.

Time passed — how much of it, no one could say. When Li Hua — no, when Langhua, when Bai Langhua — finally lowered the hands that had been covering her face, tear tracks still marked her cheeks, and her eyes were still moist. But her expression had changed. There was no resentment, no bitterness. Not cold as ice and frost. Her face was white and clear, her eyes luminous, her smile pure. It was the image of the jade-grass flower — beauty without equal.

“Dong Tao Ye — I know who you are. You are the Fuyü General Dong Tao Ye, son of Grand General Dong Shu of the Eastern Dynasty.” Langhua’s voice was soft and clear. “Langhua is merely a princess of a small kingdom — how could she accept such formal courtesy from a general? Please, rise quickly.” She bent and with her own hands helped him to his feet. “Be careful — do not open the wound again. That would be wasted effort for all of us.”

“Thank you, Princess.” Dong Tao Ye rose with her support.

Langhua helped him carefully back onto the bed. “The world is now the imperial Huang Dynasty. Though I have not forgotten who I am, I think we can set aside the word ‘princess.’ You are older and wiser than I — I will call you ‘Elder Brother Dong,’ and you call me ‘Langhua.’ Would that be acceptable?”

“Yes,” Dong Tao Ye agreed readily, and then turned and said: “The Huang Dynasty I will never acknowledge. I recognize only my Emperor as the lord of the realm. The Huang Dynasty is nothing but a dynasty of usurping rebels.”

Langhua was startled to hear such treasonous words, and in that moment understood why he was being pursued. But since her own Bai Kingdom had fallen and her father king had died, neither the Eastern Dynasty nor the Huang Dynasty held any claim on her loyalty. Her world was very small — it had room only for herself. And so Dong Tao Ye’s words and actions were, as far as she was concerned, entirely his own affair.

“Langhua does not understand these matters. Only that since fate has brought us to meet, Langhua will protect Elder Brother.” Langhua stepped forward and drew the blanket up over him. “It is late. Elder Brother should rest early — it will help the wound.”

Dong Tao Ye gave a quiet smile and cooperated, closing his eyes.

Langhua was about to lower the bed curtain when she remembered the porcelain bottle Han Pu had given her — she had absently set it on the table earlier. She retrieved it quickly and said: “Elder Brother, do you know what this is?” She drew out the stopper. A very faint medicinal fragrance.

Dong Tao Ye opened his eyes and took the bottle. He had barely breathed in the medicinal scent when his expression shifted. He quickly brought it closer and inhaled deeply — and then his face showed genuine agitation. “This is the Han family’s miraculous wound remedy — Zifu Powder. Hasn’t this been extinct in the jianghu? Where did you get it?”

“Han Pu gave it to me just now,” Langhua said. Seeing his reaction, she felt a flicker of gladness herself. “So this is something that can truly treat your injuries?”

“‘Truly treat’ is an understatement.” Dong Tao Ye pushed himself upright, and Langhua quickly steadied him. “I had been worried that these wounds would take at least a month to heal. With this medicine, it should be five or six days. This remedy is beyond price — the fact that he was willing to give it to you shows a true and generous spirit.”

“That little fool…” Langhua thought of Han Pu’s handsome, haughty face and could not help smiling. “For him, aside from his sister, even the most precious things in the world and the highest positions are probably not worth a glance. A small bottle of wound medicine would be nothing to him.” Thinking of his clever but anguished eyes, she felt her heart sink with an involuntary sigh.

“Oh?” Dong Tao Ye considered this. “His name is Han Pu — I imagine he is from the renowned Han family of the jianghu. The Zifu Powder and the Fouxin Pellet were the Han family’s exclusive remedies. The family was once wiped out precisely because of these two medicines. His voice sounded very young — if the Han family was destroyed when he was even younger, then he endured the pain of losing home and family at a very tender age. That is pitiable — and actually not so different from Langhua’s own experience. His particular regard for you likely comes from this shared suffering.”

His feeling in saying this was genuinely kind — yet he had not come close to guessing Han Pu’s actual mind.

For Han Pu, the one person he revered most in his life was Feng Xiyun, and so everything he did followed from that reverence — acting according to his own heart. He had offered to buy Li Hua a drink because she had sung his sister’s song and sung it well. He had been willing to help her leave because his sister had once cared for her. Leaving the medicine was genuinely for Langhua’s sake — not from “shared suffering,” but because he had seen that Langhua would hurt herself in order to find medicine for Dong Tao Ye. He had realized that today’s wound from the hairpin had been deliberate — and the reason was that Li Fang Pavilion had no wound medicine adequate to treat Dong Tao Ye’s injuries.

As for Langhua, she had her own thoughts: you say Han Pu is to be pitied, that his experience resembles mine — but you are wrong. Though he suffered the destruction of his family, at the same time he gained a sister better than any family — Feng Xiyun. With her protection, where was the pity? He had trained a body of incomparable skill, could walk the jianghu with supreme confidence, and would surely one day be a figure of great renown. How could that be the same as her? But when she looked up, she found those brown eyes looking at her — warm and steady — and in that instant she felt the warmth come back to her heart, and the small flicker of bitterness and desolation that had just risen faded and was gone.

The medicine Han Pu had left proved to be extraordinarily effective. By the following day the wound was already closing; by the third day he could move about slowly; by the sixth day, aside from the arrow wound in his leg that had gone through to the bone, all other injuries were eighty percent healed.

During these days, Langhua used the excuse of her arm wound to decline visitors. Madam Li took no offense — partly because the stream of guests coming to inquire after Li Hua and bringing lavish gifts had Madam Li smiling until her jaw ached, and partly because she attended to all of them with expert care herself, keeping those clients’ hearts in the palm of her hand, while on the other side showering Li Hua with broths and medicines, hoping this golden tree of hers would recover quickly.

A half-month passed like this. Dong Tao Ye’s wounds fully healed. Langhua’s wound had healed even earlier, and thanks to the Zifu Powder, did not leave so much as a scar.

On this day, Madam Li called for Langhua, her manner and tone making it plain enough that she wanted to know when Langhua would be receiving visitors again — without clients for so long, the men’s longing had to be maintained. Langhua thought it over and agreed to dance a single dance that evening. Madam Li’s eyes lit up on the spot, and she hurried off to make preparations. Langhua walked back to White Blossom Garden, her heart a mixture of gladness and sorrow with every step.

The gladness was that Dong Tao Ye’s wounds had healed. The sorrow was… there was so much of it.

His wound was healed — and so naturally he would leave. His every thought was fixed on finding his Emperor; his every concern was for the safety of his sworn brothers. Each day he longed to sprout wings and fly to his sovereign’s side, each night he lay awake worrying about the fate of his brothers who were in hiding. It was the wound that had clipped his wings, and this Li Fang Pavilion that had kept him from his brothers… he would be leaving soon, and rightly so. Outside, whether the skies were high and vast or the mountains treacherous and the roads dangerous, nothing could stop his steps. That was his world. And she… and she…

She grabbed the garden gate suddenly, her heart twisting. She could not hold back a thin, broken little cry.

Was she really to die old and forgotten in Li Fang Pavilion? Was she to be Li Hua for the rest of her life? Li Hua… Langhua… in her heart she knew herself as Langhua. But her body could only be Li Hua. This filthy, defiled body…

She pushed the garden gate open, entered. Silence and stillness. She walked quickly across, pushed the door open. Still silent.

He was gone. Truly gone.

Her heart plummeted as though dropped into a deep abyss — suspended, weightless, without footing. She reached out in a daze to lift the bed curtain — and found the man standing behind it.

She froze where she stood, looking at him like a fool.

“What is the matter?” Dong Tao Ye’s brow creased. He reached out to steady the person standing blankly at the curtain — and felt something cool and wet fall into his palm. He looked. Tears, dropping like cut strings of pearls, all falling into his outstretched hand, cool against his skin. In that instant his heart ached all at once.

“Langhua.” Without thinking, his arm drew around the weeping person. “Why are you crying? What has happened to make you feel this way? Tell Elder Brother — Elder Brother will help you.” He patted her head clumsily, then patted her back. It was as if something had seized his heart, twisting and aching.

How warm and solid this embrace was. Langhua closed her eyes. She had yearned for half a lifetime, she had fought for half a lifetime. What did it matter, in the end, if Bai Langhua had always stood in the shadow of Feng Xiyun and Hua Chunran? She only needed one embrace like this and she would be satisfied. In this embrace, she was the one and only Langhua in all the world.

“Langhua, don’t cry… Langhua, don’t cry…” The man who had once commanded ten thousand soldiers, who had walked through the flash of swords and the shadow of death and come out alive again and again, now only clumsily soothed the beauty in his arms the way one might soothe a child.

Later, Dong Tao Ye went quiet and simply let Langhua bury her face against him and weep without a sound.

Time passed — it was impossible to say how much — before he heard a soft, barely audible call: “Elder Brother.”

“Yes.” Dong Tao Ye answered immediately. “Langhua — what is it?”

Langhua raised her face to look at him. Dong Tao Ye was caught there for a moment.

Eyes brimming and luminous with unshed tears, long lashes trembling with a single tear still clinging to them. The small snow-white face was like a newly-opened flower petal, delicate and tender. The deep red lips were like the single bright stamen at the center of the flower — pure and intensely vivid both at once.

He had never seen the jade-grass flower in person. But the person before him was that legendary celestial flower, come down from the heavens — a perfect white blossom, untouched by dust, holding the jade dew of the sky. Flawless jade-grass beauty.

Without thinking, his soul slipping beyond his control, slowly, gently, he lowered his head — as carefully as though afraid of shattering something fragile — and pressed his lips to that jade-grass flower in the tenderest of kisses, taking away the cool, salty drop of dew.

Langhua sighed and closed her eyes. The corner of her lips curved upward. It was a smile more pure and more joyful than even a jade-grass flower.

“Elder Brother, I am going to dance tonight. You have never seen me dance before, have you? Long ago, the Feng and Xi twin kings themselves praised my dancing and Feng Qiwu’s singing as the two greatest arts under heaven. Elder Brother, will you watch me dance tonight?”

*And then… you will leave forever. And I will stay behind forever.*

“Yes.”

The dance of that night — many years later, the people of Qucheng still spoke of it with wonder. It was a dance beyond any comparison, unlike anything ever witnessed before or since.

That night, the Miss Li Hua set aside the red that she so habitually wore, and dressed instead in a robe of snow white. Her makeup was light, yet she was enchanting and beautiful.

Gauze sleeves wide as clouds drifted like smoke. Silk skirts trailing like mist swept like clouds. Her sleeves flew and her skirts turned on that high platform, smoke-drifting and cloud-sweeping above the stage. The person was a celestial maiden of the Jade Terrace. The dance was an art form from the nine heavens. Such a person, untouched by a single grain of dust. Such a dance, pure and without stain. That night, she brought the entire Li Fang Pavilion’s gathering to its knees. That night, she bewitched the dark heavens and the icy moon and the cold stars. Li Fang Pavilion fell into a hush it had never known before. The world was filled with a stillness it had never known before. Every person was lost in that incomparable dance. Every person was entranced by that incomparable face.

“What a beautiful, despairing dance.” A clear and cold voice gave a quiet sigh.

Tonight Li Fang Pavilion had more guests than ever before. But in the private room directly facing the stage, the same two guests as that half-month ago were seated as before.

“A dance like this — first seen in this life, and probably the only time it will be seen.” The smile at Huang Yu’s lips seemed to admire the brilliant dance, but his eyes were colder than they had ever been. “Xue Ren — I have held off these past days at your request. But now the minor demons have all been cleared away — the time has come to deal with the head of the evil!” His cold gaze fixed on a hidden point somewhere in the pavilion.

“After I have spoken with Miss Li Hua.” Xiao Xue Kong said quietly. His gaze was on the slight, snow-white figure on the platform — then he shifted his eyes. The figure in that hidden spot had already disappeared.

“Agreed.” Huang Yu’s gaze came back to the platform. “Xue Ren — I can spare this Miss Li Hua. But Dong Tao Ye I must kill.” Those large eyes held an icy sword-glint. “Any person who dares to endanger elder brother’s great work — I will spare not a single one!”

Xiao Xue Kong turned to look at him. This merciless, killing Huang Yu was not unfamiliar to him. This was the face he wore on the battlefield, when he brought his sword down on an enemy’s head.

—

Out of the great hall, around a delicate garden, and then the long corridor leading to the back gardens. Everyone in the pavilion was now in the hall attending to guests, so the corridor was unusually quiet. Walking slowly down it, the crimson pillars and dim palace lanterns fell away behind her one by one. She had used the excuse of fatigue after the dance to avoid receiving visitors tonight, but tomorrow there would be no escaping it. So tonight… no… no… tomorrow morning, without fail — tomorrow morning she would send him away.

“Miss Li Hua.”

A sudden voice in the quiet night made Langhua startle. She raised her eyes. She had not noticed when, but ahead of her stood someone — a light blue robe, a face like snow. It was him. Langhua’s heart lurched. The Sweeping Snow General Xiao Xue Kong! Why was he here? What did he want? Could it be… could it be that he was here to capture Elder Brother? The thought came, and her mind went into chaos.

“Miss Li Hua.” Xiao Xue Kong called again. His ice eyes saw through Langhua’s alarm in a single glance.

Langhua steadied herself and forced a calm smile. “I wonder what brings the General to find Li Hua?”

*General?* Xiao Xue Kong gave an inward sigh. He had never made his identity known. Even if she had worked it out, she should have feigned ignorance — but she had addressed him so directly. Was she not throwing herself into disarray?

Langhua had barely said it before she regretted it and added quickly: “The General’s appearance is distinctive, and there are many stories of you in the common world. Li Hua has heard some of them, and naturally recognized you the moment she saw you. The other evening I was rude — I hope the General will forgive me.” She then offered a low curtsy.

“There is no need for such ceremony, miss.” Xiao Xue Kong raised his hand, letting a gentle force of energy lift her from the bow. “I came…” His ice eyes settled on Li Hua and he found himself at a loss for how to begin.

Langhua looked at him with curiosity, and in looking suddenly realized that in this lamplight, this General was beautiful almost beyond comprehension. She found herself wondering: how does a person this beautiful command ten thousand soldiers on a battlefield — will those soldiers actually listen to him? And then another face surfaced in her mind — a fine face, but broken — and her heart gave a pang. She steadied her thoughts. Yet strangely, the panic was gone. This Sweeping Snow General, for reasons she could not name, did not frighten her. Something in her bones told her that beneath that cold appearance he was not the kind of person who would hurt her.

“Langhua Princess.”

The name Xiao Xue Kong had spoken made Langhua’s heart lurch again — but on a moment’s reflection, given his abilities, what difficulty would it be to learn her true identity?

“Would the Princess be willing to come with us to the imperial capital?” Xiao Xue Kong hesitated briefly, then spoke. “I am certain His Majesty and Her Majesty the Empress would be glad to welcome the Princess.”

Langhua looked up sharply. Shock, anger, humiliation, indignation — they passed through her one by one, and then dissolved entirely in the face of those ice-clear eyes.

“This woman is Li Hua. You have mistaken the name, General.” Langhua smiled with all her practiced allure.

“Then… would Miss Li Hua be willing to go to the capital?” Xiao Xue Kong’s brow shifted and he asked again.

“Go to the capital for what?” Langhua asked with feigned astonishment. “Does the General intend to build me a Li Fang Pavilion in the capital for his own personal enjoyment?” She blinked up at him with irresistible charm.

Xiao Xue Kong was thrown — he had spent his life unaccustomed to women making such advances toward him, and was genuinely at a loss for how to respond.

“The General needn’t go all the way to the capital for this.” Langhua took a small, graceful step toward him. “Right here will do — General, will you come to this woman’s room tonight?”

Xiao Xue Kong retreated three paces as from a wild animal. Langhua was unmoved, continuing to advance step by dainty step, her voice soft and melodious: “This woman has seen countless men in her time, yet she has never seen anyone of the General’s bearing. She has long admired you — will the General honor her wish and spend this night with her?”

Her slender hand reached out, about to touch his face.

“Is the Princess unwilling to leave because of Dong Tao Ye?” The General who had fought on a hundred battlefields was not about to stand and take the blow.

The outstretched hand stopped. The coquettish smile went instantly white.

“Langhua Princess.” Xiao Xue Kong said the name again, clearly. “Would you please come with us to the capital? His Majesty is wise and benevolent, and Her Majesty the Empress is kind — neither would treat the Princess unjustly.”

The night fell silent again. Wind stirred the long corridor. The lanterns flickered and swayed, shadows dancing in disarray.

After a long while came Langhua’s faint voice: “No. I will not go. Langhua is dead.”

“Then…” Xiao Xue Kong’s voice suddenly lowered. His gaze held steadily on that pale, flower-like face. “Tonight — I ask the Princess… I ask Miss Li Hua to rest early, and whatever happens… please take care of yourself.”

“You… are you going to…” Langhua’s almond eyes went wide with sudden alarm.

“Miss, you understand.” Xiao Xue Kong’s gaze did not waver. “Xue Kong has said what he came to say. Miss… in the days ahead… may heaven bless and protect you.” He turned to leave.

“Wait!” Langhua called out hastily.

Xiao Xue Kong turned back. “What is it, miss?”

“Why… why must you take him? Why can’t you just let him go?” Langhua gripped his sleeve and asked.

“Miss, since you know he is Dong Tao Ye — do you not know what he has done?” Xiao Xue Kong asked in return.

“What he has done…” Langhua murmured. Then, with sudden conviction: “Whatever he has done — it was done in loyalty to his sovereign!”

“Loyalty?” The person like ice and snow was, in a rare moment, showing a trace of anger. “Yes — he is a loyal subject. Loyal to his own sovereign. But he has killed eight of our imperial court’s generals. He has led uprisings four times, costing thousands of innocent soldiers and people of this dynasty their lives. To the Eastern Dynasty he may be a loyal subject — but to this dynasty he is a killer.”

“And is all of that his fault?” Langhua thought of the past, and anger surged. She asked back in fury: “If not for your ambition and aggression, the Eastern Dynasty would still stand in peace, my Bai Kingdom would not have fallen, my father king would not have died, the Emperor Qí Di would not be of unknown fate, and Elder Brother Dong would not have spent these years wandering in hardship seeking him. The ones he killed were nothing but rebel subjects. The uprisings he led were in the name of restoring his kingdom. Where is his fault? Is it no crime for subjects to seize a sovereign’s throne, and yet a crime to defend one’s own sovereign?”

Xiao Xue Kong stared at her, seemingly unable to believe these words were coming from her — this princess celebrated as the “Flower of the Jade Grass,” who in former days had been spoken of as a match for Princess Chunran and Princess Xiyun in both beauty and talent, and yet… she was saying such…

He drew a slow, deep breath, and then spoke: “Allow me to ask — Emperor Qí Di ascended the throne at twenty-six, and reigned for nineteen years. What were his accomplishments?”

Those ice eyes fixed steadily on that jade-grass-flower face. “In those nineteen years, the empire grew daily more corrupt and fractured, warfare and unrest multiplied among the kingdoms, yet the lord of a nation made not a single effort. He only sat on his throne and watched. Watched the chaos taking form. Watched the people flee and perish. What benefit did such an emperor bring to his nation and his people? What purpose was served by the continued existence of such a dynasty, a dynasty that existed only in name?”

Langhua opened her mouth — and found nothing to say.

“Now look at the present Huang Dynasty. The four seas are pacified, the people live in peace and contentment, the territory is broader and the national strength greater than the Eastern Dynasty at its height. Go and ask the people — do they wish to be subjects of the Eastern Dynasty, or of the Huang Dynasty? Ask them — do they prefer Emperor Qí Di or the Emperor of the Huang Dynasty? You were born into a royal family, and yet your vision is this narrow — you see the world only from your own personal vantage and do not know how to see it from the people’s.” The cold clarity in Xiao Xue Kong’s eyes intensified. “Moreover, our sovereign is wise and benevolent, treasuring talent wherever it is found, making no distinctions based on former loyalties. Every person of ability and knowledge is given suitable use. His Majesty recognized Dong Tao Ye’s talent and admired the loyalty in his bones, and time and again was willing to set aside past grievances and invite him into court service. But he refused to change his ways, refused to repent, kept killing court officials, kept raising uprisings among the people, taking innocent lives, disrupting the dynasty’s peace, unsettling the hearts of people throughout the realm. Such a man — even if His Majesty would pardon him, I would not.”

Those last words were cold and merciless, and in an instant they cut through Langhua’s heart.

“I feel the weight of Dong Tao Ye’s loyalty in my own bones — and so I will not take advantage of him when he is weakened, and I will not harm him by deception. But…” Xiao Xue Kong said with gravity, “Please convey this to him. He is the Fuyü General of the Eastern Dynasty. I am the Sweeping Snow General of the Huang Dynasty. Tonight… it is as though two armies face each other on the field. He and I will settle our fates outside Li Fang Pavilion — and whoever walks away with their life, walks away.”

As the last word fell, he turned to leave.

“Wait!” Langhua chased after him, heart in turmoil. Who was right and who was wrong — she could not decide, did not want to decide. She only wanted him to live.

“What is it, miss?” Xiao Xue Kong stopped, not turning back.

“If… if from now on he were to… if he were to disappear, never to appear again — would you still pursue a duel to the death with him?”

Xiao Xue Kong turned. In the dim lamplight, those eyes were bright as snow. “Does the miss think he would agree to that?” There was a faint, entirely unhidden contempt in his cool tone. “If he were willing to, there would be no today. Every one of the former Mo Yu generals of the wind and cloud once stood against His Majesty — yet today they are the glorious Six Stars of the Huang Dynasty. I will tell you plainly: Emperor Qí Di was sent by Feng Wang to take refuge in hidden seclusion in Qianbi Mountain. There, too, are the former military advisor of Feng Kingdom, Ren Chuanyu, and the Piercing Cloud General Ren Chuanyun — two brothers. His Majesty knows this clearly, and has not laid a finger on any of them. Toward the former dynasty’s sovereign and subjects, His Majesty has been more than benevolent.”

Langhua’s face went chalk-white as she watched the person before her. It seemed she could not bear those implacable words, and she staggered backward several steps. “Don’t kill him… you cannot kill him… he… he…” A thousand reasons not to kill him swirled through her mind, but what came out was simply: “He is a good person. Don’t kill him.”

“A good person?” That snow-like face held a flicker of something unresolved, and after a long pause a weighty sigh came. “In this world, good people too can have cause to die.”

“Have cause to die?” In that instant she fell into a frozen abyss, the ice-cold water closing in from all sides, pressing relentlessly, suffocating. “Why… why…”

She murmured without knowing it.

Why…

This life had not been long, yet she had already lived through too much — victory and defeat, triumph and ruin, grief and joy. There were so many things she did not understand, so many causes she wanted answers to. And if she were to ask them aloud — what answer would she even hope to receive?

“Life and death in this world — how many of them are decided by whether one is good or bad? And by what measure do you judge a person good or bad?” Xiao Xue Kong looked at Langhua once more, then turned. “Take care of yourself, miss.”

“One night — can you give us that?” A barely audible plea drifted through the air, as faint as smoke. “Let us have tonight, just tonight, that is all.” Desperate and humbled beyond pride.

A long silence. Long enough that Langhua was on the verge of forgetting how to breathe.

Then, heavy as stone, a single word fell: “Yes.”

And then the snow-like General dissolved into the night and was gone.

—

## Part 5: Return to the Jade Terrace

“Thank you.” Langhua said the words into the darkness above.

The corridor was empty, the lamps burning dim. Her almond eyes, stripped of their brightness, stared at the palace lantern overhead. The night wind stirred, and the candle within swayed helplessly — just like her, in constant danger of being snuffed out at any moment.

She thought back to Xiao Xue Kong’s surprised eyes and furrowed brow, and in her daze she gave a small, vacant smile.

He too was disappointed in her, wasn’t he? He had not expected a woman who had once been a princess to say such things. Narrow? Ha ha… what would Feng Xiyun do, if she were here? Ha — she would probably respond with great righteousness and justice. Or perhaps she would not even need Xiao Xue Kong to intervene — she would kill Elder Brother Dong with her own hands, because… Feng Wang’s heart belongs to all people under heaven. Ha ha… or perhaps Xiao Xue Kong would have bowed his head to her in supplication? Someone like her would never be reduced to such a wretched, begging posture as herself. She would only need the sword in her hand to protect the people she valued. She would never be like her… would never be like her…

Ha ha… Langhua laughed soundlessly. The expression on her face was wild and desolate all at once.

But she was not Feng Xiyun! All the people under heaven were less than insects to her. The only one she needed to protect was Elder Brother Dong. Right or wrong, success or failure — she would protect only him. For him, she could throw away even life and death. This life of hers — there was only Elder Brother Dong…

She turned and walked back. The candle flame wavered, the corridor wavered, and as far as the eye could see was boundless darkness — like this life of hers. And yet she could only keep walking, one step at a time… through a life on the edge of collapse, tottering toward ruin at any moment.

She pushed the garden gate open as though sleepwalking, and closed it behind her.

She pushed the door open as though sleepwalking, and closed it.

She lifted the curtain, lit the lamp — the man was turning a painting scroll over in his fingers, staring out the window, lost in thought.

The lamplight drew him back from his reverie. He turned. Clear, resolute eyes came to rest on her, and a warm smile rose. “Langhua, you’re back.”

“Yes.” A soft answer. A gentle smile.

“Langhua — I will never forget tonight’s dance. Not until I die.” He spoke again, the warm smile unchanged.

“Yes.” The same soft answer. The same gentle smile.

“Langhua.” He stepped forward and stood before her, raising his right hand to touch her face with gentle care. “Langhua…” He called her name softly.

“Yes.” She answered as though in a dream.

From her forehead to her temple, from her cheek to her hair — he could not hold himself back. He drew her tightly into his arms.

“Langhua, I must go. They are already here. Langhua…” He closed his eyes, pressing down every feeling, suppressing the surging tide that threatened to break loose.

“Why did you not go earlier?” If he had slipped out of the hall during the dance, there might have been a chance. But now… they would have set their net long since.

“Langhua, I would never leave without saying goodbye to you.”

The arms holding her tightened further. They ached with the force of it. But Langhua wished it could be tighter still, tighter, until she was pressed into his very blood and bone, until they could be one body, until life and death could be shared… life and death together!

“Elder Brother.” After a long time, Langhua raised her face. “Where are you going?”

Dong Tao Ye released her, held up the painting scroll in his left hand, his gaze fixed and penetrating on the space ahead. “I am going to Feng Prefecture. This painting was done by His Majesty — it came from Feng Prefecture. His Majesty may be in Feng Prefecture. I must find him.”

*Feng Prefecture…*

*Boom!* A sudden crack of thunder. Outside, the wind picked up sharply.

Langhua looked toward the window and said softly: “The weather is turning.”

“Yes.”

“Elder Brother.” Langhua looked at the darkening sky. “How will you leave?”

Dong Tao Ye did not answer. His tiger eyes flashed with the gleam of a drawn blade.

“Elder Brother — the person you are looking for is in Feng Prefecture, but they know that too. If you go there, you will also…” Langhua bit her lip.

“I have already died many times,” Dong Tao Ye said with calm. His hand gripped the painting scroll. “This life was always His Majesty’s to command.”

A gust of sharp wind swept past the window. Langhua shivered, the autumn wind seeming to cut colder than before.

“Elder Brother — will you take me with you?” The question was so quiet that the wind nearly carried it away.

Dong Tao Ye was silent.

“Elder Brother — will you take me with you?” Langhua turned and looked at him steadily.

Dong Tao Ye said nothing, his gaze passing through her to the night sky beyond the window. Distant thunder rumbled. The wind was wild and dusty. Rain was coming.

“No.” After a long time, Dong Tao Ye’s answer came clear in the wind.

Langhua turned slowly and closed the window. The sound of thunder and wind grew small.

“Does Elder Brother find Langhua unwelcome?”

“No!” Fast and certain.

“Then why not?” Langhua stepped closer to him.

“I do not want you to die.” Dong Tao Ye gripped the painting scroll.

“Die?” Langhua pressed close to Dong Tao Ye, her gaze dreaming. “What is dying? What is living?”

Dong Tao Ye lowered his eyes to look at the lovely face just inches from his.

“Does Elder Brother want Langhua to die in Li Fang Pavilion?” Langhua suddenly gave a faint, gentle smile — no fear, no worry.

A thread of wavering passed through Dong Tao Ye’s deep eyes.

“Even if Elder Brother dies — that would not really be dying.” Langhua rested her head against Dong Tao Ye’s chest and closed her eyes, listening to that steady heartbeat. “But Langhua… she has been dead a long time already, while still living.”

The hand hanging at Dong Tao Ye’s side slowly began to rise.

“Elder Brother — do you want Langhua to die alone and forgotten in Li Fang Pavilion?” Quiet, light — and yet it brought down the strongest fortress in a single instant.

His hand fell at last, steady and sure, on her back. Both arms came together and enclosed a wall of warmth. “Langhua — I will take you away. For the rest of my life I will protect you, cherish you, and never leave you.” A quiet and light promise.

“Good.” The person in his arms gave a calm and satisfied smile. A single tear traced along the corner of her eye and the bridge of her nose and fell to her lips.

The night grew deeper. The wind grew wilder. The moon had long since hidden behind black clouds. Aside from the occasional crack of thunder, heaven and earth were without sound.

Two people, hands clasped tight together, moved through the corridor, through the garden, through the great hall — like immortals riding the wind home. Snow-white robes swept in the wind, twisting tight around a corner of black hemming.

They stepped out the door. The long street lay empty. The night wind swept fiercely.

They had barely turned the corner when a figure came out of the darkness toward them — snow-like hair and face gleaming cold in the night like crystal ice.

The two hands clasped together gripped each other tighter.

That figure stopped three zhang away, one hand lightly resting on the sword hilt.

“You made a promise.” Langhua stepped forward.

Xiao Xue Kong’s brow gave a faint crease.

“One night.” Langhua’s fist clenched tight. “General Xiao — Langhua only asks for one night!”

Their gazes met. Pleading. Resolute. Desolate. Those cold eyes shifted — just barely — and moved to another pair of eyes. Fearless. Alert. The hand resting on the sword hilt fell away. No words. A single turn, and then, as abruptly as he had come, he disappeared back into the darkness.

No need for more words. They only gripped each other’s hands and ran — ran down the long street, ran toward the city gate. The gate was open. No time to wonder why, only to press forward… time was short, the road ahead long and far.

Through the wide road and then along the winding narrow paths — time became impossible to measure — until at last they came to the foot of a mountain. Both stopped, catching breath, and looked up at the dark mass of forest above. Once they crossed this mountain, they would have left Hua Prefecture and entered Yun Prefecture, with its complex terrain. Pursuit would not be easy after that.

“That snow Bodhisattva is well-named — always this softhearted.” A bright, lively voice cut through the night wind and shattered their hope.

Both of them startled at once. They turned — from the dark trees, several figures slowly emerged.

“Dong Tao Ye — this prince has been waiting for you quite some time.” Huang Yu’s voice was easy, almost cheerful. But the eyes gleaming in the darkness were cold enough to make the marrow shiver.

“You are—” Dong Tao Ye watched that tall, composed figure standing calmly in the shadows. Every nerve went taut. His hand moved to the sword on his back.

“This prince is Prince Yun, Huang Yu,” Huang Yu answered courteously.

“Prince Yun Huang Yu?” Langhua involuntarily tightened her grip on Dong Tao Ye’s arm.

“Just so. And this must be the Langhua Princess.” Huang Yu turned to Langhua. “The Princess’s dancing was truly beautiful.”

“You… Your Highness, General Xiao promised…” Langhua said urgently.

“He promised. I made no such promise.” Huang Yu interrupted her, just as courteously as before. “The Princess may return to Li Fang Pavilion, or she may come with us to the capital — both are perfectly acceptable. She only needs to let go and step away.”

“No.” Langhua answered without a moment’s thought. She turned to look at Dong Tao Ye. In the darkness she could not see his face clearly, but she could see the bright gleam of those eyes. “I am with Elder Brother Dong.”

“Such a pairing… a hero and a beauty… truly admirable, and truly regrettable.” Huang Yu shook his head with genuine sorrow.

Dong Tao Ye drew his long sword and gently pushed Langhua to one side. “Wait for me.”

“Yes.” Langhua nodded.

Huang Yu fixed his gaze on Dong Tao Ye. “General Dong once single-handedly defeated three princes of the Hua Kingdom — a true hero. It has always been a regret of this prince’s that he never had the chance to match himself against you.” He drew his sword slowly. “If this prince falls tonight — bring General Dong back to the capital.” That last instruction was given to his attendants. To fight Dong Tao Ye alone was his tribute to a great general — and a reflection of his confidence in his own skill. But Dong Tao Ye was no ordinary man — it was said he had slaughtered the three princes of Hua Kingdom together with their forces several times his own in number. In case of the unexpected, he could not allow him to escape alive and cause further unrest — at which point the attendants could act without restraint, surrounding and killing him together.

“Yes.” And true to his word, those men stepped back.

*Boom! Boom! Boom!* Thunder rolled across the sky. The wind grew frantic, throwing sand and gravel, shaking the trees. The storm was almost upon them.

The two figures facing each other with drawn swords did not move. Sword tips rested quietly downward. Eyes fixed on the opponent without blinking. Huang Yu’s attendants stood at their distance with perfect composure. Langhua too stood calmly in the wind and watched.

The wind dropped suddenly. The thunder quieted. The two figures still had not moved. But a coiled, taut energy radiated from where they stood — touch it, and the mountains and earth would crack.

*Crack!* From deep in the mountain came a sudden, distinctly sharp sound of something breaking, and every still figure among them was jolted.

Dong Tao Ye — the calm forged in a life and death a hundred times over — put it to work in this instant. He seized the momentary flicker of distraction in Huang Yu’s attention, and he moved — not toward his opponent, but sharply backward. His long arm swept out, caught Langhua, and carried her into the dark forest.

The change was swift as lightning. By the time the others recovered, the space before them was empty.

Huang Yu looked at the empty air ahead and gave a laugh. “Well — this is rather interesting. Heh heh… it has been a long time since I have gone hunting. Come along, let us follow this prince into the hunt.” The words were barely out before he flashed into the forest. His attendants followed at speed.

The night was dark. The forest darker still. Essentially impossible to see. What dangers lay hidden within, one could not know — and yet Langhua felt not the slightest fear in this moment. She even felt a certain joy. She knew: the man who gripped her hand was a warrior — the kind who, in a fair fight, would rather die than retreat. And yet right now, for her, he had given up the fight. For her. For her, Bai Langhua! In the darkness, Langhua smiled with a happiness she had not felt in years. She closed her eyes, gripped Dong Tao Ye’s hand, and kept running forward. Even if a ten-thousand-foot abyss lay ahead, she was willing.

The wind rose again. Trees rustled and shifted. Occasionally a branch snapped.

From behind, the sound of wind being sliced — and somewhere in the distance, a sharp cry: “Huang Yu!”

Her feet stumbled and she lurched against Dong Tao Ye’s back.

“Langhua.” Urgency in his voice.

“Elder Brother… I twisted my ankle a little.” Langhua breathed in the darkness.

“I will carry you.”

“No… it’s nothing. Let us keep running.” Langhua steadied herself.

“Yes.” Dong Tao Ye gripped her slender hand and did his best to support her as they ran again. This was their only chance — this darkness, this deep mountain, this forest, this howling wind and thunder — all of it was covering their escape. If they could just get clear, they would live.

Her senses seemed to slowly loosen from her body. The only thing she knew was to grip those hands, to keep her feet moving. The space ahead was slowly lightening, and a faint, dim glow was becoming barely visible.

*Crash!* A sharp sound of a ceramic jar shattering rang out through the forest, followed immediately by a slightly forlorn voice: “How can this jar be so small!”

“Han Pu!” The moment Langhua heard that voice, strength returned to her whole body. “Han Pu!” She cried out. “Han Pu—” He would save them. That young man — he would save them. He would be like his sister.

“Han Pu! It is me, Langhua! Han Pu!”

The excited, desperate calls echoed and rang through the mountain forest, then quickly drowned in the wind and the thunder.

“Huang Yu!” From far behind, another call.

Langhua paid no attention. She ran and called out as she went: “Han Pu! Han Pu!”

“So noisy!” A lazy voice, and a figure swept in through the treetops — one arm cradling a jar of wine, one hand carrying a lantern that, no matter how the wind howled, would not flicker or go out.

“Han Pu!” To Langhua in this moment he was as welcome as a family member. She ran toward him, outpacing even Dong Tao Ye.

“Stop shouting. It sounds terrible.” Han Pu hung the lantern from a tree branch and leaped down. He frowned at Langhua.

The lantern was dim, but enough for the three to see each other clearly.

“Han Pu, save me!” Langhua’s face was chalk-white, but her eyes sparkled with a desperate joy.

“Langhua — you have been shot!” Dong Tao Ye’s voice trembled. The image was striking and harrowing: a long arrow in Langhua’s back, and her clothes soaked through with blood.

“I’ve finally caught up with you.” Huang Yu’s breathing was just slightly labored.

Han Pu looked at the bow in his hand, and his eyes ignited. He spoke through gritted teeth: “You dare wound someone my sister once protected!” His sword was already out. A blinding flash of sword-light split the darkness of the night, and the fierce, cold radiance drove straight toward Huang Yu without pause.

“Han Pu, stop!”

Xiao Xue Kong arrived just in time to see that devastating strike, and his heart almost stopped. He had no time to think — he flew forward and his sword came out fast, sweeping horizontally to intercept Han Pu’s blade.

*Clang!* Steel met steel in midair, producing a sharp and piercing ring that startled everyone present — and startled most the two whose blades had crossed. One was shocked that the child who had once only known how to cry “Sister, save me!” had grown to the point of meeting him blade to blade. The other was astonished to find that he — second-best in the world — could not dispatch his opponent in a single move.

Huang Yu, who had just barely escaped that blade, now came fully to his senses, and his anger rose. “Han Pu — do you know what you are doing?!”

“Hmm. I can see perfectly well that you are doing something wrong!” Han Pu snorted through his nose.

“Han Pu — stay out of this,” Xiao Xue Kong said.

“Hmm.” Han Pu snorted twice more. “I am absolutely going to interfere.”

“Han Pu, do not act without thinking about right and wrong,” Huang Yu said, his irritation increasing with every snort.

“Who says I am not thinking about right and wrong?” Han Pu rolled his eyes at Huang Yu. “First: this woman is someone my sister once cared for — on that basis alone, I cannot allow you to harm her! Second: you have eight men and they have two — to bully the outnumbered, that is your fault! Third: one of them is a slender, weak woman, and the other is a man not yet recovered from serious wounds — you are eight strong, capable, highly skilled men — to bully the vulnerable, that too is your fault! Am I wrong?”

“You—” Huang Yu’s eyes went red with fury.

“I’m right, you’re wrong!” Han Pu snorted two more times, not giving anyone a chance to reply. His sword swept up again, driving toward Huang Yu. “You two — go now!” That last instruction was for Langhua and Dong Tao Ye.

“He—” Dong Tao Ye was still concerned for Han Pu. “And your wound—”

“It’s fine.” Langhua cut him off, grabbed his hand, and ran. “The wound is not serious.”

“You cannot leave.” Xiao Xue Kong gave chase.

“You also cannot leave.” Han Pu’s sword veered from Huang Yu and turned on Xiao Xue Kong.

“Han Pu!” The warning was in Xiao Xue Kong’s voice now.

“No one is allowed to pursue them!” The wine jar Han Pu had cradled in his left arm all along suddenly flew into the air. His palm sent out inner force, and the wine scattered like a heavy rain on the six attendants who had rushed forward, each droplet hitting like a stone struck hard against the flesh. “Take one more step — and don’t blame me!” Five fingers drew together, and the wine jar shattered into four pieces, leaving six small shards of ceramic in his palm.

The six attendants stopped where they were.

“Han Pu — you push this further and don’t blame me for being less than civil!” Huang Yu was genuinely furious now.

Han Pu’s sword swung toward Huang Yu, then toward Xiao Xue Kong, each strike precise and fierce, not giving either of them the slightest opening — while both men held back, not willing to use full force, finding themselves trapped and at a disadvantage.

“You two — why aren’t you chasing them!” Xiao Xue Kong called out sharply in the midst of the exchange. The six attendants immediately gave chase — but a figure flickered, and Han Pu had abandoned the other two and planted himself in their path.

“Han Pu — this is not a game!” Even Xiao Xue Kong’s ice-cold eyes now blazed.

“I will not let you chase them. That is someone my sister once protected!” Han Pu’s voice was very calm.

A bolt of lightning split the sky above, and for a brief instant, Han Pu’s face was clearly illuminated.

*Boom!* A crack of thunder, as though striking simultaneously in every one of the eight people’s hearts. And then the rain that had threatened so long came crashing down all at once, drenching the eight who stood there, unable to move. But the falling water seemed to hit some invisible wall an inch from the young man’s body and fly outward in all directions.

*Sword energy.* The thought surfaced in all eight minds at the same moment. At his age, he had already cultivated sword energy!

The young man stood there quietly, sword raised in one hand, expression calm — only his eyes alive with a brilliant and undefeatable keenness.

How long they had run, how far they had come — it was impossible to know. Branches tore their clothes and scored their skin. Rain had long since soaked them to the bone. But none of it mattered anymore. The wound in her back seemed to have disappeared, the pain no longer felt. Her mind was growing hazy. But her feet kept moving, driven by some deep instinct to follow close behind Dong Tao Ye’s steps — held to the world only by those hands gripping hers.

Ahead, there was finally a trace of light. Was it dawn? Or had they broken through the forest?

“Langhua — we have made it through.”

Had they? How wonderful. The strength went out of her legs, and she could no longer hold herself up.

“Langhua!” Dong Tao Ye caught her in an urgent rush.

“Elder Brother — I… I can only go this far…” Langhua’s voice was so low it was almost swallowed by the wind and rain.

“I will carry you.” Dong Tao Ye dropped down and scooped her up, and walked on.

“No…” Langhua pushed at him with a hand that had gone soft. “Elder Brother… you go… your Emperor is at Qianbi Mountain… don’t worry — they… they haven’t harmed him…”

“Langhua.” Dong Tao Ye’s voice was as steady and strong as ever in the storm. “Whether in life or in death — I will not let go of you. I said so tonight — for the rest of my life I will protect you and cherish you and never leave you.”

“Heh heh…” Langhua laughed softly, then caught her breath. Dong Tao Ye stopped at once, looked around quickly, and found a boulder ahead in the dimness. He carried her to it — but the stone offered no cover, and the rain still fell without mercy.

Langhua pushed out of his arms and stood, leaning against the rock, and Dong Tao Ye held her in his arms and curved himself over her, trying to shield her from as much rain as he could.

Langhua took hold of his hand and said slowly: “Now, at this moment, I finally understand.” A flash of lightning — and on that pale face was a weary, self-mocking smile. “Whether a famous general or a famous knight-errant — I, Bai Langhua… have never had that kind of ability… I was only ever meant to be sheltered and tended to in a carved railing and jade chambers… and I refused to accept it… if… if only…”

“Langhua — you do not need to be any famous general or famous knight-errant. You have me to protect you. You only need to be yourself — a flower, the most beautiful and most perfect jade-grass flower.”

Dong Tao Ye clenched his jaw, holding her carefully, not daring to touch the arrow still in her back — yet his whole body was shaking, as though the cold of the rain were too much to bear.

In the darkness, those dimming almond eyes flickered back to a faint light, and though she could not make out his features, she could see his expression clearly — bright and resolute and entirely focused on her.

“So… this is the ending for me, Bai Langhua.” A quiet sigh, and yet it held a gentle contentment. “Yes… I like this… compared to… an uncertain future… I prefer this ending… at least right now I am very certain…” Her head tilted slightly. Those large hands, warm even in the driving rain, were wrapped carefully around her. Was the painting he had treated as more precious than his own life finally discarded? It must be covered in mud now. A bloom of joy rose in her chest. “Elder Brother… am I now the most important person in your heart?”

“Langhua — not only now, but always, right up until the moment I die, you will be the most important person to me.” Dong Tao Ye held Langhua in his arms, held her tight, the ache in his chest and eyes becoming too much to contain. Tears — scalding hot — spilled one by one from those tiger eyes, falling onto Langhua’s face, their warmth seeping slowly to her heart.

“Is that so… I am happy… dying happily…” Langhua smiled with contentment. She finally had this person.

“Langhua — you must not die. Do not leave me. I will cherish you, I will treasure you beyond all else in this world. Langhua… there is only you and me in this world… only you and me…” Something blocked Dong Tao Ye’s throat. Every breath he took was a tearing pain.

“Elder Brother…” Langhua forced her eyes open, straining to see the person before her. “I am very happy… truly very happy… though I… did not have Hua Chunran’s beauty that could topple kingdoms… did not have Feng Xiyun’s unparalleled brilliance… but I… I have you… I have you who values me above all… that alone… I have not lost to them… I am happy… Elder Brother…”

“Langhua… Langhua… it is my fault… if not for me, you would not have…” Dong Tao Ye felt as though a thousand blades were twisting through his chest, a pain beyond endurance — yet he could only hold her helplessly, this person in his arms. In this moment, he pleaded with heaven to open its eyes. In this moment, he would have made a bargain with the devil! Do not take away the only warmth he had found in this life. Do not take away this precious life cradled in his arms. She is so good and so beautiful — how can you bear it, heaven?

“Elder Brother, don’t grieve.” Langhua seemed to gather a sudden strength. She reached out and gripped the front of Dong Tao Ye’s robe tightly — as though gripping that burning heart that now belonged entirely to her. “Right now is the happiest time of my life — even happier than when… than when Feng Wang granted the match back then… all these years I have been in hell… it was Elder Brother… Elder Brother who came to take me away… who came to save me… I am so happy…”

“Yes.” Dong Tao Ye bowed his head over the person in his arms, tears and rain flowing together. “I came to take you away. We will go… to a place where the skies are high and the world is vast…”

“Yes.” Langhua nestled against him, and then gave a sudden shiver. “Cold… Elder Brother… I am cold… hold me close…” Her eyelids began to sink.

“Langhua… you are not cold… I am holding you… you will not be cold… I am taking you to a place where the skies are high and the world is vast, where it is warm in every season… Langhua…” Dong Tao Ye held her as tightly as if he would press her into his own blood and bone.

“Yes… not cold anymore.” Langhua’s brow relaxed, the corners of her lips lifted — a smile as pure and beautiful as the jade-grass flower itself. “Tao Ye, we should have met sooner. I am a princess… you are a general… we are a hero and a beauty… we should also have been a great and timeless love story… Tao Ye, in the next life, let us meet early…”

*Boom!* A massive crack of thunder above, and fury rolled through the sky. The rain came harder and faster — a torrent that swept over heaven and earth. Mud and dust splashed up. The world was swallowed in a misty blur.

Beneath the mountain stone, Dong Tao Ye slowly raised his head.

In this moment, the world was at its most still. He heard clearly — over and over, again and again — Langhua’s voice saying in his ear: *We are a hero and a beauty. We are a timeless love story…*

And the world was at its most brilliant. He saw clearly — Langhua’s beautiful face, the snow-white robe, the snow-white skin, the dark brows, the vivid lips, with a sweet smile at their corner, as though lit from within, dazzling.

“Langhua — you are the most beautiful and finest person in this world. Neither Hua Chunran nor Feng Xiyun surpasses you.” Dong Tao Ye bent his head slowly, and his cold lips pressed against that snow-cold, snow-white brow. “Langhua — you are the most pure and most noble jade-grass flower from heaven. How could this filthy and turbulent mortal world be worthy of keeping you?”

He stood, gathered Langhua into his arms, and walked forward, step by halting step, through the howling storm.

“Langhua — I am taking you away. The Jade Terrace of Heaven and its pool is your true home.”