“Black fox, what are you doing sitting here? Pu’er, go back to your room and bathe, then ask Elder Brother Yan to cook you something to eat, and after eating, go to sleep!”

When the sun dipped westward at dusk, Fengxi and Han Pu, who had been playing all day, finally returned home. The moment they stepped through the gate, they saw Feng Xi sitting in the garden, toying with something in his hand that glimmered with seven-colored radiance beneath the evening glow.

“Sister, are you going out again later? Can I go with you?” Han Pu glanced at Feng Xi, then turned his gaze back to Fengxi.

“No! Go back to your room.” Fengxi refused outright, waving him off.

Han Pu had no choice but to pout and trudge away.

“Did you have fun?” Feng Xi glanced at her, then continued toying with the object in his hand.

“I nearly walked my legs off! Goodness, that little rascal has even more energy than I do!” Fengxi walked closer to him and looked at what he held. The moment she saw it, she could not help but exclaim, “I’ve known you for ten years, and I have never once seen you holding something like this — something a woman would use! Pearl hairpins! Are you planning to give them to the Phoenix Beauty or the Hua Beauty? Since you haven’t given them away yet, why not give them to me first? I’m about to head out in a little while — let me take these pearl hairpins and trade them for a couple jars of good wine!”

Feng Xi raised his head and looked at her. Though it was nearly the fourth month and the weather was quite warm, his gaze carried the coldness of ice, causing Fengxi to involuntarily feel a sudden chill run through her.

“You don’t seem this petty usually. If you don’t want to give them, then fine, don’t give them…”

Before she could finish her words, a brilliant flash of light suddenly appeared before her eyes. She immediately swung both hands in a blur, conjuring a thousand overlapping shadows of her palms in an instant.

“Black fox, what’s gotten into you today? You’re being so strange and contrary!”

Fengxi looked at the pearls in both her hands, then looked at Feng Xi, who was now seated composedly in his chair, leisurely elegant as though he had just finished a cup of fragrant tea. She could hardly believe that this man had just attacked her with pearls — yet there they unmistakably were, filling her hands.

“Didn’t you want to trade for wine? This way you can get even more.” Feng Xi said as he elegantly rose to his feet.

“That’s true! I’m going to bathe first then!” Fengxi broke into a brilliant smile, too lazy to dwell on his slightly odd behavior today, and turned to run back to her room.

“My, what a woman exists in this world!” Feng Xi shook his head and sighed as he watched her retreating figure.

“When the spring breeze stirs softly, the willows full of tender feeling, I come treading upon the flowers, only to hold my elder brother’s hand…”

Night had fallen, the stars and moon faint and pale. Fengxi darted across the rooftops, cradling two jars of wine in her arms, humming that merry little tune, thinking of the person she was about to meet. The corners of her mouth curved upward involuntarily — then suddenly, a dark shadow flashed before her, and someone blocked her path.

“Huang Chao?” She looked up at the newcomer, genuinely startled.

“It is I.” Clad in a purple robe, Huang Chao resembled a sovereign of the dark night.

Fengxi looked at him, her eyes rolling briefly, then she tilted her head and asked with a smile, “You came looking for me?”

“Yes.” Huang Chao stood with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Then may I ask what brings you here?” Fengxi set the wine jars she was carrying down on the rooftop and sat down.

Huang Chao stepped closer. He looked at her in the night, studying her clearly from head to toe, then spoke with perfect clarity: “I came to ask you one more time, before you leave for Tianzhi Mountain — will you marry me?”

“Heh…” Fengxi let out a soft laugh at his words.

“Fengxi, I am very serious!” Huang Chao crouched down before her, his eyes shining brighter than the stars above, and carrying the blazing heat of a noonday sun.

Fengxi restrained her laughter at his words. Her gaze fell upon that incomparably handsome face in the moonlight. The solemn expression he wore made it plain that he could not have been more earnest at this moment.

“Since you are serious, then let me ask you something seriously in return: if I were to marry you as your wife, you must take no other woman — for all your life, only me. Are you willing to do that?”

Huang Chao heard her words and was silent for a long moment.

“Ha… you don’t need to answer. I know you could never manage it.” Fengxi said with a light laugh, patting Huang Chao on the shoulder as she rose to her feet. “And right before our very eyes is another woman you are doing everything in your power to marry!”

“Fengxi, no matter how many women I take, you will always be the most exceptional one!” Huang Chao stood and draped his arm around her shoulders.

Fengxi raised her hand and brushed away his arm. Her gaze drifted into the distance. “Huang Chao, Bai Fengxi and you are people of different worlds. Whether you like it or not, you can possess many women — but I am different. I only wish to possess one person I cherish, and one who cherishes only me.”

“Fengxi, perhaps I will take many women, but my principal consort — even when I one day become Emperor — my Empress will undoubtedly be you.” Huang Chao extended his hand and clasped Fengxi’s. “Be my Empress. I, Huang Chao, can swear to the heavens: in this life, I will love you until we are old.”

“I believe you mean what you say. It’s just…” Fengxi smiled faintly. “My husband must have only me as his wife. His heart and his body must belong solely to me.”

Upon hearing this, Huang Chao pressed his lips together tightly. He gazed at her for a long while, then exhaled a faint sigh. He turned to look out at the boundless dark night, his tone desolate: “For the sake of the realm, I must take Hua Chunran as my wife. It is one of the means by which I will attain the realm.”

“Ah, there it is again — the realm.” Fengxi sighed. “Huang Chao, ever since we first met in Nan Guo, I have always regarded you as a hero. And heroes disdain resorting to such means.”

“I am no hero, Fengxi. You have misjudged me.” Huang Chao turned sharply, his gaze sharp as lightning. The expression on his face was calm yet carried a certain coldness. “Fengxi, I am no hero. I am a sovereign!”

Fengxi heard his words and looked directly into his gaze. Her heart gave an involuntary lurch. She was silent for a long moment.

“To be a hero, one must possess unrivaled martial prowess capable of standing alone against ten thousand. One must possess the magnanimous spirit to speak of life and death with a laugh, and the open, upright bearing of a noble character. A hero battles one person, battles a hundred, battles ten thousand… and remains undefeated — a living legend! Bright as the stars, luminous as the moon, a god whom all the world looks up to in reverence!” Huang Chao pointed skyward. On the dark canopy above hung a crescent moon, and scattered pinpoints of stars.

“And I choose to be a sovereign! A sovereign weighs and balances, schemes and plans, makes choices and decisions, exercises authority over thousands upon thousands, over the entire world! I wish to be a sovereign! I wish to seize this realm with my own two hands! To hold the realm requires power — the most formidable power this world has to offer! So I must accumulate power, through every means and every avenue, amass the power I need, and become the one and only, unparalleled sovereign under heaven and earth!” Huang Chao stretched out his arms wide, opening his embrace as though to enfold all of heaven and earth. The expression on his face was solemn and austere, carrying a kind of absolute, unrelenting resolve!

The pale glow of the stars and moon fell upon his face. From Fengxi’s vantage point, he stood half in light and half in darkness. At this moment, the aura of this man seemed capable of swallowing all of heaven and earth — as though he were a giant striding between sky and ground, too towering to look up at. He would seize this realm, wouldn’t he? And yet… her heart sank without cause, as though in this instant she had lost something very precious — something that was always destined to be lost.

She suppressed the faint bitterness in her chest and turned away, looking out at the great dark expanse of land below her feet. A chill seemed to rise from within, and she involuntarily wrapped her arms around herself. In truth, those with ambition in this chaotic age ought to be exactly this way — scheming without regard for the means, in order to achieve dominion. He was like this, and so was he, and so was everyone. Was there anyone in this world who did things without seeking something in return? Anyone who did things purely out of a desire to do them, without calculating and maneuvering from the depths of their heart?

“Compared to the realm, I am not worth mentioning.” Fengxi picked up the wine jars from the ground. “The supremacy of status and power — in the hearts of men like you, these things surpass everything else.”

“Fengxi, is your refusal truly only because I would take many wives — or is it because there is already someone in your heart?” Huang Chao watched Fengxi, who was about to leave, and finally blurted out the words he had been wanting to ask for so long.

Fengxi heard this and glanced down at the wine jar in her hands. The night wind stirred her long hair, veiling her eyes. A faint, fleeting smile touched the corners of her lips — yet it carried something bewildered, something helpless, even a thread of sorrow.

“Someone in my heart — perhaps there is, perhaps there is not. And yet… regardless of whether there is someone in my heart, regardless of whether it is as a princess consort or an empress, I will not marry you. Because…”

Huang Chao showed no anger at her words — he merely raised an eyebrow, gesturing for her to continue.

“Because you are only a friend.” Fengxi looked into Huang Chao’s eyes and said it plainly. Yes — as an enemy, this man was too formidable. As a lover, the heart and body would be exhausted. Only as a friend — a friend at a careful distance — was it best.

Huang Chao heard this and broke into a smile. He reached out and gently draped his arm around Fengxi’s shoulder. This time, Fengxi did not push him away. “From the day I was born until today, I have never encountered any setback. You are the first.”

Fengxi looked at his composed expression and broke into a bright smile. “Perhaps very soon you will taste defeat once more at the hands of another woman.”

“That is of no great importance. If I were to be utterly defeated by only two women, then what purpose did Heaven have in creating me, Huang Chao!” Huang Chao released Fengxi and resumed the bearing of his august and proud self as heir to the imperial throne.

“So for you, the realm is the only thing that truly matters!” Fengxi stepped back and turned to leave.

“The person who wins your hand will surely be the most fortunate person in this world. But to be your friend is also a great stroke of luck.” Huang Chao said slowly, watching her retreating figure.

“And yet friends who remain friends for a lifetime are very rare.”

Fengxi’s figure had already vanished, but her words carried far on the air, leaving Huang Chao alone on the rooftop to quietly savor that final line of hers.

Tianzhi Mountain. Lofty Mountain Peak. Flowing Stream Pavilion.

At the summit of Lofty Mountain Peak, encircled by emerald cypresses and green pines, a stone pavilion had been built near the cliff face on the western side. The pavilion was constructed entirely from the great rocks of the mountain — simple and unadorned, yet grand in its air.

Lofty Mountain Peak and Flowing Stream Pavilion carried with them a moving tale.

Long ago, there was a musician who excelled in playing the qin. But the emperor of that time favored the se above all else, and so throughout the entire kingdom, mastery of the se became a mark of honor, while all other instruments fell into disuse.

And so this musician, who knew only the qin, possessed an unrivaled mastery of his instrument — yet found no one to appreciate it. Worse still, when he played, he would be met with insults and abuse, for people believed he showed disrespect to the emperor. Thus the qin player no longer played before others. Instead, he took his qin up to the summit of Tianzhi Mountain and played for the towering peaks and secluded valleys, for the white clouds and the clear wind.

One day, as he sat playing his qin on that mountain peak, he suddenly heard the sound of applause from behind him.

The qin player was greatly astonished. He turned to look, and saw a figure walking toward him while singing:

The mountain lord holds the Green Silk qin, climbing westward to the peak of Tianzhi. In leisure he brushes the strings with one hand, and one hears the ten thousand pines of a gorge. Worldly cares are washed away by flowing water, the lingering echoes enter the frost-covered bells. Unaware, the emerald mountain grows dim, how many layers of autumn clouds now darken the sky. (Adapted from Li Bai)

The qin player and this man became the closest of confidants, and from then on the qin player played only for this person to hear. The qin player was named Gao Shan — Lofty Mountain — and the one who listened was named Liu Shui — Flowing Stream.

Later, the emperor passed away, and a new emperor ascended the throne.

This new emperor was not like his father, who had loved only the se. He was accomplished in music and appreciated fine sounds from all manner of instruments, and so music of every kind flourished once more among the people.

The new emperor also heard of Gao Shan’s exceptional artistry on the qin, and issued an imperial decree inviting Gao Shan to enter the palace to play. But Gao Shan refused. He said that as long as he lived, he would play only for Liu Shui to hear — for no matter when and no matter where, only Liu Shui was his true kindred spirit.

The officials who came to deliver the decree were outraged that he dared refuse the emperor. They seized him and escorted him to the imperial capital. But once at the palace, Gao Shan still would not play for the emperor — for along the road, he had broken the bones of his own hands. He would never be able to play the qin again in this lifetime.

Even the emperor was moved by his fierce resolve, and released him, bestowing upon him some jewels and treasures as a gift.

But Gao Shan wanted none of it. He simply returned home alone.

When he reached his home, he discovered that Liu Shui, after Gao Shan had been taken to the imperial capital, had pierced both of his own ears. He would never hear any sound again for the rest of his life.

When Gao Shan and Liu Shui learned of each other’s circumstances, they simply looked at one another and smiled. Then the two of them carried their qin up Tianzhi Mountain — and never came back down. Some said they had leapt from the cliffs and died. Some said they had gone to live in seclusion in the valleys of Tianzhi Mountain. Some said the Heavenly Emperor had sent celestial beings to bring them up to the heavenly court… All manner of legends passed down through the ages, but people generally preferred to believe the last.

Later, those who admired them named the peak where Gao Shan had played his qin “Lofty Mountain Peak,” and built this stone pavilion at its summit, naming it “Flowing Stream Pavilion” — in memory of the friendship the two had shared.

The wind swept across the summit of Lofty Mountain Peak, setting robes and sleeves billowing. A bright, full moon hung directly overhead, pouring down its clear radiance like a thin gauze veil, draping gently over the high peak, softly encircling Flowing Stream Pavilion. And drifting with the wind at this very moment were the sounds of a refined and transcendent qin melody — dancing with the moonlight, soaring on the breeze — clear and quiet, elegant and serene, at ease and heartwarming. Coupled with the two figures in the pavilion, dressed in white robes like snow, their bearing like immortals, everything felt like a dream, like an illusion — as though one had been transported to a realm of celestial beings, and the tale of Lofty Mountain and Flowing Stream had come to life once more.

“This melody floats with a quality that seems untouched by the mortal world. Listening to it, I feel as though I have already ascended to the jade-green mountains, gathering flowers for my meals, drawing sweet spring water to drink, plucking celestial fruit to frolic with sacred deer, and treading across drifting evening clouds to play with azure maidens.”

When the qin music ceased, Fengxi opened her eyes and looked at Yu Wuyuan before her, exhaling a leisurely sigh. In all the world, only this person could play a melody so removed from the mundane.

“Lofty Mountain and Flowing Stream… the music of the Lofty Mountain can indeed only be understood by the Flowing Stream.” Yu Wuyuan raised his head and fixed his gaze on Fengxi. The woman before him possessed a heart as exquisitely clear and translucent as crystal — forever so unrestrained and natural, a singular and distinctive sight wherever she went, bringing ease and delight to all who beheld her.

Fengxi heard his words and smiled faintly. Lofty Mountain and Flowing Stream — could they be that?

“What is this piece of music called?”

“It has no name.” Yu Wuyuan raised his head to look at the bright moon in the sky. “This piece is nothing more than what I felt at this moment. I simply played what was in my heart.”

“No name? Ha… your qin has no name, and now I learn that the tunes you play have no names either.” Fengxi reached across and touched the qin — an utterly ordinary instrument. She idly plucked a string, drawing out a clear, ethereal tone. “And yet what is played from the heart is no common melody. No wonder everyone hails you as the foremost gentleman under heaven!”

“On this clear night, free of dust, the moonlight glitters like silver. When wine is poured, it must fill the cup to the brim. For fleeting fame and transient gain, one needlessly wearies the spirit. Alas — like a steed glimpsed through a crack, like a spark struck from stone, like a figure in a dream.” Yu Wuyuan lifted the wine jar and filled the stone cup on the table.

“Though one may hold learning and talent within, who truly grows close when one speaks? Better to be merry and content, giving full rein to one’s natural spirit. When at last may one return, to become a person of leisure — with one qin, one jug of wine, one stream of clouds?” Fengxi took up the cup and fixed her gaze on him, completing the verse with a smile.

“When at last may one return… return… Fengxi, I truly must return now.” Yu Wuyuan suddenly murmured softly. His eyes shifted toward the cliff face of ten thousand feet that lay outside the pavilion.

“Return?” Fengxi heard this and fixed her eyes on him. Her heart gave a sudden, inexplicable lurch. The cup in her hand trembled slightly, and she set it down on the stone table.

“Yes, I must return.” Yu Wuyuan continued to look at the sheer cliff face without turning his head.

“Is that so? Then tonight is farewell?” Fengxi suddenly smiled. “Where are you going? When do you leave? Will you… will there be someone to accompany you?”

Yu Wuyuan turned his head. His gaze settled on her face — veiled and indistinct, carrying a certain deep inscrutability. Yet his voice was perfectly clear. “With no one. Alone. Perhaps very soon. Perhaps after some days.”

“Alone, is it?” Fengxi was still smiling — a brilliant, radiant smile. Then her hand gave a sudden push, sliding the qin back to his side of the table. “But not truly alone, surely — at the very least, you must take this qin along. No matter where Lofty Mountain goes, whether or not there is a Flowing Stream to listen, he at least always has the qin!”

“Fengxi.” Yu Wuyuan suddenly clasped her hand. His gaze was deep and inscrutable as he looked at her — and carried within it a kind of inexplicable grief. “I am not Lofty Mountain. I have never been Lofty Mountain…”

He stopped abruptly at those words, as though something had lodged in his throat, and he could speak no further.

Fengxi looked at him. Her eyes held a faint, fragile glimmer of hope as she watched him, waiting for him to speak, waiting for him to say…

“I am only Yu Wuyuan.” Yu Wuyuan said softly. Saying those words seemed to exhaust the very last of his strength. In that instant, he looked utterly weary and drained.

“I know.” Fengxi gently withdrew her hand from his. In that instant, her hands and feet went ice-cold, as though she had been plunged into a frozen cave.

“Through storms across a thousand mountains, jade walks alone. The whole world, moved to longing, laments — no fate, no bond.” Yu Wuyuan recited softly. He looked at the emptiness of his own palm. A faint, bitter smile rose on that face which always wore an expression of calm and unhurried ease. “How fitting these words are. Whoever composed these two lines — did they not see through the entirety of my, Yu Wuyuan’s, life?”

“The whole world laments ‘no fate, no bond,’ is that it?” Fengxi gave a smile — but this time it was a smile so bitter she could not conceal it no matter how she tried. No fate, no bond… no fate, no bond indeed!

“It is not the whole world that laments — it is I who laments!” Yu Wuyuan looked at her, and in his eyes something was on the verge of spilling over — but he turned his head away, letting it pour out into the fathomless, bottomless abyss of the valley below.

“Whether it is the world that laments or not, it is still no fate, no bond.” Fengxi rose to her feet. “Only — if there is fate, and yet it is still treated as though there is none, then that is both laughable and pitiable.”

“You invited me here to listen to your qin. Then let me offer you a song in return.”

With those words, she touched the tip of her foot lightly to the ground outside the pavilion, landing on an open space of about one square zhang. She reached out her hand, and a white silk ribbon slid from her sleeve.

“The jade grass of emerald green, spring enters the stream of Wuling. Along the stream, peach blossoms beyond number, upon the branches, the yellow oriole. I wish to thread through the blossoms and find a path, to enter straight into the depths of the white clouds, and let my noble spirit unfurl like a rainbow. Only I fear that deep within the flowers, the red dew will dampen my robes.”

She parted her lips and sang. Her voice was clear and soaring, piercing the clouds. Her figure moved with the song and the dance — graceful as a startled swan, agile as a gliding dragon. The white silk ribbon tumbled and twirled through the air. Her robes and skirts billowed in the night wind, like a heavenly maiden in celestial flight.

“Seated upon jade stone, leaning on a jade pillow, I brush the gold-adorned strings. The banished immortal — where is she now? None to keep me company with the white conch cup. I am the sacred lingzhi mushroom and the immortal herb, not for crimson lips and rouged cheeks. Then what is the use of this long, drawn-out cry? I shall dance my way down the mountain in drunken revelry, and let the bright moon follow me home.”

At the final line, the white silk ribbon shot directly outward, binding itself around the trunk of a tall tree. Then her body swung upon it — light as a feather, like swinging on a swing — she swept past in a great arc and vanished from sight in the blink of an eye.

After Fengxi had gone, in the stone pavilion, Yu Wuyuan reached out his hand toward the qin. The desolation in his heart poured forth and took flight, mingling with the notes of the qin as he lifted his head and sang aloud:

“Vast and boundless is the heavens above, the moon luminous and bright; the mortal world stretches on and on, and shadows are all in vain. I wish to ascend into the clouds and seek the moon goddess there, and build a ladder to the sky so I might reach up and take the bright moon. Three thousand and six thousand attempts — all without success; in darkness and desolation I cup my tears, and they become cold water. Cold water like a mirror reflects the blossoms and the moon; the blossoms are full and the moon draws near, and I am lost in bliss. Alas, alas… Heaven sends down a shard of cold ice to shatter my moon; the earth cleaves with an eastern wind to strip away my blossoms. Alas, alas… I pour out all of the cold water to receive the moon from the sky; but the mirror’s blossoms and the moon are an illusion — and longing drifts away, empty and distant. The mirror’s blossoms and the moon are an illusion — and longing drifts away, empty and distant… empty and distant…”

The song was sorrowful and bleak, its wistfulness and regret laid utterly bare.

Deep within the trees, Fengxi sat hugging her knees, listening to the song carried on the qin from the mountaintop. She murmured softly: “I pour out all of the cold water to receive the moon from the sky, but the mirror’s blossoms and the moon are an illusion — longing drifts away, empty and distant… Yu Wuyuan… you… you… you…”

She repeated “you” for a long time, but in the end swallowed the words back. She only sighed, picked up the white silk ribbon from the ground and tucked it back into her sleeve, then set off walking down the mountain.

At the mountain summit, Yu Wuyuan stepped out of the stone pavilion and raised his head to gaze at the moon in the sky — still as brilliant and pure as ever, that moon which knew nothing of mortal resentment and sorrow. Why did it always insist on being fullest at the time of parting?

He closed his eyes. He did not wish for even the moon to peer in upon all of this.

In the end, he had released it — the one and only person in this life he had ever been moved to want to hold onto. He had released it after all.

Did you think I chose the sacred lingzhi mushroom and the immortal herb over crimson lips and a rouged face? In truth, I would gladly trade the lingzhi mushroom and the immortal herb for a banished immortal to share the white conch cup with me. Only…

Fengxi, I am sorry. I have let you down.

If a person is given a next life, then let this melody between us serve as our pledge — though a thousand turnings and a hundred twists may come, though seas may dry and mulberry fields turn to oceans, we will meet again.

Today was the day the Hua King was holding his banquet, yet Fengxi felt too listless to go. What was the point in going, anyway — only to witness the Hua Princess point out her husband-to-be with a golden brush? What business was that of hers? To eat and drink her fill? These past days she had eaten more than enough at the Luohua Palace!

Early in the morning, Feng Xi had already entered the palace to attend the banquet. Watching his retreating figure, Fengxi could not help but laugh with a mocking edge — yet without cause, a wave of bitter sourness rose in her chest. She drew a deep breath, shook her head, and cast that bitterness aside. She dragged a long chair out into the courtyard, basked in the sunlight, and dozed in a drowsy half-sleep. What a comfortable, carefree day this was. What bitterness was there? Why should there be any bitterness?

Perhaps she knew — she simply refused to admit it, refused to think it through.

Before him lay mountain delicacies and seafood, and the finest wine. Seated above was the ruler of Hua Guo, and below were formidable rivals — Huang Chao, Yu Wuyuan — alongside the peerless and beautiful Princess Chunran. In the great hall, maidens like flowers danced with graceful steps and sang in melodious voices. By any measure, one ought to be fully alert and take the occasion seriously. Especially since today was the important day that would determine the Hua Princess’s bridegroom — how could one afford to be so inattentive and distracted?

And yet from the moment he entered the hall, Feng Xi’s thoughts had been somewhat scattered. His brow creased and smoothed by turns, as though he were troubled by some difficult problem he did not know how to resolve.

“Young Master Feng, Young Master Feng!”

He heard someone calling to him in a low, gentle voice. He came sharply back to his senses. Standing before his table was Hua Chunran, gazing at him with her beautiful eyes, full of puzzlement.

Indeed — the banquet was more than halfway through, and the princess was now about to point out her bridegroom. The hand hidden in her sleeve must surely be clasped around a golden brush. She had already come to stand before his table. That golden brush was about to be pointed at him…

He saw her dressed in a pink palace robe, her hair pinned up in a soaring-swan style, a golden phoenix hairpin fitted perfectly in place within her coiffure, lending her an air of noble and graceful elegance. Her moth-like brows were lightly arched, her cherry lips delicately tinted. That face of jade-white complexion, as pure as snow, flushed with a soft rosy bloom as her gaze fell on him — a beauty of the highest order, unmatched in the world, a woman of rare and dazzling loveliness…

And yet his heart suddenly became clear: she was not her. Not her!

Feng Xi abruptly rose to his feet. Perhaps because he rose too quickly, the table was struck with a resounding “bang!” Every gaze in the hall swung toward him — the Hua King’s gaze, tinged with a slight contempt; Huang Chao’s gaze, sharp as a drawn blade; Yu Wuyuan’s gaze, calm and undisturbed as still water; the questioning gazes of Ming Yue Shan and the others…

“Young Master Feng!” Hua Chunran saw him rise abruptly and assumed he had already understood that she was about to point the golden brush at him — that he was simply overwhelmed with excitement. Thinking of what was about to happen… the slender hand gripping the brush in her sleeve gave an involuntary, slight tremble. It was him… it was going to be him… Her eyes grew soft as water, gently settling on him. Her arm began to rise. The silk of her sleeve slid down. The tips of her fingers, like jade shoots, peeked out at their edges, holding a gleam of gold between them — that was…

“Your Majesty, Xi has suddenly recalled an urgent matter and must take his leave first. I ask Your Majesty’s pardon.” Feng Xi gave a bow toward the throne, and without waiting for anyone’s reply, ignoring the uproar of those behind him, and paying no heed to the stunned expression on Hua Chunran’s face, he strode in great steps out of the golden hall. He had to leave quickly — before he had cause to regret it.

In the great hall, not only was the Hua King furious, but even Huang Chao was utterly perplexed. He had not missed the Hua Princess’s expression and movements just now — the position of bridegroom had plainly been within Feng Xi’s grasp. Why, then, had he rushed away so hastily? He turned to look at Yu Wuyuan. Only Yu Wuyuan remained composed and serene as always — as if this were the most natural thing in the world. Yet a flicker of a sigh and a loss passed through his eyes. In that fleeting instant, it was as though Huang Chao understood something.

“Ha ha! Now that Young Master Feng Xi has left early on business, we must not let his share of the fine wine go to waste, everyone! You must drink it in his stead — come, let us raise our cups!” The Hua King lifted his golden cup high and laughed.

“Thank you, Your Majesty! Cheers!” Everyone raised their cups in unison, each harboring their own thoughts.

Hua Chunran lifted the jade cup from Feng Xi’s table. The moment she tilted her head back and drained it in one breath, a thread of bitterness and a trace of salt entered her throat at once. She set down the cup. A single clear tear dropped into it — as if one could still hear the faint, hollow echo resonating from within the cup. She bit down on her lip, holding back the grief that was about to overflow. She tightened her grip on the golden brush in her hand. She had calculated everything — everything — and yet she had failed to account for the possibility that he might simply be unwilling. She had been too confident, too proud. She had believed that by virtue of the noble rank of the Hua Princess, by virtue of this face capable of toppling kingdoms, every man under heaven ought to be captivated and brought to his knees. It turned out there were exceptions — there were those who could not be moved by power, riches, or beauty. But I am the First Princess of Hua Guo. I cannot lose my composure here. I cannot admit defeat here.

The instant she raised her head, she was the dazzlingly beautiful, nobly graceful, composed and elegant First Princess of Hua Guo, Chunran. A gentle, soft smile bloomed on that flawless jade-like face. She moved forward with gliding steps, making her way gracefully toward Huang Chao — that august and proud heir to the imperial throne of Huang Guo. She gripped the golden brush tight in her sleeve, as though afraid it might suddenly slip free from her fingers.

“Bang!”

Fengxi, who had been lying in the courtyard basking in the warm sunlight and drifting into a drowsy stupor, was suddenly startled awake. She could not help but open her eyes and sit up. She saw Feng Xi standing in the doorway, staring fixedly at her. His expression showed what looked like extreme vexation.

“Oh? You’re back so soon? What happened — has the Hua King already chosen you as his son-in-law? Though given the feelings the Hua Beauty has for you, that goes without saying — a natural and smooth turn of events from the very start!” Fengxi lay back down on the long chair and teased him lazily.

Feng Xi said nothing in reply. He walked into the courtyard, stood before the chair, and fixed his gaze on her without uttering a single word.

Fengxi found this strange, and propped herself up, asking with puzzlement: “Are you angry? Did your proposal fail?”

“Hmph! I will not be marrying Princess Chunran!” Feng Xi let out a cold scoff. Then he extended his hand and gave Fengxi a sudden shove from the chair. Fengxi was unprepared for this move, and tumbled straight to the ground.

“Oh? Really?” Fengxi showed no irritation at all. She simply sat on the ground and looked up at Feng Xi. Once she had confirmed it from the expression on his face, the corners of her mouth could not help but curl upward. A gleam of delighted laughter was just beginning to form — then the thought shifted in her mind, and that delighted laughter transformed into a mocking, raucous laugh. “Ha ha ha! Black fox, don’t tell me the Hua King simply wasn’t fond of having a mere wandering commoner of the jianghu as his son-in-law, and preferred instead the heir to the imperial throne of Huang Guo — Huang Chao — the one with a mighty nation at his back and two hundred thousand elite troops? So you’ve come slinking back with your tail between your legs? Ha ha ha… I’m laughing myself to death! So there really are things in this world that even you can’t manage!”

While she laughed, she got up from the ground. When she caught sight of Feng Xi’s darkened expression, not only did she not restrain her laughter — she laughed even more wildly. “Ha ha… black fox, you failed in your proposal and now you’re this furious — it’s really quite unbefitting of your standing as a distinguished young gentleman of the martial world. Tsk tsk, where did all that refined composure and magnanimous bearing of yours go?”

And Feng Xi, watching her laugh without restraint, had long since let the composed smile vanish entirely from his face. He fixed his eyes on her, as though they might shoot sparks at any moment.

“Ha ha ha…” Fengxi laughed all the more merrily at the sight of him, and leaned in closer. Her eyes darted a glance toward his chest, and she deliberately lowered her voice. “Black fox, actually — so long as you were willing to bring out a certain something, the Hua King would certainly have agreed to take you as his son-in-law at once. Why didn’t you bring it out? You let a good opportunity slip through your fingers and wasted all that effort for nothing!”

Feng Xi’s lips moved — as though he were about to speak. In the end, he said nothing as before. His expression only grew colder and colder, until at last he flung his sleeve and walked away.

Fengxi waited until he had turned his back, then lay back down on the long chair. Her mouth continued to murmur to itself. “How rare — this black fox is actually this angry! But even if he’s angry, he shouldn’t take it out on me. It has nothing to do with me! Does he not know that I’ve helped him a great deal?”

Feng Xi walked into the east wing, pushed open the window, and looked at Fengxi — who had reclined on the chair, closed her eyes, and was now thoroughly at ease. He could not help but tap on the birdcage hanging from the windowsill, teasing the emerald parrot within. “Truly not worth it. Don’t you agree? It’s truly not worth it at all.”

“Pu’er, are you up yet? Sister is taking you out to play today!”

The next day, Fengxi seemed to be in remarkably good spirits. She roused Han Pu early in the morning.

“Really?” Han Pu immediately bounded out of his room.

“Of course it’s true!” Fengxi swept him up into her arms and immediately launched into a burst of light footwork, taking flight. “Today we’re going to play in Hua Du until we’ve had our fill! Elder Brother Yan, if you’d like to come along, follow us yourself!” She was already off — yet still found time to call out to Yan Jiutai, who had just stepped out the door.

“Put me down, let me walk on my own!” The distant sounds of Han Pu’s protests could still be heard.

“Young Master, do you want to…” Zhong Li had only just pushed the door open when Feng Xi was already walking out.

“We’ll go to the streets and choose a fine gift — to congratulate the Hua Princess on her upcoming wedding celebration.” Feng Xi said coolly.

“Yes.”

The twins accompanied Feng Xi as they stepped out the door. Through a small open window in the west wing, Feng Qi Wu’s cold yet strikingly beautiful face appeared, watching the retreating figures as they filed out one after another. She exhaled a faint sigh.

“No wonder this is called the wealthiest capital of Hua Guo!” Fengxi declared as she took in the flourishing and bustling street market. “I’ve traveled through all six kingdoms, and if you ask me which is the most enjoyable, it truly is this Hua Guo!”

“Sister, how much longer will we be staying in Hua Guo? When will we leave? And where will we go after that?” Han Pu took Fengxi’s hand, glancing at the shops on both sides as he asked.

Yan Jiutai followed silently, three steps behind the two of them.

Fengxi heard this and could not help turning to look at him. Her expression paused for a moment — but she quickly restored her smile. “Pu’er, we’re not talking about that today. Today we just play.”

“Fengxi!” A voice suddenly rang out over the clamor of the street, reaching the ears of all three.

“Jiu Wei! Jiu Wei!” With a turn of her head, Fengxi immediately darted forward, throwing herself at the person and hugging them tight. She jumped and laughed, her joyful cries piercing the ears of those around her.

The person, in the instant he was caught in Fengxi’s embrace, suddenly felt two gazes directed at him. He raised his head and looked. On both sides of the street stood two young men — one dressed in black, one in white. The one in white gave a warm smile when their gazes met. The one in black gave a slight nod of acknowledgment. He lowered his head to look at Fengxi, who had her arms around him, and broke into a gentle smile. She had good taste indeed!

“Fengxi, you’re about to strangle my neck!” The man reached up to pull at the hands Fengxi had locked around his neck.

“Jiu Wei, it’s been so, so long since I’ve seen you! Where on earth have you been all this time?” Fengxi immediately loosened her grip at his words and looked at Jiu Wei with a smile as she asked.

“Oh, just drifting here and there.” Jiu Wei said with an unrestrained laugh.

Han Pu and Yan Jiutai stared blankly at this person called Jiu Wei, unable to fathom what charm he possessed that could make Fengxi forget herself so completely in full public view — throwing her arms around him and laughing like that. Though Fengxi’s conduct was uninhibited and free-spirited, she had never been so openly intimate with any man before. Even with Hei Feng Xi, whom she had known for ten years, physical contact was limited to playful scuffling and incidental touches.

The man was around thirty years of age, with a tall and slender build, ordinary features, plain blue cloth garments, and long hair gathered and tied at the back of his neck with a black ribbon. At a first glance, he was not a particularly striking person. But upon a second look, one felt that he was somehow very distinctive — though precisely what made him distinctive was difficult to say. Perhaps it lay in the lift of a brow or the curve of a smile. Perhaps it lay in the occasional, seemingly unintentional glances of those eyes. He was the kind of person whose exact appearance one could not quite recall — yet upon a second meeting, one would recognize him at first sight.

“Meeting again after ten years, your striking beauty still lights up these clear eyes!” Jiu Wei looked Fengxi over carefully and said with admiration.

“Sister!” Han Pu walked over and reclaimed Fengxi’s hand, holding it firmly in his own. He shot a sidelong glance at Jiu Wei — his meaning unmistakable without any words.

“Pu’er, let me tell you — this is Jiu Wei! The very Jiu Wei who is the owner of Qiyun Luori Lou! The finest… hmm… well, one of the very finest chefs in the world! The food he makes is incredibly, incredibly delicious!” Fengxi said this while swallowing a mouthful of saliva. “Jiu Wei, this is my little brother Han Pu. Isn’t he lovely?”

“Little brother?” Jiu Wei looked Han Pu over, not missing the wariness plain on his face. “As I recall, you never had any brothers or sisters. This couldn’t be your illegitimate son, could it? Let me look… the resemblance is actually quite striking!”

“Cough, cough…” Fengxi nearly choked on her own saliva. She swung her fist at Jiu Wei, sending him stumbling three steps backward. “You haven’t been able to shake that habit of dropping bombshells for years, have you!”

“Ow!” Jiu Wei pressed a hand to his chest and furrowed his brows. “Even if you did strike a nerve, you don’t have to hit so hard out of embarrassment — you know I know nothing of martial arts and can’t withstand a single strike from you, Bai Fengxi!”

“Heh heh… that’s what you get for always saying nonsense!” Fengxi looked on with delight at his suffering. “Now as your punishment, you must immediately cook a tasty meal for me to eat!”

“I knew it! I just knew it!” Jiu Wei pressed a hand to his forehead and sighed. “The very first thing you do when you see me is think about food! I have traveled through all six kingdoms, and I have yet to find another woman who loves eating as much as you!”

“Then let’s go quickly!” Fengxi hooked her arm through his, and with her other hand, pulled Han Pu along, paying no attention whatsoever to the strange looks that were being directed at her from everyone on the street. “I know you, a person like you always finds the most comfortable place to stay, so we’re going to yours!”

“Elder Brother Yan, hurry and keep up! Pu’er, today we get to have a great feast again!”

The entire street could hear her excited shout of joy. All who heard it could not help but think this woman must have something wrong in her head — not only did she disregard propriety by hugging and clinging to a man right there on the street, but she announced the trivial matter of a meal as though broadcasting it to all under heaven. Clearly a madwoman. What a pity for such a fine face! Some shook their heads and sighed.

Before Jiu Wei walked away, he glanced back one last time. The two young men — one in black, one in white — had already vanished without a trace. The one in black was surely the Black Fox Hei Feng Xi whom Fengxi often mentioned. And the one in white — who was he? That otherworldly bearing was not something an ordinary person could possess. Standing amid the crowded, surging street, yet composed and serene, like a Buddha standing in a shrine — the whole person radiant and pure as jade. Could it be the foremost Jade Gentleman under heaven — Yu Wuyuan?