On the twenty-fifth day of the first month, the Fengmo army moved its forces to Jing City.

On the twenty-sixth day — Kang City.

“The above is the current situation in Kang City.” In the study, Qiao Jin was reporting one by one on the progress of bringing order to the city.

“Good.” Xiyun nodded.

“The King set out at chen hour today and should arrive at Kang City by wei hour the day after tomorrow.” Ren Chuanyu relayed the news she had just received.

“Good.” Xiyun nodded again. “You have both worked hard. You are dismissed.”

“Yes!” Qiao Jin and Ren Chuanyu withdrew from the study.

After the two of them had left, Xiyun rose and pushed the window open. Outside, dusk was just beginning to settle, but the light snowfall of the past few days had not yet melted entirely. The white expanse of remaining snow reflected the fading light of the sky, and so the hour did not seem particularly dark or dim.

“The last snowfall of winter is almost spent.” Xiyun sighed softly. “After this, it should be warm spring and blooming flowers.”

Her gaze fell on a winter plum tree in the courtyard. Perhaps because the season for blooming was nearly over, plum petals rustled and drifted down with each passing breeze, and fallen red flowers lay scattered across the remaining snow like a shower of red.

*”I raise my cup and offer it to the east wind, sharing ease together.*

*The willows line the purple road east of Luo City — that was where we used to walk hand in hand, wandering through the flowering groves.”*

She recited the lines without quite realizing it, and without quite realizing it, found herself remembering the days long past when she and Lanxi had gone together to pacify the Duanhun Gate.

That had been the season of boundless spring radiance in the third month — peach blossoms opening like clouds and rosy mist. The two of them had each carried a crock of fine wine, picking flowers and singing as they went, as though they were merely out on a spring excursion to enjoy the scenery, rather than heading to the Duanhun Gate that had all who moved in the rivers and lakes trembling with dread. They had been young then, wearing their thin spring robes. Young people then, cherishing each other’s spirit. Carefree and unrestrained then, wandering as they pleased. But now…

*”How bitter and fleeting our meeting and parting — this grief has no end.”* She raised her hand and caught a plum petal drifting on the wind. *”This year the flowers bloom more vivid than last year…”*

*”What a pity — next year the flowers will bloom lovelier still. Yet with whom will I share the sight?”* A clear and light and ethereal voice, unhurried and worldly-clean, picked up the verse.

She looked up. A figure — purer and whiter than the remaining snow, more solitary and more weary than the windswept fallen plums — had appeared silently in the courtyard.

“It has been a long time.” Both of them spoke the same words at the same moment.

Those lightly spoken words gave both of them the feeling of meeting again after lifetimes of separation. The two of them drinking and talking merrily at the peak of Tianzi Summit had been barely more than a year ago. Yet looking back on it now, it seemed as distant as a previous life. Then, their hearts had been in harmony. Now — they stood on opposing sides.

“I would not have thought that even this final remnant of snow and fallen plums could be shared with a Tianren.” Xiyun sighed softly, looking at the figure before her — jade-pure and transcending the mortal world. In her eyes: regret, and a quiet sorrow.

“We could share a single moon from the peak of a high mountain together. We could share this scene of fallen plums and remaining snow together in Kang City. But in a lifetime of unpredictable meetings and partings and the swift passage of years — Yu Wuyuan already feels no regret.” Yu Wuyuan raised his hand and gathered a pinch of snow from a branch nearby. With a light flick of his wrist, the snow fell precisely into Xiyun’s open palm — red plum blossom and white snow, reflecting each other into a painting.

“Is the one who has come today the Yu Wuyuan from the peak of the high mountain, or the Tianren Yu Wuyuan who serves as the Huang Wang’s revered teacher?” Xiyun looked at the plum and snow in her palm and asked this gently.

“Can you clearly separate Fengguo’s queen Feng Xiyun from the renowned wanderer of the rivers and lakes, Bai Fengxi?” Yu Wuyuan replied in an unhurried question. “Can you treat King Xi and Hei Fengxi as two entirely different people?”

Xiyun had nothing to say.

“Then what difference is there between the Yu Wuyuan of the mountain peak and the Tianren Yu Wuyuan of the Yu Family?”

Xiyun looked at him. Those eyes of his — so clear and pure they could see through the mortal world — were also so distant and boundlessly weary from having passed through it. This person, no matter when and no matter where, always stirred within her a sense of aching grief that had no beginning and no resolution.

Tired of looking at the mortal world, detached from the affairs of this life — and so his inner lake remained without ripple or trace, and so he came and went with free, unhurried ease, with no one able to find his path. And yet — why, at the very depths of those gentle eyes, was there a thread of sorrow carved so deeply, so richly?

The world revered him. The world yearned for him. The world leaned on him. And yet — had the world ever truly seen him clearly? All that exhaustion filling his heart and body… all that loneliness…

*Wuyuan…*

She breathed in deeply, lowered her gaze, and gathered in all her feelings. “Then — what brings Young Master Yu here today?”

Yu Wuyuan looked at her. After a long while, he extended his hand. “I have come to play a game of chess with you.”

Xiyun was startled. She raised her eyes and fixed them on his.

Those eyes — reflecting all things, washing all things clean — and yet utterly devoid of sentiment, devoid of worldly dust.

Yu Wuyuan raised his hand and took hold of Xiyun’s, enclosing the fallen plum blossom and remaining snow within his grasp at the same time. Both their hands were as white as snow, as cold as snow.

Their gazes met and held. Four eyes near to four eyes. He spoke quietly, each word falling with tranquil deliberateness: “Yu Wuyuan and Feng Xiyun — to play a game of chess for all living souls under heaven. To play the game of Changmang.”

“The game of Changmang?” Xiyun looked at him, momentarily stunned.

“Yes. The game of Changmang.” Yu Wuyuan’s eyes locked onto Xiyun without wavering. That gaze seemed to look from her eyes all the way to the very bottom of her heart. “Not with your intellect — but with your heart. Play with your heart the game that your heart truly wants to play. Place the moves that your heart most desires.”

*With your heart, play the game your heart truly wants to play. Place the moves your heart most desires.*

Those words were light and without ripple — and yet they rang like a clap of thunder, sending her ears into a wave after wave of ringing, striking her heart to pound like a drum.

What was it that she truly wanted? What was it that her heart desired most? For more than twenty years — had she ever paused to think this through with care? Had she ever honestly confirmed it? Had she ever answered it truthfully? Or had she never even asked herself the question?

And yet — why had this person before her asked her this? Why did it feel as though nothing could escape his eyes? He had seen through all her unconscious concealment. He had seen through all her unconscious longing.

Bai Fengxi knew what she truly wanted. But Feng Xiyun would not be permitted to have what she truly wanted.

Bai Fengxi knew what she desired most. But Feng Xiyun could never possess what she desired most.

“Play this game of Changmang for yourself and for all living souls — play it with your heart.”

That voice was near enough to be a whisper — soft and low and gentle as breath close to the ear. That voice came from the farthest edge of the horizon — striking the doors of her heart like the evening bell and the morning drum.

On the twenty-seventh day, as the last of yin hour was drawing to a close.

In the pale early morning light, Qiao Jin loosened the reins lightly, and the horse quickened its pace a little. The sound of hooves rang out with particular clarity in the stillness of a morning where no one had yet stirred. The inspection round of Kang City was complete — it was time to go and make his report to the Feng Wang and pay his respects.

He had barely arrived before the residence in Kang City when Qiao Jin glanced up on a casual impulse, and his heart gave an involuntary lurch. The reins pulled taut without his willing it. The horse let out a whinny and came to a stop.

“General?” The soldiers following behind him called out in puzzled inquiry.

Qiao Jin steadied his thoughts, dismounted, handed the reins to his attendant, and said: “All of you go and attend to the shift change.”

“Yes!”

Once every soldier had gone, Qiao Jin gave a light spring and flew up onto the eave of the building. A few vaulting bounds later, he landed on the rooftop of the tallest structure within the residence — the Return-of-Swallows Tower. There, a figure in white was resting against the rooftop, leaning back and seated in a relaxed posture. The cool morning wind lifted her robes and hair, though she seemed unaware of it entirely, gazing steadfastly ahead. Those bright and clear eyes seemed to want to pierce through the vast and empty expanse and see to the farthest, most distant place imaginable — and yet seemed to have already looked to the very end of it all, with everything already gathered within her gaze.

“Feng Wang — the morning wind is cold and the dew is heavy. Please take care of your health.” Qiao Jin bowed slightly. He had long heard Chuanyun speak of what a remarkable and free-spirited woman the Feng Wang had been in her wandering days under the alias Bai Fengxi — and yet this was his first time meeting her.

“General Qiao.” Xiyun’s gaze remained looking ahead. “Is there something in this world that you want most?”

“Pardon?” Qiao Jin was momentarily startled, clearly not having expected Xiyun to ask something like this.

“Have you never thought about it?” Xiyun turned her head. Those eyes of hers were like the cold stars that had not yet faded from the night sky — the brightest source of light in this world. “How long have you followed King Xi, General?”

“Your servant has followed the King since the age of fourteen — fourteen years now.” Qiao Jin answered with respectful formality.

“Fourteen years?” Xiyun tilted her head slightly, smiled a mild smile. “So many years. Then even if you could not know him thoroughly, you must know him at least a little. Does the General know what King Xi wants most?”

“What the King wants most?” Qiao Jin was taken aback.

“Yes.” Xiyun nodded, and looked at him with a gentle smile.

What did the King want most? Qiao Jin found himself, for a moment, unable to answer.

Was it the realm and the imperial throne? That seemed as though it must be the answer.

*”I will lead you to place this land of ten thousand li beneath our feet — and see your names written into history.”*

How long ago had the King spoken those words? Back then the King had been no more than a young man just coming of age. And yet not one of them had doubted him when he spoke. They had all believed that young man who uttered those sweeping words with such effortless ease. Only — thinking back on it now — he had spoken only of placing the land of ten thousand li beneath their feet, of seeing their names written into history. Could that truly be called what he wanted most?

His gaze shifted to the queen before him. She wore nothing but a simple white robe. Her black hair fell loose and unbound. She sat there on the rooftop in a casual, unhurried posture — and still radiated a brilliance and grace that was utterly her own. The memory of the King’s loss of reason after that arrow struck at the Battle of Dongdan Crossing rose in his mind, one scene after another. In this world — what was it that the King held most closely in his heart? It seemed clear — and yet it seemed uncertain.

“Your servant is unworthy and cannot perceive the King’s innermost wish. Only…” Qiao Jin bowed deeply, “Your servant knows that the Feng Wang, in the King’s eyes, is worth no less than these ten thousand li of mountains and rivers.”

“Ha… haha…” A clear and melodious burst of laughter drifted out lightly, scattering through the morning wind and out across the world.

Qiao Jin kept his head bowed and did not dare raise it. This laughter was so beautiful to hear — and yet he could not tell whether it held joy or sorrow.

The laughter gradually faded. The rooftop fell into silence. Only after a long while did Xiyun’s gentle, quiet sigh ring out.

“Whichever matters most — I will make it whole for him.”

Qiao Jin was shaken. But before he could make sense of what she had said, the wind stirred before him. He raised his head. There was no one there.

On the twenty-eighth day.

Just past noon, a great many soldiers poured out from Kang City’s gates, standing in two orderly rows on either side of the road. On the city tower above, the Feng Wang stood still and quiet, with Qiao Jin and Ren Chuanyun standing behind her.

Word had been sent long in advance that King Xi’s royal procession was approaching, and the Mo Yu Cavalry within Kang City was abuzz with excitement. Upon hearing the Feng Wang’s order to go out and receive the royal arrival, each and every one of them rushed to be first — while still carefully observing military discipline and order.

The people below the city tower were tense, excited, and anxious, and every emotion showed plainly on their faces. The person on the city tower was calm and composed. Only — the gaze fixed tightly on the distance ahead, the lips that pressed together and then relaxed by turns, the hands that clenched and then opened by turns — these betrayed what she was feeling. The time of waiting always seems unbearably long. The road ahead stretches on and on, and it seems as though what one is waiting for will never appear. And so…

“Oh!”

A white figure swept lightly down from the city tower, graceful as a white butterfly, drawing a wave of astonished exclamations from the assembled soldiers.

And then all the soldiers watched as the Feng Wang — in their eyes so dignified and brilliantly beautiful — simply jumped directly down from the city tower, landed steadily on the back of a white horse, gave the reins a shake, and the horse set off at a flying gallop.

“Feng Wang—!” The soldiers cried out in alarm — but the two generals remaining on the tower simply waved a hand, signaling that there was no need for alarm.

The white horse seemed to know its rider’s wishes. It spread all four hooves and charged with the speed of wind and lightning. Within moments, a cloud of dust was already visible ahead. A light pull on the reins, and the horse gradually slowed, then came to a stop on the open plain and waited quietly. The wind lifted that white-robed figure’s long hair, seeming as though it might carry her away with it — a vision and a bearing impossible to capture in any painting.

The hoofbeats came like rain. Soldiers in silver and black armor flowed outward like a shallow tide — swift and sweeping and boundless, flooding the entire plain. When they caught sight of the single rider ahead, they gradually slowed, and came to a halt in formation twenty feet away. They bowed in salute from their saddles, then parted to either side, revealing the royal carriage within the tide.

The lone rider ahead waited in stillness. The royal carriage within the tide waited in stillness. Between them — a distance that was neither far nor near.

In this moment, though ten thousand troops stood gathered around them, the silence was absolute. In all the world there was nothing but the sound of wind moving.

*Creak.* The door of the royal carriage opened. The Zhong brothers stepped out, then each took one side of the curtain and held it up, bowing in respectful attendance for the person inside.

A figure in deep black stepped out — quietly, unhurriedly.

The weather that day was exceptionally fine. The sky was clear and blue as a washed vessel. Wisps of cloud drifted through the air. The sun hung high and bright, and its warm light poured down, filling heaven and earth with clarity and brilliance.

Across the distance — neither near nor far — the figure in the sunlight came clearly into view.

No longer a face like polished jade, no longer hair like flowing ink-silk.

The bright, open sunlight cast a faint silver sheen across that person’s grey and white hair. Within that silver shimmer was a face lightly touched by the traces of weathering and time. But that person’s bearing was as dignified and graceful as ever; that person’s manner was as elegant and free as ever. Those marks of vicissitude did nothing to diminish his spirit and presence — and if anything, they made his ink-dark eyes seem deeper, more like an ancient warm jade, as he looked at her with a gentle stillness she had never seen in them before.

In the sunlight, he smiled his quiet smile — like an orchid blooming and releasing its fragrance. Within the fine lines at the corners of his eyes, there blossomed a free and brilliant beauty that seemed to have taken all the mortal world within it.

In the sunlight — he was well.

In that moment, tears fell unbidden.

In that moment, she first understood what it meant to have lost and then recovered.

In that moment, she first understood that though heaven and earth are vast and ten thousand living things fill it, the one who matters most is simply the person standing right before your eyes.

In that moment — she was willing to give everything. Without complaint, without regret.

The person in the carriage stepped down and walked toward her, step by unhurried step. The person on the white horse watched him — still and quiet, without blinking.

The distance was shrinking — so why was the figure before her growing more blurred? The wind blew past. A cool sensation across her face. She blinked — and finally saw him clearly.

He was standing there at the side of her horse. He opened his arms wide. On his face was that graceful, elegant smile. His eyes — bright and warm and lingering — looked up at her. In that moment, without the slightest hesitation, without the slightest restraint — she spread her arms, leapt from the horse, and threw herself into that open embrace.

Grey and white hair and ink-black hair intertwined in the wind.

White robes and black robes chased each other in the wind.

Long arms and soft arms wound tightly together in the wind.

“Oh!”

That embrace shook ten thousand troops. That embrace dazzled all under heaven.

“Long live the King! Long live the King!”

A reunion that disregarded all protocol, an embrace that disregarded heaven and earth, a moment of leaning together that disregarded all living things and all the armies watching — it stunned every person present, and moved every heart.

They dismounted. They knelt. They bowed their heads. They called out in unison — for the two sovereigns before them, who were as one.

“Long live the King!!!”

On the city tower of Kang City, the White Phoenix and Ink Orchid banners flew side by side in the wind. Within the city, the hundred thousand Mo Yu Cavalry and Fengyun Cavalry soldiers lived together in harmony. Having fought together through several decisive battles against the Huanghua army, having shared life and death together, the soldiers of the Fengmo army had developed a deep and genuine sense of comradeship — and had truly come to understand that in glory they rose together, and in ruin they fell together.

“The King has endured the fatigue of travel for many days. Please rest early. We will take our leave.” In the great hall of the Kang City residence, after all the generals had finished delivering their reports to the two sovereigns, they filed out in retirement.

“All of you may go.”

Xiyun waved her hand and dismissed the generals, then turned to look at Lanxi, whose face showed the signs of weariness. In the past, no matter how exhausted he was, such a look had never been visible on him. And now… this body, after all, was no longer what it had once been.

She indicated with her eyes for the twins to escort Lanxi back to his room to rest, and set to handling the remaining matters herself one by one.

When the lanterns first came alight, the writing table was already neat and in order. She pushed the window open, and a gust of cold air rushed in against her face, startling an involuntary shiver from her. And yet she had no desire to close the window. She stood quietly before it, lifted her face toward the night sky beyond, and looked up. Against the pitch-black canopy of the sky, sparse stars and a moon hung faintly. The lights on the ground below burned far more brightly than either.

*Who says the net of heaven is wide?*

*In my old age this body has come to be a burden to me.*

*A name of a thousand autumns and ten thousand years —*

*A lonely thing to be known only after one is gone.*

She raised her hand to her brow and sighed a long, quiet sigh. These dim stars and faded moon, this cold and silent night — it all seemed to portend what lay ahead. The road ahead… one can see it, but cannot press toward it.

“Your Highness — it is time for dinner.” The door was pushed gently open. Liu Yun and Wu Mei entered each carrying a food box.

“Leave it for now.” Xiyun said mildly.

“Your Highness, the dinner hour has long since passed.” Liu Yun, undaunted, began taking the dishes out of the box one by one and laying them out on the table. Then she and Wu Mei each gave a bow. “Please eat your meal.”

“All right, all right — at your young age, why must you fuss like a nursemaid.” Xiyun raised a helpless hand and walked to the table to sit down.

Liu Yun and Wu Mei heard this and smiled, and said in unison: “Only a nursemaid can manage you.”

Xiyun was struck speechless and could not help but laugh, and picked up her chopsticks and bowl.

“Where has Jiu Wei gone?” She asked, when she had finished eating.

“The Master is making medicine for King Xi.” Wu Mei answered, clearing away the bowls and chopsticks as she spoke.

“I see.” Xiyun gave a small nod.

“Your Highness, the fragrant bath is ready.” On the other side, Liu Yun came out from the inner chamber.

“Good.” Xiyun nodded, walked into the inner chamber, where warm steam curled and a gentle fragrance drifted. “Why all this fragrance — such a bother.” She murmured under her breath.

“Your Highness — though you are a sovereign of a nation, please do not forget that you are also a woman.” Liu Yun spoke with earnest righteousness beside her. “A woman should of course take good care of herself.”

“I know, I know, nursemaid.”

Xiyun let out a sigh and moved to undo her clothing — but before she could, Liu Yun and Wu Mei had already reached out to help her. She started to say something, but one look at those two pairs of eyes filled with silent reproof, and she stopped herself: “Ah yes — I remember. Not only a woman, but also a sovereign, and so I am simply to wait to be attended to.”

Liu Yun and Wu Mei gave satisfied nods.

“Liu Yun — if you were not a female official in the palace, what would you most want to do?” Xiyun sank into the warm and fragrant bath, and all the cold left her body at once. Her bones and muscles went soft and supple. In the curling white steam, she could not help but close her eyes in gentle contentment.

“Your servant entered the palace from childhood. If not for the good fortune of accompanying Your Highness on this journey, I had almost forgotten what the world outside the palace looked like.” Liu Yun washed Xiyun’s full head of dark hair with gentle, careful movements, and smiled a soft smile. “If your servant were no longer a palace attendant, I would like to be a female teacher — take some female students, and spread widely through the world the poems and writings Your Highness has composed over the years, so that the world might have a few more remarkable women like Your Highness.”

“Hm — the idea of being a teacher is a fine one, only the subject matter you propose to pass on is the wrong choice.” Xiyun smiled mildly.

“She just loves to lecture people — if she were a teacher, would that not be perfectly legitimate?” Wu Mei on the other side teased.

“Hold your tongue!” Liu Yun shot her a glance.

“Hehe — did I say something wrong? All those people in the palace got their fair share of lectures from you. Every single one of them — the moment they saw you, it was like a mouse spotting a cat, scrambling to get away!” Wu Mei laughed lightly, knowing full well that with the Feng Wang present, Liu Yun would never dare do anything to her.

“That is only because those people had guilty consciences!” Liu Yun said with great dignity and rectitude.

“Mm.” Xiyun opened her eyes the tiniest sliver. “Then what does Wu Mei want to do?”

“Your servant? Your servant just wants to marry a good husband, look after him and raise the children, and spend a life that way.” Wu Mei blinked her eyes.

“Shameless!” Liu Yun flicked a finger, sending a spray of water droplets across Wu Mei’s face.

“What is there to be ashamed of in that? Man marries, woman weds — it is the most natural thing in the world.” Wu Mei shook her head, her clever hands busy without pause for even a moment.

“A female teacher, a good wife and devoted mother — both admirable.” Xiyun nodded, closed her eyes once more, and smiled gently. “This Queen will see both of you provided for.”

“Oh?” Liu Yun and Wu Mei could not help but be startled.

But Xiyun had already closed her eyes. Her expression was peaceful. She had no inclination to say more.

The two of them pressed their questions aside and attended to their duties with focused care.

The chamber fell into a hush. Only the soft sound of water remained, and the drifting warmth of steam, and the gentle drifting fragrance, and the surging tide of thought concealed within the misty vapor.

When everything was finished, the eyes that slowly opened through the lingering haze were as brilliant as stars, their clear radiance filling the room.

“Bring this Queen her court robes, then summon Generals Qi Shu, Cheng Zhi, and Xu Yuan.”

“Yes!”

“One dose morning and one dose evening, according to this prescription. Do not stop for three months.”

In an elegantly furnished room, Jiu Wei handed a written prescription to the twins.

Zhong Li bowed to receive it, though his gaze drifted toward Lanxi resting half-reclined on the bed.

“Thank you, Master Jiu Wei.” Lanxi smiled pleasantly and gave a slight nod.

“No need to thank me. You only benefit from Xieer’s reflected light. If not for her sake, your life or death is nothing to me.” Jiu Wei accepted no gratitude and spoke without any softening of words.

“Mm.” Lanxi received this without the slightest offense, and smiled pleasantly in acknowledgment. “The Master is right — there is no need for Xi to thank the Master. Come to think of it, that Cinnabar Certificate of the Master’s — Xi had a hand in that as well, and the Master has never once thanked Xi for it. Perhaps we can simply consider it an even exchange.”

“You—” Jiu Wei stared wide-eyed at the person before him, so gracefully and elegantly at ease and smiling, and privately could not help thinking that no wonder Xieer called him a fox. Not that he let any of that show on his face — he allowed a natural, unhurried smile to bloom on his own, also warm as a spring breeze. “King Xi is indeed an upright and reasonable man.” Half sincere, half mock, half smile, half jab.

“You are too kind.” Lanxi laughed his graceful, temperate laugh, all amiability.

“Not at all.” Jiu Wei smiled his light and meaningful smile, all warmth.

On one side, the two of them spoke with blades hidden in every word and knives concealed in every smile. On the other side, the twins gave nothing away, each busying himself with the task in hand.

Jiu Wei cast them a glance and said: “These two young ones — though they are still young, if they were released into the world they would be remarkable figures in their own right.”

“Of course — what strong general has weak soldiers serving under him?” Lanxi said as though this were perfectly self-evident. He raised a hand and brushed the hair at the corner of his eye — but at the sight of that grey and white, his brow furrowed.

“What one ought to say is: what kind of master raises what kind of follower!” Jiu Wei said with a jabbing smile. Seeing Lanxi’s gesture as he touched his hair, he rolled his eyes. “You are a grown man — there is no need to be so attached to your appearance.”

Lanxi glanced at him, then said in a languid, unhurried tone: “I have heard it said that the physician who possesses only three parts of skill tends to put on the grandest airs — and when treating a patient, applies only one part of his skill, curing three parts of the presenting ailment while leaving seven parts of the underlying cause, so that the patient grows ever more submissive and ever more lavish in their gifts and gratitude.”

Upon hearing this, a cold flash of shrewd light shot through Jiu Wei’s habitually wise and gentle eyes — but it was immediately smoothed back into warmth and calm. He smiled with amiable ease and said: “I recall that Young Master Lanxi of former days was a great beauty admired and longed for by all under heaven. He and Fengguo’s Princess Xiyun could truly be called a matching pair of beauty and talent, a perfect couple. Only now — the Feng Wang’s brilliance and beauty remain unrivaled in the world, while King Xi has white hair and an aged face. What a world of difference indeed. Oh dear… my heart aches so for my little Xieer!” Every word came in measured, pleasant tones — and yet on those four words *my little Xieer*, the emphasis was delivered with unmistakable deliberateness. He watched with satisfaction as the expression of the person across from him stiffened.

That stiffening lasted barely an instant. Lanxi’s graceful smile returned in full at once — but within those ink-dark eyes, a cold and piercing chill radiated outward like an icy pool. His gaze was as sharp as a sword blade, and yet his tone was still as warm and elegant as ever: “Although Xi no longer has his former appearance, in exchange the life of Xiyun is preserved and secure — and for that Xi is at peace and has no regrets. Moreover…” His sword-edged gaze swept across Jiu Wei’s face as though to peel away a layer of skin, “…that is still somewhat better than a certain person who covers and conceals their true face and does not dare show it to the world.”

Jiu Wei, upon hearing this, went through a rapid sequence of annoyance, startlement, and stunned incomprehension, and was for a moment frozen entirely where he stood. He stared hard at Lanxi, his own gaze sharpening to a sword’s point, as though he wished to cleave the person before him in two and look inside — to examine what sort of structure that mind was built upon, and whether that heart truly had more apertures than ordinary people.

“I had no idea you two had found such a mutual enjoyment of wit and repartee!” A clear and bright voice came from the doorway. Both men turned to look, and there was Xiyun, lifting the curtain and entering, her expression hovering somewhere between a smile and not quite a smile.

“Xieer!” Jiu Wei immediately moved toward her.

A gentle smile, a gentle tone — and the person behind him could not help but have an involuntary tipping of the vinegar jar. *Xieer*, of all things — genuinely grating to the ear.

“Jiu Wei.” Xiyun’s gaze rested on Jiu Wei’s face. “In all honesty — I have also been curious about what your true appearance is like. There is probably no one in the world who has seen the real you.”

“Hm?” Jiu Wei was momentarily taken aback. He blinked his eyes. “Xieer wants to see?”

“Of course.” Xiyun nodded. In that instant, her eyes lit up with a crystalline brightness, her expression as though she had discovered something rare and delightful.

“Perhaps it would be better not to look.” Jiu Wei seemed somewhat reluctant, though his eyes were positively glittering with mischief. “I would worry that a certain person might feel so inferior they would want to knock their head against a wall.”

“I think the person who should feel inferior is someone else.” Lanxi said this without heat, without hurry. “If not out of inferiority and jealousy, why else would one be unwilling to treat this King’s condition completely?”

“Jealous? Who do you think you are?!” Jiu Wei spun around and stared at the person lying on the bed in supreme comfort. He had been about to launch into a thorough scolding — but no matter what, one could not lose one’s composure and dignity. He forced down his anger and maintained an outward calm, but the words that came out were no longer pleasant: “You cunning fox — what entitles you to have me exhaust my spiritual energy treating this worthless hide of yours?! Just now I was willing to give you a prescription to restore your energy and recover your appearance — that was already more than my duty required. I gave Xieer an enormous amount of face by doing so. If you dare be ungrateful again, if you dare hurt Xieer again, I will send you right back to being the living dead!”

“Jiu Wei, you are mistaken.” Before Lanxi could respond, Xiyun gave a light laugh and took hold of Jiu Wei’s hand. “Those words you just said should have been delivered with the force of thunder and lightning — that would have had some real power to them! You must know that foxes have thick skin. Coming from such a gentle person as you in such gentle tones, it is barely enough to tickle him.”

“Women really do take the other side.” Lanxi murmured to himself. He raised his hand and gathered the white hair at his shoulder. “It must be because of this head of white hair.” He sighed long and quietly, a look of boundless melancholy.

“You—” Jiu Wei stared at him with wide eyes and open mouth, then turned to look at Xiyun. “How can there be such a vain and appearance-obsessed man in the world?”

“You should have known from the way he scrutinizes everything ordinarily.” Xiyun said, as though this were perfectly obvious. Then she waved a hand. “Never mind him. Jiu Wei — let me see your face.”

“Although I cannot guarantee it, I can try.” Jiu Wei seemed not to hear Xiyun’s words, his eyes raised toward the ceiling. “Millennium He Shou Wu, centennial snow lotus seed, ninefold lingzhi mushroom, ten-year ginseng pearl, Peach Spring snow orchid root, Jade Valley red-black frost.”

“Zhong Li — have you written it all down?” The person on the bed spoke in an unhurried, languid tone.

“Yes, Your Highness.” Zhong Li, at the writing table, set his brush down.

“Then go and fetch the medicines.”

“Yes.” Zhong Li bowed and withdrew.

“Jiu Wei — quickly, let me see your face.” On the other side, Xiyun would not give up.

Jiu Wei continued to seem completely deaf to her, bringing his gaze down from the ceiling and settling it on Xiyun’s face instead. He extended his hand, laid two fingers on her pulse point, and concentrated on feeling her pulse. After a moment, he gave a quiet sigh. The person before him paid it no particular attention. But the person on the bed was wound with tension, his ears pricked sharp.

“Jiu Wei — your face.” Xiyun’s mind was wholly fixed on Jiu Wei’s true appearance.

“Originally, with the cultivation level of the two of you, living to a hundred years would have been an easy matter. Only now…” A long, drawn sigh. “Though neither of your lives is in danger, you have both taken injury to the body, to the vital energy, and to the spirit. When you are old, illness may well follow you.”

“Incompetent physician.” The person on the bed threw out two clean, crisp words.

Jiu Wei seemed not to hear them. He took hold of Xiyun’s hand. “Xieer — come back with me to Jiuluo Shan. I promise you a hundred years.”

“Very well.” Xiyun agreed without a moment’s pause. “First show me your face.”

The person on the bed gave an involuntary start. Within his eyes, darkness gathered at once — like a hidden current surging, treacherous and full of peril.

“I have heard that everyone of the Jiuluo royal lineage knows sorcery.” After a moment, Lanxi said this with mild, unhurried ease. “And so they all have bewitching, unnatural appearances — neither human nor ghost.”

“This is no fox — this is outright a venomous serpent!” Jiu Wei glared with furious eyes.

“Jiu Wei — the face, the face!” Xiyun paid none of it any mind and had only a single purpose.

“Fine!”

Jiu Wei had no choice. He settled cross-legged on the soft couch, closed his eyes, and within a moment a faint blue-green spiritual energy began to rise across his face — growing denser and denser, until it gradually veiled his entire face. Everyone in the room watched without blinking. After a short while, the concentrated energy began slowly to thin, revealing brow and eye and cheekbone and jaw bit by bit, until the spiritual energy had dissipated entirely, Jiu Wei opened his eyes, and a countenance of rare, world-surpassing beauty was revealed within the room. Even these two, who had long been accustomed to exceptional appearances, could not help being struck.

If one were to say that Xiao Xuekong’s beauty was as clean and pure as snow, that Xiu Jiurong’s beauty was as bright and dainty as a peach blossom, that Huang Chao’s beauty was as blazing and radiant as the sun, that Yu Wuyuan’s beauty was as warm and refined as jade, that Lanxi’s beauty was as deep and graceful as an orchid — then the beauty before them now was as pellucid and luminous as glass.

Only — snow-beauty was too cold and austere, keeping people at a distance. Peach-blossom-beauty was too delicate and soft, requiring careful tending. Sun-beauty was too dazzling, forever high above. Jade-beauty was too transcendent and otherworldly, remote in the clouds above. Orchid-beauty was too proud and precious, appreciating only itself in solitude. Not so the beauty before them now — untouched by impurity, spiritually infused and heaven-fashioned, its very nature inviting warmth and closeness.

“Jiu Wei — you are so beautiful!” Xiyun exclaimed in genuine astonishment. “They say that every person of the Jiuluo royal lineage has the appearance of an immortal — clearly it is no exaggeration.”

She extended her hands, cradled his face, bent forward, and with a speed that gave no time to react, pressed a loud, resounding kiss against that glass-clear, unblemished, completely undefiled face.

“Haha — Jiu Wei, I am definitely the first woman to ever kiss you!”

Having achieved her aim, Xiyun drew back immediately, looking enormously pleased with herself — the expression on her face exactly like that of a cat who has successfully stolen the fish.

“Xieer — you kissed the wrong place.” But the person who had been kissed showed not the least surprise, merely spoke up to offer a helpful correction. Those spiritually luminous eyes gleamed with wicked brightness. A long finger pointed at his lips. “Here is where it would be most intimate.”

“Really?” Xiyun’s eyes lit up at once — exactly like a cat who has just spotted an even fatter fish.

Was the person on the bed angry? He was not. He was the elegant and unhurried Young Master Lanxi. He was the graceful and composed King Xi. How could a thing as undignified and unseemly as anger possibly be within his range of behavior? And so—

“Zhong Yuan.” A mild, unperturbed voice rang out calmly.

“Here.”

“A Jiuluo sorcerer is using witchcraft to bewitch the Feng Wang. Escort the sorcerer out for this King.” The person on the bed shifted gracefully into a more comfortable position.

“Yes.” Zhong Yuan moved toward Jiu Wei. “Master — the night is deep and the cold is heavy. Please allow Zhong Yuan to see you back to your room to rest.” He reached out and took hold of Jiu Wei’s arm. There was no particular force to it — and yet Jiu Wei found himself involuntarily rising and moving along with him.

“Xi…” Jiu Wei started to speak — and at a small movement of Zhong Yuan’s fingertip, his mouth closed of its own accord.

“Jiu Wei, I will come and find you tomorrow.” Xiyun gave a breezy wave of her hand.

After they had gone, only two people remained in the room. The silence was immediate and absolute.

One half-reclined on the bed, one seated quietly on the couch. One gaze directed toward the canopy overhead, one gaze fixed upon the tea table before her. Both of their thoughts were somewhere slightly adrift, and on the rare occasions when their gazes happened to meet, they were hazy and dreamlike — as though in the middle of a dream.

“Xiyun.” Only after a long while was Lanxi’s quiet voice heard, calling her name.

“Mm.” Xiyun answered, and looked toward the figure in the bed. That gaze drew her forward without her willing it. She walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed.

Lanxi took her hand. Ten fingers interlaced together, warm and soft. He sighed quietly: “We are both still alive.”

One sentence — settled two hearts.

Yes — still alive. As long as one is alive, there is a boundless future and boundless possibility. If one were gone, there would be nothing remaining but a lifetime of regret and grief and sorrow. And so — how fortunate. Still alive.

“People say you and I are both clever. And yet how foolish we have been. We can see through every aspect of human life — yet we could not see ourselves clearly, could not see each other clearly. We had to come to the very edge of destruction before we could finally wake up.” Lanxi ran his thumb gently over their interlaced hands, smiling with a trace of self-mockery.

“We have known each other ten years. From the very first moment of meeting, we were never fully honest with each other.” Xiyun lowered her gaze to their entwined, interlaced hands, and smiled a soft and gentle smile. “Concealing things from each other, guarding against each other, on our guard against each other — and yet entangled with each other all the while. And now… a lifetime does not hold many ten-year spans. And very few people can have a ten-year span like ours. So… these past days I have been thinking often that we must have many things to say clearly, many things to explain and clarify. And yet… at this moment, I find that there is no longer any need to say them.”

“Mm.” Lanxi smiled in quiet response. Their ten fingers pressed tighter together. Their gazes met, and in this moment, no words were needed — their eyes had already said everything clearly.

No longer the fathomless unfathomability of before. No longer the sharp mockery and jabs of before. No longer the calculating suspicion of before. No longer the evasion and avoidance of before. Never before had there been such clarity and openness as in this moment, such a meeting of minds, such a unity of heart and spirit.

Why bring up what had come before? Why explain it all again? The playful concealment of identities through the ten years of wandering the rivers and lakes together, the hesitant lateness at the foot of Falling Bloom Mountain, the wariness hidden behind those fifty thousand Fengyun Cavalry… all of those had held pain and resentment. And yet all of it had been burned to nothing in the moment that arrow struck, in the moment life was given to save the other, in the moment they had thrown themselves heedless of their own safety into the fight for each other.

Yes — no need to say another word. They had long since spoken everything in the language of each other’s lives.

In this moment, four eyes meeting, two hearts leaning on each other — this could last through all eternity.

Left hands twined and interlaced together. The right hand lifted and reached out, touching that grey and white hair, touching that face lightly marked by weathering and time. In her eyes — warmth flowing like water. In her heart — warmth overflowing without end.

“Black little fox, from now on you’ll have to be called the old fo—” The word *fox* caught and stuck in her throat.

Lips meeting lips. Breath intertwined with breath. Eyes gently closing. A slow and tender response.

The stars and moon were soft and hazy at this hour. This moment was quietly and peacefully still. One’s beloved was before them at this hour. Feeling ran deep and intentions stirred at this moment.

Let the kingfisher screen part open. Let the lotus-flower curtains fall closed. Let the fragrant silk be softly loosened. Let the song of the mandarin ducks be sung.

Where lips brushed, there was fire. Where hands touched, there was fire. Those soft words were fire, those sighs were fire, those breaths were fire — fire sweeping in from every limb and bone, burning so fiercely it seemed it might dissolve the body into nothing… yet the heart was like water — soft and lingering and spreading, tracing through that scorching fire as droplets of water fell, stirring a cool and shivering trembling. Reaching out, holding on tightly, necks entwined, skin and bone made close, hearts beating together, letting that fire burn hotter still, letting that water rise in hidden tides, letting fire and water weave together, letting the trembling go on and on without ceasing, wanting only to remain like this forever… to let this moment have no end, or to let this moment be the ending of all things.

…………

The first light of dawn stole in quietly through the gap in the window, passing through the light gauze and sheer curtains — glad, and content, looking upon the two people sleeping in each other’s embrace.

Hair intertwined with hair, head resting beside head, neck leaning against neck, one hand laid across a shoulder, one arm wrapped around a waist. Their faces were serene. Their expressions were at peace.

Eyes opened slightly, slowly adjusting to the light within the room. A head turned. Gazing, transfixed, at the face in sleep. A tender kiss pressed down softly.

Rising quietly, leaving the bed, dressing.

Opening those tightly closed windows — the brilliant winter morning sun poured in immediately, filling the room. In that warm and golden light, a slightly cool morning breeze swept in and filled the room with freshness.

Narrowing her eyes, letting the morning wind lift her loose and unbound hair, letting the cool wind pass across her cheek, leaving a touch of cold behind.

“Such beautiful sunlight, such beautiful weather — very fitting for a long journey.” She did not turn her head — and yet she already knew someone was there behind her.

The person behind her looked at her with deep and shadowed eyes. A thousand thoughts and feelings moved through his heart. But looking at her — that white-robed figure, that hair loose and unpinned — he had already understood, heart and mind alike. In that instant, a tide of ten thousand surging currents rose within his chest, wave upon crashing wave. His expression, however, showed nothing. He was steady and composed.

“I am leaving. You should know it, and you should understand it.”

The person by the window turned her head. A free and uninhibited brilliant smile was on her face. An unconstrained and effortless ease was in her bearing. The morning sun cast a gentle glow around her whole person — as though she had descended from the nine heavens, and yet as though she might dissolve into the nine heavens at any moment.

Lanxi sank, without strength, onto the soft couch. He closed his eyes softly.

“Knowing and understanding are one thing. Whether one can accept it is quite another.” Only after a long while did Lanxi’s voice, carrying a faint trace of hoarseness, ring out in the room.

Xiyun tilted her head slightly, her gaze as clear as water looking at him: “I should have left long ago. If I had, perhaps many things would never have happened. I knew clearly that two people who harbored so much mutual suspicion could never walk in step with one heart. And yet I stayed anyway. Half of that was because of my doubts and my wariness — and the other half was, in truth, because of my unwillingness to let go. I could not bear to leave you.”

“And now you can?” Lanxi raised his eyes and looked at her. The faint smile on his face was tinged with a trace of desolation. “In truth… all these years, I was clearly able to sense the bond between us. And yet I could never confirm it and never dared to confirm it. I think that was because of my fear. I was afraid that the moment everything became clear and undeniable before my eyes — that would be the very moment you left me. I was afraid of your leaving.”

“Black little fox…” Xiyun sighed softly. She walked to stand before the couch and raised her hand, smoothing out those brows that had drawn together without him realizing. “Tell me — if the Feng Wang and King Xi were to walk side by side from here onward, what do you think the outcome would be?”

Lanxi gazed at her. He gazed into a pair of eyes as pellucid as clear water. Those eyes showed everything within them — and took everything in.

“We both know clearly — there would be countless, countless possibilities.” Xiyun’s fingertip smoothed out the furrow at his brow, touching with tender care the fine lines at the corners of his eyes. “Those countless possibilities, simply divided, are good and not good. And yet no matter which it is, you know I would not be happy.”

“Whether one speaks of Feng Xiyun or Bai Fengxi — what is deep in a person’s bones can never be changed. And those who died in the past, that blood that was shed — those things cannot be erased and cannot be forgotten. And beyond that, there will likely be even more of the deaths and partings and blood and shattered souls ahead that I cannot bear to see. I cannot sit with you in the imperial city when ten thousand bones have turned to ash, smiling together as we look out over ten thousand li of mountains and rivers. I… can only ever grow old in the rivers and lakes.”

Xiyun bent her head. Those ink-jade eyes were right there before her. All that was held within those eyes — the thousand words, the ten thousand feelings — she saw every one of them. In that moment, her heart was soft. Her heart ached. And yet — even so, her resolve could not waver.

“Fengguo and the Fengyun Cavalry — I am entrusting them all to you. Given their regard for me, they will not defy my command. Given your abilities, you will not fail my trust. And after I am gone, you will be truly without encumbrance or entanglement — you will be able to act with full freedom and draw the whole realm into your embrace.”

“Black little fox — wherever I am, I will be watching you. Through this entire life, I will think of you, and I will watch you.” Her fingertip traced gently across that face that caused her such aching pain. Her gaze grew soft and hazy. She bent toward him, close, murmuring softly: “This moment, this moment is… the most beautiful moment… between you and me.”

Her lips pressed tenderly against those ink-jade eyes, kissing gently into them all the ten thousand feelings held there — even though it was as though a blade turned in her heart, even though it was as though ten thousand arrows pierced her body. She had already decided.

The room was utterly still. The room was utterly empty. Only the cold wind kept blowing in unceasing through the window, brushing across the window frame, brushing across the silk curtains, brushing across that grey and white hair, brushing across the person sitting there transfixed, brushing across those dimmed and vacant eyes.

He raised his head and looked around — as though lost inside a dream.

Had all of this just now been an illusion? Had none of it just now truly happened? Could all of it just now be made to count for nothing?

Yet the pain rising from deep within his chest reminded him: all of this was real.

The person who had been beside him for ten years had truly been taken from his life.

The person who had lain in his arms last night, whose neck had been entwined with his — she had truly abandoned him and left. From this day onward, gone from his life forever, never to return.

The pain in his chest seemed to go numb — and then there was a vast and hollow emptiness, and the wind blew through, carrying nothing but a desolate echo.

That sunlight was so overcast. That world beyond the window was so dim. Those sounds faintly reaching his ears were so meaningless and loud. Why had everything that entered his eyes lost all its color? Why had everything that entered his ears lost all its meaning?

Dimly — he began to understand. Dimly — a surge of furious flame burst from within him.

“That infuriating woman!” A roar shot straight up to the nine heavens, shaking the whole of Kang City.

That was the elegant Young Master Lanxi, that was the graceful and composed King Xi — and this was the first time in his life he had ever let out so completely ungainly a shout of furious cursing.