On the day of General Li Shuang’s secret burial, a light rain fell from the sky.
Beside the coffin walked Li Shuang’s guards and many soldiers she had once led. Few from the General’s mansion attended, and the General himself was absent. Only Li Ting followed the coffin, stumbling with each step. Qin Lan supported him multiple times to prevent him from falling.
Li Ting’s voice had grown hoarse from days of weeping. As the pallbearers lowered the coffin into the simple grave, he cried out raspily, “Sister.” His voice fell with the rain onto the coffin, only to be silenced by the first shovel of earth.
Though Li Shuang was the General’s adopted daughter, she died a prisoner. The General’s mansion couldn’t openly mourn her. Everything was simple – an ordinary coffin and grave, with no honors befitting her achievements. Even a common soldier’s burial would have been grander.
Li Ting knelt on the muddy ground, his white mourning clothes sullied. Qin Lan stood silently beside him, supporting his arm.
Luo Teng had finally arrived from the northern frontier, his armor still cold beneath his mourning clothes. He stared unblinkingly as the guards covered Li Shuang’s coffin with earth. “This subordinate is late. I deserve death!” he cried, slapping himself hard repeatedly. The sharp sounds cut through the rainy day like whips, leaving only Li Ting’s hoarse sobs to break the ensuing silence.
Suddenly, a black shadow darted past the alert soldiers and leaped into the grave. With one powerful strike, it shattered the coffin lid, sending it flying. The heavy lid knocked down a nearby guard, but no one paid him any attention. All eyes were fixed on the figure who had jumped into the coffin.
Inside the outer coffin lay a wooden inner coffin, just slightly longer than a person. The intruder froze, as if drained of all strength upon seeing it. He remained there, breathing heavily like a trapped beast.
“It’s…” Li Ting recognized him through tear-blurred eyes, but before he could finish, imperial Dragon Guards emerged from the surrounding forest, bows drawn and aimed at Jin An.
Jin An seemed oblivious, his black eyes fixed unwaveringly on the sealed inner coffin. He could smell her – the scent of the worm charmer. The jade silkworm within him confirmed it: Li Shuang was here.
Transfixed, Jin An couldn’t look away. The shouts of the archers, Luo Teng’s bellowing – it all faded into unreality compared to the rain and wind around him. The coffin lay silently before him, Li Shuang lying silently within.
She no longer had warmth or fragrance, yet Jin An felt his soul drawn in. His limbs felt swollen and powerless. He wanted to crouch down and open the inner coffin, to confirm if it truly was Li Shuang. But what if…
What if it was?
The Five Spirits Sect had gone to great lengths to bring him to Lu City, only half a day’s journey from the Western Rong. With Wuyin’s help disguising him, escaping Lu City wouldn’t be difficult. However, when passing through the city gate Li Shuang had once guarded, he overheard a panicked soldier reporting to Luo Teng:
“General Luo! News from the capital – General Li has… has died suddenly in prison…”
“Which General Li, you fool? Speak clearly!”
“General… General Li Shuang…”
The news hit Jin An as a stone dropped in a still pond, sending ripples through his entire being. He stood rooted in place amidst the bustling crowd, unresponsive even as soldiers approached to question him. Wuyin, sensing danger, quickly made excuses and led him away.
After a long silence, Jin An’s first words to Wuyin were: “Li Shuang is dead. Will I die too?”
Unaware of the news, Wuyin replied puzzled, “Why ask this suddenly?”
Jin An stared blankly ahead. “If she’s dead, what will happen to me?”
“In theory, the death of a worm charmer doesn’t kill the one controlled by the worm,” Wuyin explained. “But most are so loyal they choose to end their own lives. Then we can recover the jade silkworm. Your case is unusual though – you’ve managed to travel this far from your worm charmer and even chose to leave. It’s as if you’ve overcome the worm’s control.”
With Li Shuang gone and his own will intact, Jin An could return to Western Rong with his newfound power. It should have been the perfect outcome – fate had removed the threat of Li Shuang revealing his identity as the Western Rong prince who had killed two of their generals.
And yet…
Learning he wouldn’t die left Jin An feeling oddly… disappointed. His first thought was:
“Why not?”
Why couldn’t he simply follow her?
As the reality of Li Shuang’s death sank in, a pain sharper than any physical wound spread through his body. Every fiber of his being felt gnawed upon by sharp-toothed insects as if they were draining his very marrow.
Li Shuang was dead. Why should he go on living?
This thought consumed him as he stood before her coffin. He had turned back from Lu City’s gate, racing day and night to return to the capital. When Wuyin asked, “What if it’s a trap?”, Jin An almost hoped it was.
If someone had used Li Shuang’s death to lure him back, to capture him… that would be perfect. It would end the gnawing in his heart, the pounding in his skull, the dull saw cutting through his mind. It would silence the jade silkworm that seemed to control his senses, making him feel as if he had loved Li Shuang to his very soul.
But was it truly just the worm’s doing?
An arrow suddenly struck his shoulder, the impact driving him forward. His knee landed on Li Shuang’s inner coffin with a hollow thud. No movement, no breath, no eyes gazing back at him.
The pain of the wound seemed to wash away the fog of memory: Li Shuang riding towards him on horseback for their first meeting; her feeding him her blood when he was gravely injured; her risking everything to save him from the bandits’ trap in the north; the candy she secretly gave him in the military camp; her blushing face after his sudden kiss under the last firework of the Snow Festival in Lu City; her travel-worn appearance as she arrived at South Longshan prison, the bruises on her neck from his crazed grip, yet still smiling gently to comfort him.
He had always believed these were the jade silkworm’s memories, its emotions. But they weren’t.
They were his memories, his feelings.
Another arrow grazed his headpiece, loosening his hair. The rain dampened his black locks, leaving him disheveled. Suddenly, an arrow pierced the thin wood of the inner coffin.
Jin An’s whole body trembled as if that arrow had struck his very soul.
Gritting his teeth, grief turned to rage. The flame-like markings on his chest seemed to ignite once more. He turned his gaze to the Dragon Guards surrounding the grave, his pupils shifting between black and red.
The onlookers watched as a red pattern crawled up from his collar, stopping at the corner of his eye before setting his irises ablaze. He removed his outer robe, wrapped it around Li Shuang’s coffin, and bound it to his back. Standing alone in the grave, he glared at the Dragon Guards like a wild beast.
The blood rage seemed to drive him to madness. The flame markings spread across his body, covering his hands and half his face. The patterns shifted beneath his skin, darkening until he appeared almost demonic.
Heedless of pain, he yanked out the arrow in his shoulder. His brutal action shocked even the battle-hardened Luo Teng, who muttered, “Who is this man…”
Jin An climbed out of the grave carrying Li Shuang’s coffin, like a demon returning from hell with his wife, filled with despair and ready to slaughter gods and Buddhas alike. His blood-red eyes fixed ahead as the Dragon Guards aimed their bows.
The captain of the Dragon Guards began, “By imperial command, we’re here to escort Prince Ao Deng to the palace. We don’t mean to”
Before he could finish, Jin An reached out with his inner force, seizing the captain by the throat from afar. “The palace? Good. Then take me to kill your emperor.”
Everyone was shocked by his seemingly deranged state. With their captain in Jin An’s grasp, the guards hesitated to act. Jin An, ignoring them completely, strode towards the imperial palace.
His intention to assassinate the emperor was no small matter. The Dragon Guards couldn’t let him leave. At a signal from their captain, they swarmed towards Jin An.
Despite carrying the coffin, Jin An fought like a madman. Amidst the flashing blades, he made no effort to protect himself, focusing solely on shielding the coffin. Though formidable, the coffin’s bulk and the guards’ numbers left him vulnerable. Yet he chose to take blows with his own body rather than let the coffin be scratched.
He fought his way forward, leaving a trail of bodies behind him. Whether it was his blood or that of the Dragon Guards, the coffin soon became stained red.
As more Dragon Guards appeared, Luo Teng muttered, “This man has gone mad. He’s gone mad for the General.”
Qin Lan, who had been silently watching Jin An, finally clenched his fist and drew his sword. He joined the Dragon Guards in attacking Jin An, but his target was not Jin An himself. Instead, he aimed every strike at the coffin on Jin An’s back.
“Qin Lan!” Luo Teng shouted. “Have you lost your mind too? The General is in there!”
Jin An refused to let anyone harm the coffin. As he dodged Qin Lan’s attack, a Dragon Guard struck from behind. Ignoring the pain, Jin An stabbed backward and then spun to sweep away the surrounding guards with the coffin. Qin Lan pressed close, seemingly plunging his blade into Jin An’s abdomen, but only slicing his clothing at the waist.
“She’s alive,” Qin Lan whispered.
Jin’an’s body trembled.
“Take a good look,” Qin Lan said, stepping back.
Blood-soaked Jin’an stood motionless, his gaze sweeping over those present in a daze. The Dragon Guards were in no better condition. Behind Qin Lan, among the personal guards, stood a figure shorter than the rest, wearing common soldier’s attire. Through the crowd, she watched him silently, her eyes brimming with tears, all emotions suppressed beneath tightly pressed lips.
Li Shuang… Li Shuang… You’re alive.
A sigh escaped from his chest. No longer able to support himself, Jin’an collapsed like a mountain. The robe binding the coffin, already tattered, finally broke. The coffin slid off Jin’an’s back, crashing to the ground.
Jin’an knelt, lacking even the strength to lift his head. His silent posture made others think he had fainted. “Heh…” He chuckled, raising his head to the sky. The lines on his face suddenly faded away.
How wonderful. It was truly a scheme. She wasn’t dead.
With a thud, he fell unconscious, a smile lingering on his face.
As nearby Dragon Guards approached to take him away, thousands of black insects suddenly appeared, lunging at them. Amid the chaos, masked figures seemingly descended from the sky, lifting Jin’an and whisking him away with lightfoot skills.
The commotion appeared to end, but unnoticed by all, the small-statured soldier concealed half her face with a hat, disappearing into the shadows.
Ten days later, at Mount Nanzhang.
Li Shuang, as usual, went to Jin’an’s small courtyard after her morning routine. As she was about to wipe his face, she unexpectedly met a pair of dark eyes.
Their gazes locked. Li Shuang paused, then folded the cloth and sat beside his bed, gently wiping his face.
“You’re awake,” she said softly.
Jin’an just stared at her, silent.
“Your injuries were severe. Even with the Jade Silkworm Gu, you were unconscious for ten days. Wu Yin and the others brought you here from the capital. It wasn’t easy; we owe the Wu Ling Sect a great debt now.”
“Li Shuang,” he finally spoke, uttering only her name.
Li Shuang responded with a soft sound. The room fell silent until she finished wiping his face.
Jin’an then said, “When I first regained my memories at the General’s mansion, I wanted to kill you.”
Li Shuang paused, then nodded. “Understandable.”
“But I couldn’t kill you,” he continued. “Nor could I bear your death.”
Li Shuang nodded again. “I know. The Jade Silkworm Gu.”
“It’s not about the Gu.”
These words stunned Li Shuang.
“I still don’t understand love or the emotions between men and women. They seem intangible,” he said. “I only know that in my heart, there is no love, only you.”
As he spoke, the cloth in Li Shuang’s hand fell to the floor with a soft “plop.”
“Heh,” a chuckle came from the doorway. “I’ve heard that you Xirong people are direct, but I didn’t expect this level of frankness.”
Li Shuang turned to see Wu Yin, clearing her throat. “Has he reverted to his former self?”
Wu Yin pondered for a moment. “Not necessarily. Did the previous Jin’an often speak to you like this?”
“Yes, frequently.”
“Well, the Jade Silkworm Gu changes his body but can’t completely alter the person. It typically preserves memories, so while all Gu bearers are loyal to their masters, their personalities differ. He’s probably always been this way.”
As Wu Yin finished speaking, Jin’an struggled to sit up. “You should leave.”
Wu Yin shrugged. “Alright, alright, I’m going.” He handed Li Shuang a letter. “Someone sent a secret message. I’m just delivering it, not here to listen to your confessions.”
Li Shuang took the letter, her expression becoming more reserved as she recognized the paper. After reading its brief contents and noting the signature, her gaze flickered slightly before setting it down.
Jin’an watched her intently. Li Shuang smiled. “Sima Yang.”
At those three words, Jin’an’s expression tightened, his eyes turning cold.
Li Shuang explained, “It’s nothing bad. He’s just wishing me well as an old friend, now that we’re parting ways for good.”
She went on to recount how she had faked her death, seeing through the ruse of the poisoned food delivered by a soldier. She had pretended to be poisoned, luring the soldier into her cell to interrogate him. It turned out the Prime Minister had plotted to kill her, hoping to drive a wedge between the Emperor and the General’s household.
Li Shuang had fed the soldier her blood, claiming it contained Mount Nanzhang’s Gu poison to make him obedient. She then had him send a message to Qin Lan, setting up the elaborate performance between the General and the Emperor.
While Li Shuang feigned death, creating the illusion of discord between the General and the Emperor, Qin Lan exposed the poisoning plot, using Li Shuang’s apparent death to bring down the Prime Minister under the guise of “purging the court.”
These events had unfolded swiftly during Jin’an’s ten-day unconsciousness. Sima Yang’s letter informed Li Shuang of these developments, serving as a farewell.
From now on, it would be a long struggle for power between him and the General in the imperial court, a game of Li Shuang would no longer be part of.
Li Shuang recalled the day she left the capital. Sima Yang had come in disguise, offering no explanation for why he had still stationed Dragon Guards in ambush, hoping to capture Jin’an if he returned upon hearing the news. Li Shuang didn’t question him; their relationship no longer demanded such accountability.
Mounted on her horse, Li Shuang didn’t dismount, reminiscent of her hasty “escape from marriage” to the northern frontier. Sima Yang had come to see her off then, too, but now their parting lacked their former camaraderie.
This farewell held even less possibility of a reunion than their previous parting.
Sima Yang held her horse’s reins, leading her for a long stretch. Given his current status, he shouldn’t have done this, but he persisted despite Li Shuang’s protests. Finally, he released the reins and patted the horse.
As the sound of hoofbeats faded into the distance, Sima Yang called out, “Shuang’er.” Li Shuang turned to see him waving from afar. “Take care.”
They both knew that from this moment on, Li Shuang of the General’s household no longer existed. The Emperor’s childhood friend, the wild child who had punched him upon their first meeting, the spirited young woman of their memories—all had perished.
Perhaps this was how it always went, with people around them constantly “dying.” Old acquaintances faded away, and new ones arrived.
The Emperor had let her go. So Li Shuang came to Mount Nanzhang.
She put away the letter and said to Jin’an, “The news of you killing two Xirong generals has spread. Now that you’ve returned to Xirong, I fear their people won’t forgive you.”
Li Shuang found this situation somewhat tragic. Originally, only she knew of Jin’an’s connection to the black-masked warrior. But after Jin’an’s emotional outburst that day, many personal guards had recognized him. Someone had leaked the information, and it had reached Xirong.
The Emperor had tried to suppress the news, but it had already caused an uproar in the Xirong court. Under pressure, the Emperor had reluctantly and painfully decreed that Ao Deng would no longer be summoned back to Xirong.
Thus, Jin’an’s status as Crown Prince was gone, and he no longer held any value for Sima Yang.
Jin’an seemed unconcerned by this news.
Li Shuang looked at him and asked, “Now that I’m ‘dead’ and you’ve been deposed, what are your plans?”
“Deposed?” Jin’an raised his hand, grasping Li Shuang’s chin. “No one can depose me.” He leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on her lips, sudden and possessive as always.
“Except you,” he added.
To him, nothing mattered except her.