On the day of Li Shuang’s secret burial at the General’s mansion, a light rain fell.
Accompanying the coffin were Li Shuang’s former personal guards and many soldiers she had once led. Few from the General’s household attended, and the General himself was absent. Only Li Ting followed the coffin, stumbling with each step. Qin Lan repeatedly steadied him to prevent him from falling.
Li Ting’s voice had grown hoarse from days of weeping. As the coffin bearers lowered the casket into the simple grave, he rasped, “Sister.” His voice, like raindrops, fell upon the coffin, only to be covered by a handful of yellow earth.
Though Li Shuang was the General’s adopted daughter, she had died in prison, tainted by crime. The General’s household couldn’t openly mourn her.
Everything was simple: an ordinary coffin, a plain grave, no recognition of her lifetime achievements. It was less than what any soldier who had fought for the country would receive.
Li Ting knelt on the muddy ground, his white mourning clothes soiled. Qin Lan supported him silently.
Luo Teng had finally arrived from the northern frontier, his armor beneath the mourning clothes still carrying the frontier’s chill. His eyes, wide as brass bells, never blinked as he watched the guards cover Li Shuang’s coffin with earth.
“This subordinate is late! This subordinate deserves death!” he cried, slapping himself hard. His rough skin swelled immediately, but he didn’t stop, one slap following another.
The sharp sound seemed to tear through the rainy day, lashing at everyone’s hearts. Apart from Li Ting’s hoarse, almost inaudible crying, a deathly silence fell over the gathering.
Suddenly, amid the fine rain, a gust of wind stirred. As the soldiers grew alert, a black shadow leaped directly into the grave. With one powerful strike, it sent the heavy coffin lid flying, knocking down a nearby guard.
No one paid attention to the fallen guard; all eyes were on the figure who had jumped into the coffin.
“How dare you disturb our General’s spirit!” Luo Teng shouted, drawing his sword. But Qin Lan stopped him with an outstretched hand.
Luo Teng halted, glancing at Qin Lan before looking back at the intruder. The man stood motionless in the grave, like a specter in the rain.
Inside the heavy outer coffin was a wooden inner coffin, just slightly longer than a person. Having effortlessly knocked off the heavy outer lid, the man now seemed drained of all strength, standing there as if frozen.
In the rain, his breathing was heavy, like a trapped beast.
“It’s…” Li Ting recognized him through tear-blurred eyes, but before he could finish, Dragon Guards suddenly emerged from the dense forest surrounding the secret burial site.
They drew their bows, aiming at Jin’an.
Jin’an seemed oblivious, his dark eyes fixed unblinkingly on the sealed inner coffin.
He could smell it—the scent of his Gu master inside. The Jade Silkworm within him confirmed: this was indeed Li Shuang.
Jin’an’s gaze remained fixed, unable to look elsewhere. The shouts of the archers, Luo Teng’s roars—all these sounds and sights seemed less real to Jin’an than the wind in his ears and the rain before his eyes.
The coffin lay silently before him, Li Shuang resting quietly inside.
She no longer had warmth or fragrance, but to Jin’an, it felt as if his very soul was being drawn in. His limbs felt swollen and powerless. He wanted to crouch down, to open the inner coffin, to confirm if Li Shuang was truly inside.
But what if… she was?
The Wu Ling Sect had gone to great lengths to bring him to Lu City, just half a day’s journey from Xirong. Wu Yin had helped disguise him, making it easy to slip out of the city. But as he passed through the city gate Li Shuang once guarded, he saw Luo Teng on duty.
A panicked soldier rushed to report: “General Luo! General Luo! News from the capital—General Li has suddenly… suddenly died in prison…”
Luo Teng, hot-tempered as always, barked, “You little bastard, speak clearly! Which General Li?”
“General… General Li Shuang…”
A sound like a water droplet hitting a still lake rippled through a thousand layers of Jin’an’s consciousness.
He watched as Luo Teng, after a moment of stunned silence, turned pale and left with the soldier. Jin’an stood motionless amidst the bustling crowd passing through the city gate.
Above him was the tower where Li Shuang had stood guard; beneath his feet, the ground she had protected. But suddenly, it was as if he could no longer understand the meaning behind the name “Li Shuang.” In that instant, he couldn’t comprehend any of the buzzing words around him.
People pushed past him, cursing him for blocking the way. Soon, soldiers approached to question him. But Jin’an didn’t react, like a puppet whose soul had been suddenly snatched away, waiting for someone to pull his strings and lead him away.
Wu Yin, who had been observing from behind, came forward and led him away. “Young master,” he said, eyeing Jin’an’s disturbed expression, “We’ve come this far. Don’t tell me you’re suddenly missing someone and want to turn back?”
“I need to go back,” Jin’an said.
Wu Yin smiled patiently. “Do you think we of the Wu Ling Sect have nothing better to do?”
Without a word, Jin’an turned and walked towards the other end of Lu City. Every stranger coming towards him seemed like a giant wave in the sea, rocking his journey back.
Wu Yin hurried after him. After a short chase, another Wu Ling Sect member whispered something in Wu Yin’s ear. His expression changed slightly, and he immediately set aside all other concerns to catch up with Jin’an.
From then on, as they rushed back from the northern frontier, Wu Yin didn’t waste a single word.
On the journey, Jin’an rarely spoke to Wu Yin, but he did ask one question: “If Li Shuang dies, will I die too?”
“Theoretically, the death of a Gu master doesn’t kill the Gu bearer,” Wu Yin replied. “But Gu bearers are fiercely loyal to their masters; most choose to end their own lives. Then we can reclaim the Jade Silkworm Gu. However, your bond with the Jade Silkworm is unusual. You can already travel this far from your Gu master, and you even suggested leaving earlier. It seems you’ve overcome the Gu’s influence.”
Wu Yin studied him closely. “Honestly, I don’t understand why you still want to go back to Li Shuang. Shouldn’t her fate be irrelevant to you now?”
Li Shuang was dead, and Jin’an had his consciousness. The gate to Xirong was just outside Lu City. He could return to Xirong with this formidable power—shouldn’t this be the best outcome for him?
Nothing in this world could threaten him anymore.
Wasn’t Li Shuang’s death convenient? Heaven had accomplished what he had wanted but couldn’t do himself.
She knew his identity, knew he was the Xirong prince who had killed two Xirong generals. If he were to return to Xirong, he couldn’t afford such a stain on his reputation.
But…
Since learning of Li Shuang’s death, even sitting by the fire every night, he felt a bone-deep chill. It was as if the blood in his body would never warm again.
His body was no longer under his control, and even his thoughts began to feel strange. When Wu Yin told him that Li Shuang was dead but he wouldn’t die, his first reaction was disappointment and a sense of pointlessness.
Why not?
Why not simply let him follow her?
After hearing the news of “Li Shuang’s death,” a tearing pain like a bone-eating maggot crawled through his entire body. In every joint and every fiber of his being, sharp-toothed insects seemed to gnaw relentlessly, as if about to drain his marrow.
Li Shuang was dead; why should he still live?
Why continue living?
This thought stood out starkly as he now stood before Li Shuang’s coffin.
He had believed it was the Gu worm that loved Li Shuang, that depended on her, not himself. So when he regained his memories and understood who he was, he thought he should suppress all the impulses brought by the Gu worm.
Because the Gu worm was like a poison, and he was a rational, complete person who must cure this poison. So dependence on Li Shuang became poison, inability to leave became poison, and deep love became poison.
He forced himself to treat Li Shuang with cold politeness, forced himself to leave, and forced himself to be rational.
But now, looking at the coffin before him, he finally understood that all that “curing” and “rationality” was mere self-deception.
He was no longer the former Ao Deng. The name given to him by the person in the coffin had long since fused with his blood and bones, etched into his spirit and flesh. It couldn’t be dug out, scraped off, or burned away—it would remain even in the ashes.
He understood now, but too late.
With a thud, an arrow pierced the air and struck his shoulder. The force of the arrow made Jin’an stumble forward, his knee landing on Li Shuang’s inner coffin.
A hollow echo resonated as if the coffin were empty, but it shook Jin’an’s memories.
Blood from his wound dripped onto the coffin, the splattered droplets like fireworks on that snowy night in Lu City during the Clear Snow Festival. The last burst is still vivid in his memory. The falling raindrops around him were like the swirling snow on that mountaintop when he first kissed her, her shock and anger still frozen in his mind.
Then there was the bandit’s lair, where she risked danger to rescue him from a trap full of blades. In the military camp, she played the iron-faced general in public but secretly slipped him candy. Even recently, in the dungeon of Mount Nanzhang, she came to save him, travel-worn. Her neck bore the marks of his frenzied grip, yet she still smiled and comforted him softly.
And all of these memories finally settled on that day when the sun was setting over the northern desert wasteland. She came riding, a female general in red robes and silver armor, bending to lift him, feeding him the fresh blood from her fingertip…
It wasn’t the Jade Silkworm that first loved Li Shuang—it was him.
Arrows whistled through the air, grazing his hair ornament, letting his black hair fall loose. The rain dampened his hair, making him look disheveled. Suddenly, an arrow flew at an angle, piercing through the thin wood of the inner coffin.
The wood splintered along its grain, a piece folding inward, revealing the black hair of the person inside.
Jin’an’s whole body trembled as if this arrow had wounded his very soul.
He gritted his teeth, his grief turning to anger. The flame-patterned area on his chest seemed to ignite again. He turned his gaze fiercely towards the Dragon Guards surrounding the grave, his pupils shifting between black and red.
“Who dares harm her?”
Everyone watched as a red pattern crawled out from between the folds of his clothes, climbing upwards, stopping at the corner of his eye, and then burning his pupils red.
He removed his outer garment, wrapped it around Li Shuang’s coffin, and tied it to his back. Carrying Li Shuang’s inner coffin, he stood alone in the grave, glaring at the surrounding Dragon Guards like a wild beast.
The blood rage seemed to drive him mad. The flame patterns didn’t stop their rampage within his body, quickly spreading to his hands and the other half of his face. The patterns kept changing beneath his skin, their color deepening, making him look almost demonic.
As if immune to pain, he pulled out the arrows from his body. His fierce movements startled not only the Dragon Guards but even the battle-hardened Luo Teng:
“This man is…”
Jin’an climbed out of the grave carrying Li Shuang’s coffin, like a demon bringing back his wife from hell, filled with despair, ready to slaughter all gods and Buddhas in the world.
His blood-red eyes fixed on what lay ahead. The Dragon Guards aimed their bows at him. The Captain of the Dragon Guards began to speak: “By imperial order, we’ve come to invite Prince Ao Deng to the palace. We didn’t intend to—” Before he could finish, Jin’an raised his hand from afar, using his inner force to drag the captain towards him, gripping his neck:
“Enter the palace? Fine. The Emperor forced her to her death, so I’ll go kill your Emperor.”
Everyone present was shocked to see his seemingly crazed state. The Dragon Guards drew their swords, but Jin’an didn’t even glance at them. He disarmed the captain of his long sword and tossed him aside like trash.
He strode towards the imperial palace. The Green Dragon Guards, unwilling to let him leave, surrounded him. Their captain struggled to his feet and gave the order. In an instant, the guards swarmed him.
Amidst the flashing blades, Jin’an focused solely on protecting the coffin behind him, neglecting his safety. Despite his skill, the coffin’s size and the sheer number of opponents left him vulnerable. He chose to shield the coffin with his body, refusing to let it suffer even the slightest damage.
Fighting and advancing, he battled his way from the dense forest to the outskirts of the city. The drizzle intensified as the conflict raged on. As they neared the main road, more guards appeared. Through the curtain of rain, it seemed as if he faced an entire army alone.
The coffin stained a deep red, bore witness to the blood – his own or that of the Green Dragon Guards, it was impossible to tell. Bodies littered the ground, and Jin’an’s murderous aura kept the surrounding guards at bay. They formed a circle around him, cautiously following his every step.
“This man has gone mad.”
“He’s possessed.”
“…He must be a demon!”
Whispers, carried by the rain, enveloped him. As more soldiers appeared before him, a distant flute melody suddenly pierced the air. The muddy ground stirred, and countless black insects emerged from the earth!
The insects swarmed towards the soldiers, causing panic as they futilely tried to brush them off. Amidst the chaos, two figures in cyan robes descended from above, attempting to grab Jin’an’s arms and whisk him away.
To their surprise, Jin’an evaded their grasp. With a swift turn, the coffin on his back knocked them aside. He didn’t harm these Wu Ling Sect members who had come to his aid, but he wouldn’t let them near him either.
Nothing could stop him from reaching the imperial palace. Nothing could prevent him from embracing his death. His entire being seemed to scream this resolve.
“Don’t let him escape!” The Green Dragon Guard captain channeled his inner force, crushing the approaching insects. He seized a sword from a nearby soldier and leaped towards Jin’an, blade flashing.
Jin’an met the attack head-on. The force of the collision sent the captain staggering back more than ten paces. As he regained his footing, his damaged sword snapped in two with a resounding crack.
The onlookers were struck with fear at Jin’an’s strength. However, the Green Dragon Guards, as the imperial family’s protectors, had their pride and determination. Following their captain’s lead, they dispelled the insects with their inner force and charged once more.
The scene descended into chaos, a blur of blood and flesh, as if the rain itself might turn crimson.
Meanwhile, the soldiers from the General’s mansion who had come to pay their respects watched the battle from a grove on higher ground. Li Ting rubbed his eyes, unable to bear the sight. “This isn’t what my sister would have wanted.”
Luo Teng scratched his head in confusion. “This man and the General…”
Qin Lan remained silent, glancing to the side. A short soldier in black, face hidden by a wide-brimmed hat like the others, quietly slipped away while everyone’s attention was fixed on the battle.
As the fight intensified, even the Wu Ling Sect rescuers found themselves trapped in the fray. If this continued, not only Jin’an but the entire Wu Ling Sect might be drawn into the court’s vortex.
Suddenly, amid the chaos, an arrow whistled through the air. Jin’an had just struck down a Green Dragon Guard when the arrow, from a cunning angle, grazed the guard’s arm and plunged into Jin’an’s chest with a dull thud.
Jin’an looked up in the direction of the arrow. Through the dense foliage and rain, he saw a figure kneeling on a tree branch, bow still quivering. From beneath the wide-brimmed hat, a pair of familiar eyes met his – starlight piercing the darkest corners of his heart.
Her lips were pressed tightly together, suppressing all emotion.
Li Shuang… It was Li Shuang… She was alive.
He tried to call her name, but blood surged up his throat instead. The pain he had been suppressing exploded through his body. He coughed violently, spitting out a mouthful of dark blood, choked by the thick, metallic taste.
Wracked with coughs, he could no longer support himself. Like a crumbling mountain, he collapsed. The tattered clothes binding the coffin to his back finally gave way, and it slid off, landing heavily in the mud and blood.
Despite his wretched, filthy state, Jin’an laughed – a hoarse, broken sound.
She was alive.
On the journey back, Wu Yin had asked him: What if this was a ploy? What if Li Shuang had faked her death to lure him back?
He hadn’t answered, but in his heart, he had thought: Wouldn’t that be wonderful?
Jin’an knelt on the ground, lacking even the strength to lift his head. He remained silent, appearing to have lost consciousness. “Heh…” A soft chuckle, part sigh, and part relief drifted away with the rain.
How perfect.
It was a ploy.
She wasn’t dead.
With a dull thud, he collapsed to the ground, a smile on his face as his eyes closed.
As the surrounding Green Dragon Guards cautiously approached to seize him, the distant flute melody rose again. Countless insects swarmed from the earth and sky, blinding the guards and hindering their movements. They could only watch helplessly as two figures lifted the unconscious Jin’an and carried him away with lightfoot skills.
No one noticed the bow that fell from the tree, or that the small figure of the soldier had vanished without a trace.
Ten days later, at Nanchang Mountain.
Birdsong filled the air as Jin’an regained consciousness, finding himself alone.
He tried to sit up, but a searing pain in his chest forced him back down, leaving him breathless and weak.
“If he doesn’t wake today, I’m out of options,” Wu Yin’s voice sighed from outside.
“It’s my fault. My arrow was too heavy.”
Jin’an’s eyes brightened at the sound of that voice.
“We had no choice. It was the only way to get him out of there.”
The two entered the room as they spoke.
“Oh!” Wu Yin exclaimed, clearly startled. “You’re awake…”
Jin’an ignored him, his gaze following the other figure. She moved quickly to his bedside, her silhouette backlit. “You’re awake?” Her voice and appearance were just as he remembered from their first meeting in the northern frontier.
“Awake?” His voice was extremely hoarse as if doubting his senses. Fearing this might be a dream, he asked, “You’re alive?”
Li Shuang paused. “The fake death was part of a larger plan. I didn’t expect you to come back.”
Fake death…
Jin’an closed his eyes briefly. Wu Yin’s teasing about his distraught state that day no longer mattered.
Seeing his condition, Li Shuang assumed he was exhausted. “You should rest. I’ll…”
“Stay with me for a while,” he turned to look at her. “Don’t leave.”
His words were reminiscent of the Jin’an before he regained his memories, but now they carried a hint of command and firmness.
Li Shuang hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Alright.” She had nothing else to do now anyway.
She was now a dead general, known to be alive only by Sima Yang, her father, and Qin Lan in the inner court prison. Even Li Ting had been kept in the dark.
This grand deception wasn’t particularly complex.
That day, when the small soldier came to deliver food, Li Shuang had seen through him immediately. She feigned poisoning, luring him into the cell where she quickly subdued and interrogated him.
It turned out the Prime Minister had tried to intervene, attempting to kill Li Shuang to drive a wedge between the Emperor and the General’s household.
The Prime Minister had been too hasty. Sima Yang needed an obedient pawn for balance, not someone who could secretly mobilize assassins to reach the inner court prison and target the General’s daughter.
Li Shuang fed the soldier her blood, claiming it contained a poison from Nanchang Mountain that would make him obey. She ordered him to send a message to Qin Lan, setting in motion the elaborate play staged by the General in cooperation with the Emperor.
Li Shuang faked her death, creating an apparent rift between the General and the Emperor. While the Prime Minister’s guard was down, Qin Lan exposed the poisoning plot through the captured soldier. This led to the Prime Minister’s downfall on ten charges, including the murder of a military official and deceiving the Emperor, resulting in the purge of his faction under the guise of “clearing the court of evil influences.”
The news of Li Shuang’s death was spread to make the deception more convincing, but it was also Sima Yang’s way of letting her go.
At first, Li Shuang didn’t understand why Sima Yang had suddenly decided to release her. After all, even with a fake death, it wouldn’t have been difficult for the Emperor to give her some title and keep her in the palace.
It wasn’t until the day Li Shuang left the capital alone that she began to understand. None of those who knew about her fake death from the General’s household came to see her off. Surprisingly, it was Sima Yang who appeared, having left the palace in disguise and unaccompanied.
The sky was overcast that day, with spring rain falling steadily. Sima Yang wore a plain grey robe, looking like an ordinary gentleman. Yet even without his imperial robes, his regal bearing was unmistakable.
The meeting between Li Shuang and Sima Yang was awkward.
During this time, although they had worked together to eliminate the Prime Minister’s faction, they hadn’t met face to face.
After faking her death, Li Shuang had been sent back to the General’s mansion and hidden there. All the scheming had been carried out through the coordination of the General and Qin Lan.
On the day of Li Shuang’s “burial,” Qin Lan had told her that the Emperor had granted her permission to leave. She had planned to head north to the frontier with Luo Teng after her “coffin” was interred. However, she hadn’t expected Jin’an to return from the northern frontier, nor had she anticipated that Sima Yang had foreseen Jin’an’s return and positioned so many Green Dragon Guards there.
Her final arrow, allowing Jin’an to escape, meant that the future Crown Prince of Xirong had been rescued. The Great Jin had lost a significant bargaining chip against Xirong.
So now, as Li Shuang faced Sima Yang, they stood as a disloyal subject and an unjust ruler. Despite their attempts to hide it, there was an undeniable distance and unfamiliarity between them.
“Your Majesty—” Li Shuang began.
Sima Yang raised his hand, cutting her off. “I’m merely here to bid farewell to an old acquaintance.”
Li Shuang was taken aback by his words. She straightened her back and looked directly into Sima Yang’s eyes.
In the court, Qin Lan had presented witnesses implicating the Prime Minister in the plot to poison Li Shuang. Now, this Emperor standing before her was orchestrating his first silent and cold purge since ascending to the throne.
It wasn’t hard to imagine how intense the power struggle between him and the General’s faction would become without Prime Minister Ji He in the picture.
But none of that concerned Li Shuang anymore.
“The General has forbidden Qin Lan from seeing you off,” Li Shuang said as she led her horse, with Sima Yang walking beside her. It felt like old friends bidding farewell. “It seems he wants you to sever all ties with your past completely.”
Li Shuang understood. Her father was telling her that Li Shuang was dead, so no one from the General’s household would see her off. From now on, she would no longer be Li Shuang, and the future triumphs and failures of the General’s household would no longer concern her.
It wasn’t cruelty, but a way to allow her to start a new life.
Li Shuang remained silent as Sima Yang continued, “I’ve also promised the General…” He paused. “Shuang’er, this truly is our last meeting.”
At that moment, Li Shuang realized why Sima Yang had stopped trying to keep her. Her father had intervened.
To let his unfilial daughter leave, the old man must have engaged in another round of negotiations with the Emperor.
The gentle spring breeze brought moisture to Li Shuang’s eyes. She halted, blinked away the dampness, and turned to Sima Yang. “Your Majesty, please stop here.”
Sima Yang indeed stopped, not insisting further.
“I hadn’t expected that man to be the black-masked warrior who defended our Great Jin against Xirong in the northern frontier,” he said.
Li Shuang remained silent for a moment. The news that Jin’an was Prince Aodeng of Xirong had spread, leaked by some soldier who had recognized him during his emotional outburst.
“It’s… a long story,” Li Shuang said, unsure how to explain.
Sima Yang shook his head. “I don’t need to know the reasons. But now that this information has leaked, Xirong will soon know. They won’t want a prince who has killed two of their great generals as their future king.”
Li Shuang nodded silently, unsure how Xirong would treat Jin’an. It would likely be difficult for him to reclaim his position as Crown Prince, given this indelible stain on his reputation.
“He’s no longer that important to me,” Sima Yang said, his gaze fixed on the distant sky.
Li Shuang turned to look at him, her lips twitching slightly before simply saying, “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
She understood Sima Yang’s intention in coming to see her off. He was reassuring her one last time. Telling her that Jin’an was no longer useful to him, so if she wanted to find him, she could. Their paths would diverge from here, and they should each take care of themselves.
This was perhaps… the Emperor’s final act of kindness.
Li Shuang led her horse forward, the hoofbeats gradually fading into the distance.
They both knew that from this moment on, Li Shuang of the General’s household no longer existed. The Emperor’s childhood friend who had punched him upon their first meeting, the spirited girl from their memories – all had died.
Life has always been thus: old acquaintances depart, and new ones arrive.
And so, Li Shuang returned to Nanchang Mountain.
Wu Yin had brought Jin’an back two days earlier. His injuries were severe, and he remained unconscious. In his feverish dreams, he called out only one name:
“Li Shuang.”
Finally, Li Shuang had come, but he was still not awake. Wu Yin said that if he didn’t wake up today, he might never wake up again. Fortunately, heaven seemed to favor him, and he eventually regained consciousness.
Li Shuang sat by his bedside, her thoughts tangled with the events of the past few days. She glanced at Jin’an, seeing him drift off to sleep again, and stood to get some water. However, as soon as she moved, Jin’an immediately woke up.
“Where are you going?”
It was the first time someone had watched her so closely. Li Shuang felt torn between laughter and exasperation. He was the one severely injured in bed, yet somehow it felt like she was the one who needed looking after.
“Just getting some water. Are you thirsty?”
“Will you help me drink?”
The question was… well, did he expect to get up and drink by himself in his near-paralyzed state? Li Shuang nodded. “Of course.”
“A little thirsty.”
“…”
If she had said no, would he suddenly not be thirsty any more?
Feeling somewhat amused, Li Shuang poured some water and supported him to drink half a cup. “Do you want more?” Jin’an shook his head, so she set the cup aside and began adjusting his blankets.
“We received news today,” she said. “The fact that you killed two Xirong generals has leaked. The new Xirong king initially wanted to suppress this information, but it had already caused an uproar in the Xirong court. Your father, probably under pressure, has ordered that you not be summoned back to Xirong. After you recover, if you want to return to Xirong as the Crown Prince, it might be quite difficult.”
Jin’an gave a soft “Mm” of acknowledgment, seemingly unfazed by the news.
Li Shuang smoothed his blanket and asked, “What are your plans after you recover?”
Jin’an was silent for a long while before answering, “We’ll see.” His response was somewhat cold, causing Li Shuang to fall silent as well. “You should sleep some more,” she said. “My arrow was too heavy and too close to your heart. Although you’re healing quickly, you still need plenty of rest.”
Jin’an obediently closed his eyes. After a long while, just when Li Shuang thought he had fallen asleep again, he spoke: “Don’t feel guilty. I know you did it to save me.”
Li Shuang was momentarily taken aback by his words. If the previous Jin’an had been like a child, pure and persistent, the current one seemed to have gained a sharp wisdom.
But he was indeed different from before…
The next day, when Jin’an woke up, his condition had improved significantly. It seemed his body had regained its former healing ability after coming out of the coma. After just one night, he could get out of bed and walk a little.
He supported himself against the wall as he left the room but didn’t see Li Shuang. Upon inquiring, he learned that she had gone to the back of the mountain to gather herbs.
One of the medicinal ingredients needed for his treatment had to be collected from a cliff. Previously, Wu Yin had personally gathered these herbs, but now that they were used up, someone had to go collect more. With Wu Yin busy with tribal affairs, the task fell to Li Shuang.
The path to the cliff was extremely steep and difficult. Jin’an, supporting his weak body, made it halfway before he had to stop and rest by the roadside. Looking into the distance, he could see the nearly vertical cliff face, but it was too far to see if anyone was up there. He could only imagine how dangerous it must be to gather herbs from such a place, even with Wu Yin’s lightfoot skills.
Li Shuang…
After waiting for an unknown time, he heard light footsteps approaching. Jin’an stood up and saw Li Shuang in the distance.
Her face was dirty, and her sleeve was torn. There was a raw, bloody scrape on her hand.
Jin’an’s eyes narrowed as he immediately went to meet her.
“How did you get hurt?”
“Why are you here?”
They spoke almost in unison. Li Shuang casually tugged at her torn sleeve. “It rained a few days ago, and the rocks were slippery. I fell, but it’s nothing serious.”
A simple fall wouldn’t tear clothes like that. She must have fallen down the cliff. The scene must have been terrifying…
Jin’an was silent for a long while before saying, “My injuries can heal on their own. You don’t need to gather herbs anymore.”
Li Shuang smiled. “I know. These aren’t for you. They’re to repay the Wu Ling Sect for their help.”
They had used up their precious medicine to treat Jin’an, so Li Shuang went to gather more to repay them. But why should she repay the debt for medicine used to treat him…
“I’ll gather them in the future.”
“You should focus on recovering first.”
Despite Li Shuang’s words, Jin’an naturally took the herb basket from her shoulder and carried it himself. His face was still very pale, and Li Shuang tried to take the basket back. “It’s quite heavy. You can’t carry it in your condition.”
“I could even carry you along with it right now.”
The statement was ambiguous, causing Li Shuang to pause. It felt like talking to the old Jin’an, but… not quite the same.
Wu Yin had just finished dealing with tribal matters and left the meeting room when he saw Li Shuang and Jin’an walking up the mountain together. Finding it interesting, he approached to tease them. “Oh? Now you don’t want to leave her? Have you learned to cherish what you almost lost?”
Li Shuang glanced at Wu Yin. “He’s just bored from lying in bed for so long.”
“I came to find you,” Jin’an said, demolishing the excuse Li Shuang had made for him.
Li Shuang was stunned, while Wu Yin clicked his tongue, about to tease them further. But Jin’an unceremoniously shoved the herb basket into Wu Yin’s arms. “I’ll gather ten more baskets for you later. If you need anything, tell me. Don’t trouble her.”
With that, he returned to his room.
Wu Yin watched Jin’an’s retreating figure. “Tsk, tsk. What a temperament. He was easier to bully when he had no memories.”
Li Shuang seemed confused. “What’s his situation now? The Jade Silkworm Parasite doesn’t seem to affect him anymore, but he seems…”
“Seems like he’s still loyal to you, right?”
Li Shuang nodded.
Wu Yin pondered for a moment. “Well, the Jade Silkworm Parasite changes his body but can’t completely change the person. Normally, it would retain his memories, so while all Jade Silkworm hosts are loyal to their masters, their personalities are different. They retain their original characteristics while being loyal to their masters. This is how a normal Jade Silkworm host should be.”
Li Shuang was stunned.
“In other words… his current state is how the Jade Silkworm hosts of your Wu Ling Sect should have been throughout history.”
“Yes,” Wu Yin nodded. “Since you left Nanchang Mountain, I’ve been pondering this. After he recalled his memories, everything he experienced was like going through the initial process of the Jade Silkworm entering the body again. He was re-integrating with the parasite in his body. All the initial struggles, confusion, then rejection, followed by the mental struggles brought by memories, until now – integration and acceptance.”
“So now… he’s become a true parasite host?”
“He’s become what he should be.”
Hearing this, Li Shuang’s emotions became incredibly complex.
Who was the current Jin’an? Was he Aodeng, or was he Jin’an? Li Shuang couldn’t distinguish clearly. What troubled her even more was whether this current state was what Jin’an truly wanted. Was this life what he truly desired? Li Shuang didn’t know and couldn’t answer these questions.
That night, after dinner, Li Shuang sat on the cliff of Wuling Gate, gazing at the distant stars. The wind at her ear was suddenly blocked, and she turned to find Jin’an approaching.
“You should rest more,” he said.
“Being cooped up inside isn’t rest,” she replied.
Nodding in agreement, Li Shuang reached for a nearby wine jug and took a swig. She had drunk a bit too much, her cheeks flushed with a captivating glow.
“Do you enjoy drinking?” Jin’an asked.
“Not particularly. In the general’s mansion and military camps, I always had to maintain proper decorum. Now that I’ve gained some freedom, I’m indulging a little.”
Jin’an moved closer. Li Shuang instinctively tensed as his breath washed over her, but he merely reached past her for another wine jug. He drank deeply from it, mirroring her earlier action.
“Your health…” she began.
“Southern wine isn’t as strong as Northern,” Jin’an interrupted, setting down the jug. “You should try Western Rong wine. It would suit your temperament better.”
Li Shuang smiled, shaking her head. Rather than discussing wine further, she seized on his mention of Western Rong to ask, “Your wounds should heal in about ten days. Do you still plan to return to Western Rong then?”
Jin’an swirled the wine jug, considering his response. He turned to Li Shuang, starlight reflecting in his dark eyes. “What about you? Where do you plan to go?”
“Me?”
“You’re no longer a general, you’ve left the general’s mansion, and you’re not marrying the Da Jin Emperor. What are your plans?”
“I suppose…” Li Shuang met his gaze briefly before lowering her eyes with a soft laugh. “I’ll probably travel, see the mountains and rivers, experience life. Do all the things I couldn’t do as a general.”
“Hmm.” Jin’an’s short response sounded cold, and he didn’t elaborate.
The mountain breeze swept through their silence. When the wine jug was empty, Li Shuang stood. “It’s getting chilly. I’m heading back to sleep.”
“Mm.”
Jin’an didn’t call after her as she returned to her room.
Li Shuang extinguished the oil lamp, left pondering in the darkness. When Jin’an had asked about her plans, she’d initially been at a loss. She had imagined Jin’an would be part of her life going forward.
But seeing his eyes and hearing his somewhat detached responses, Li Shuang felt uncertain.
Wu Yin had said Jin’an was now a complete “Gu person,” whatever that meant. To Li Shuang, Jin’an was simply a person. His previous dependence on her stemmed from his incomplete memories—she had been his entire world, essential to his survival.
Now, Jin’an was no longer that person. He could leave her, choose not to rely on her. His return to the capital upon news of her death might have been due to his “Gu nature.” In normal circumstances, everyone knew Jin’an’s previous obsession with her had been abnormal—not love, not even his own will.
No one wants to live a “controlled” life.
Moreover, it seemed that in his previous life as Ao Deng, Jin’an had likely been a decisive, formidable man. Telling such a person he must obey another for life would be tantamount to imprisonment, reducing him to a puppet.
Perhaps it would be better if she left before his wounds healed, allowing them both to bid farewell to this warped relationship.
This time, she was no longer a great general. Even if she died someday, no one would bring the news to disturb his life. They could part ways, each living their own complete life without interfering with the other…
That, too, would be good.
She didn’t rest that night. As dawn approached, she wrote a farewell letter for Wu Yin in the faint pre-sunrise light. Leaving it on the table, she quietly departed Wuling Gate with a simple pack.
Before descending the mountain, she glanced back at Jin’an’s door. It was slightly ajar; he should be sleeping inside. Li Shuang turned and began her descent.
As a former general, she was accustomed to partings and farewells, though it had never been her strong suit.
The path down Nanzhang Mountain was winding and rugged. She walked alone through the forest, the sun not yet fully risen, the road shrouded in mist. After countless turns, the path gradually leveled out. The dense forest fell behind her, and where the mountain trail met the main road, a figure stood with hands clasped behind his back.
He must have been waiting for some time; dew had dampened his shoulders.
Seeming to hear her approach, he turned. The morning sun caught his eyes, making him squint slightly as he gazed at her silently.
“Let’s go,” he said simply, as naturally as if they had planned to meet here.
Li Shuang was bewildered. “Go… where?”
“Anywhere. To see mountains and rivers, experience life. Do all the things we haven’t done before.”
Li Shuang stared at him, stunned. “How did you know I…”
“I waited all night. If you hadn’t set out today, I would have waited until tomorrow. And the day after, if need be. You were bound to leave eventually, so I just had to keep waiting.” Jin’an extended his hand as if an invisible thread pulled Li Shuang towards the sunlit path.
She stood before him, looking up. “You’re not returning to Western Rong?”
“Didn’t you say they wouldn’t let me return?”
“But you…” She hesitated. “Have you thought about this kind of life? Do you truly want to come with me?”
“Yes.”
“If it were the previous you…”
“The previous me died in that dungeon beyond the frontier. Ao Deng is dead,” Jin’an said coldly, but his voice softened as he continued, “The one you met is me, the one you named. I am yours. I exist because of you.”
He held Li Shuang’s hand, gently kissing her fingertips. The soft touch made her fingers tingle.
“I will always belong to you.”
He gazed at her, his eyes as deep and dark as night. At that moment, Li Shuang seemed to see the man with the black mask and blood-red eyes.
It was him, and only he would say such things.
“I’m no longer a general, and I won’t use the name Li Shuang anymore. I have no identity, having abandoned my past. Are you truly willing to wander endlessly with me through life’s upheavals?”
“Without you, life’s upheavals would be true wandering.”
Li Shuang lowered her head, smiling. “Then let’s go.”
They needn’t dwell on who they were in the past. They had both “died” before; this departure marked a new life.
Li Shuang set off towards the main road, and bathed in morning sunlight. Birds chirped a farewell. Her steps were carefree. Looking back, she saw the man behind her, his face as beautiful as jade, his smile as gentle as the mountain breeze and clear moonlight.