Zhuo Qi’s expression instantly fell: “To Zhuang Han Ming’s place…” Though disappointed, his eyes still held joy. Sharing a bed with Han Yan was something Zhuo Qi had never considered – not because he was particularly virtuous, but because Han Yan was someone who strictly observed propriety, at least outwardly. She valued her reputation highly, perhaps a common trait among Da Zong women. So when Han Yan first made this suggestion, Zhuo Qi hadn’t thought in that direction, though teasing the little girl was still quite amusing.
“Hurry up and go,” Han Yan turned to glare at him, and Zhuo Qi followed Shu Hong out with a grin.
After they left, Han Yan sat down heavily by the window, lost in thought. Outside, the rain fell so heavily it seemed it might swallow people whole, but what troubled Han Yan’s heart wasn’t this nerve-wracking thunderstorm.
Who exactly was Xiao Qiao? Why did she look identical to the Eastern Marquis’s wife? If they were the same person, why did her mother, who was the childhood sweetheart of the Eastern Marquis, have Xiao Qiao’s handkerchief?
Han Yan shook her head, unable to make sense of it all. Ji Lan suggested from the side: “Young Miss, why don’t you rest first?” The rain was truly unsettling, better to rest early. That Western Rong prince had visited again today. Ji Lan thought to herself, could he have truly fallen for Young Miss? Otherwise, why brave such heavy rain to bring her news? Unlike His Highness, who hadn’t come to see how her Young Miss was doing.
On the other side of the Zhuang mansion’s wall, lightning illuminated the shadow of a white-robed figure standing below particularly clearly. This person carried no umbrella, yet remarkably, not a drop of rain had touched his clothes. He stood silently, like an otherworldly immortal, unmoved amid nature’s fury.
Soon, another figure appeared on the wall top, quickly jumping down and bowing to the white-robed person: “Your Highness, Miss Zhuang is well. That person… hasn’t left.”
The white-robed figure trembled slightly, a movement so subtle it was almost imperceptible, yet in that instant, a water stain appeared on his clothes hem, starkly visible. His heart was in turmoil.
“I understand,” he replied after a long moment.
The figure quietly retreated to one side. The white-robed person took a few steps forward, placing one hand on the wall. That hand was as elegant as jade yet strikingly pale, seemingly bloodless at first glance, exquisitely cold. He tilted his head slightly, revealing cold eyes beneath his hood, their gaze sharp yet gentle.
“Let’s go.” The cold words disappeared into the sound of rain.
Han Yan had a dream where someone kept watching her silently. His face was so familiar, smiling – gentle, cold, indifferent. She could never see his features clearly, and when he finally came close and she rushed forward to look, it turned out to be Fu Yunxi.
She opened her eyes suddenly, realizing it was just a dream. Maybe it was an illusion, she thought, yet that cold presence seemed to permeate the room, almost palpable.
On the fourth day, the great rain finally stopped.
The common people were in dire straits. Almost all crops in the fields were ruined by the flood – it would be a year of famine. Many houses had been washed away, river waters had overflowed everywhere. The floods and rain brought new disasters to the poor. Suffering was endless, yet life had to go on.
Shunchang Martial Arts Academy was unusually quiet today. Because of the great rain, the children of officials and nobles hadn’t dared venture out for safety reasons, while the few students from humble families were busy repairing their flood-damaged homes. With no one coming to train, the place had become desolate and silent.
Yang Qi stood before the carved door. The sun had come out, seemingly no different from usual, yet not a single flower in the garden could stand tall – all were scattered and fallen. Puddles were everywhere. Who said nothing had changed? The rain would pass and the sun would return, but what had been struck down could never come back.
“Sir,” Little Li said beside him, “That Miss Zhuang was indeed correct.” He greatly admired Han Yan – the young lady seemed almost prophetic. When Han Yan had made the bet with Yang Qi, Little Li had privately dismissed it. After all, who could predict the future? The weather had been so warm then; who could have imagined the rain would come so suddenly and last exactly three days and nights, bringing such disaster to Da Zong?
Yang Qi moved his lips: “Yes, she was right.” The old man, who had weathered storms for most of his life, felt uncertain for the first time. He didn’t believe in intuition, only in himself. But Han Yan’s words demanded belief. The great rain had indeed fallen, and floods had spread through Da Zong, exactly as she had said.
So if her intuition was truly that accurate, was what she said about the Western Rong people plotting a great conspiracy also true?
Just as he was pondering this, a young servant came to report that the Fourth Young Miss of the Zhuang family requested an audience.
Yang Qi’s lips moved slightly – she came quickly. Just as he thought of this matter, Han Yan arrived herself. He had lost this bet, so… did he have to tell Han Yan about what happened on the battlefield?
As soon as Han Yan entered, she saw Yang Qi’s contemplative expression. She smiled slightly and reminded him: “Elder Yang.”
Yang Qi turned around, seeming to notice her only now. His gaze was very calm as if he had known she would come: “You’re here.”
Han Yan smiled: “I’ve come to fulfill my promise. Elder Yang has seen it himself – the sky did rain.”
“How did you know what would happen in the heavens?” Yang Qi stared at her, his expression unreadable. “Could it be you’re not of this world?” Who in this world could predict the future? Yet this young woman could. She carried an inexplicable mysteriousness about her – you couldn’t tell where her nobility came from as if it naturally radiated from within. Though seemingly plain and unremarkable, she had an ineffable grace. In her years of growing fame in Da Zong, from the unloved Zhuang daughter with nothing to the envied Princess Consort of Xuanqing, and now to a divorced woman, her expression had always remained serene. Without a trace of emotional fluctuation, as if she had known it all along.
How terrifying was this?
Hearing Yang Qi’s words, Han Yan startled reflexively, thinking her secret of rebirth had been discovered. But she quickly calmed down, shaking her head: “Elder Yang thinks too much. I am naturally of this world. No one can predict the future; I merely have accurate intuition. Perhaps it’s heaven’s favor.” She said: “Rather than believing me, Elder Yang should believe in heaven’s will.”