After passing through Baizhi Gate, they entered the territory of Da Xia. Though it was now the dead of winter, Xianyang was located in the southwest with a temperate climate. When Chu Qiao left the gate, it was still raining.

Pale blue-green distant mountains were shrouded in a misty white rain fog. The distant river stretched like a chain, winding its course. The twilight on the plains was exceptionally beautiful. The black gold sun was slowly sinking, gilding the earth, while the cold moon had already begun to rise faintly. Tall wild grass flourished, swaying high, level with horseback. As the strong wind blew, the waving grass appeared like ripples of red-gold, surging wave after wave from the vast horizon.

Standing on the official road outside Xianyang City, she suddenly hesitated, unsure whether she should walk in. These eleven years of her life were like a tumultuous painting—the first eight years reflected the cold moon freezing under night waters, while the last three years were bloody, ferocious, and intersecting knife strokes. Now, having suddenly cast off the shackles of fate, she didn’t know where to go.

The initial excitement gradually disappeared. Her cooling consciousness collided violently in her mind. If it were true, what identity would he have now, and how could he have any connection with someone like her? She had already endangered his life several times. Would she now destroy everything before her with her own hands? And if her thoughts were all wrong, if what Li Ce said was just Yan Xun showing mercy by letting her go, then how could she face that?

And now, she no longer even dared to open her mouth and ask a single question.

She settled down like this in Xianyang City, renting a small house, private and secluded in a remote location. Two weeping willows grew in front of the door, now bare and withered.

In the blink of an eye, seven or eight days passed. The New Year had arrived, and Xianyang City was decorated with lanterns and a festive atmosphere. The landlady next door, seeing that she was a young woman living alone, repeatedly invited her to celebrate the New Year together, but she politely declined.

Three more days passed, and the annual Lantern Festival arrived. In the early morning, there was a light snowfall, though the snowflakes melted before reaching the ground. However, a thin layer accumulated on the trees, and looking into the distance, the mountain peaks were a vast expanse of white. Below the mountains, clear waters glistened, and the entire city was shaded by phoenix trees, creating a picturesque landscape of lakes and mountains.

The landlady was a plump woman in her thirties with a kind face. She had two children, and her husband was a teacher at the town’s private school, making them a fairly comfortable family. The little girl seemed to like Chu Qiao very much and would stretch her neck to look inside whenever she passed by her door. When her brother saw her curiosity, he would sometimes lift her so she could peek over the blue wall.

In the evening, fearing the landlady would come to invite her to dinner again, Chu Qiao went out by herself.

The sky hadn’t yet darkened, and the lantern market hadn’t yet opened, but the streets were already very lively. Crowds of people were everywhere, with various food stalls lining the main street. Vendors selling wine, tobacco, rouge, and trinkets filled Xianyang’s main street. Chu Qiao found it too bustling and moved slightly away.

Because it was a festival, the ladies and young women of wealthy households who normally didn’t go out had also left their mansions. The street was dotted with sedan chairs, soft seats, and carriages passing by Chu Qiao. Occasionally, bursts of laughter drifted out, blending with the warm breeze from the distant lake, creating an atmosphere of peace and tranquility.

Compared to the dazzling reds and greens around her, Chu Qiao was dressed very simply. Yet, being items from the Bian Tang Imperial Palace, they were still more elegant than ordinary civilian clothes: a lotus-colored cloud gauze thin garment, a light blue and white long silk skirt embroidered with very faint silk threads forming pale magnolia blossoms. From a distance, she looked like a fresh, slowly rising lotus. Combined with her composed, quiet temperament, walking alone on the street shaded by phoenix trees, passing scholars and young gentlemen couldn’t help but notice her. Some wanted to approach and start a conversation but hesitated when they came near her, sensing that her cold and tranquil aura was not like the ordinarily reserved pretense of common women, but genuinely placed no importance on the crowds around her. After a moment’s hesitation, she would already be far away.

The sky gradually darkened as dusk closed in. The heavens favored this night with a full moon. The stars were sparse, and the faint moonlight was filtered through thick and thin leaves, shattering into specks of light that fell gently on her shoulders.

This wasn’t her first time in Xianyang City. Three years ago, when she led troops escaping from Zhenhuang City, she encountered the distressed siblings Zhao Song and Zhao Chun’er. After escorting them, she was hunted by Zhao Chun’er, and it was here that she and Liang Shaoqing were captured and sold as slaves, later sold to the Zhan manor, where she found the three sisters, Jing, Zi, and Su.

Time was fleeting, like flowing white water. Zhao Song had been missing for many years. The once powerful and wealthy royal prince was likely long removed from Da Xia’s competition due to his disability. Zhao Chun’er had fallen further, step by step entering the filthy depths of the nine hells, now scattered and adrift, whereabouts unknown. And Jing Zi Su had returned to the yellow springs, becoming a lonely ghost of the chaotic times that no one mourned.

A faint smile tugged at Chu Qiao’s lips, so faint that it vanished before reaching the sides of her face, appearing like a wisp of light smoke, sadly dissipating in the cold wind.

Perhaps only Liang Shaoqing could truly enjoy a few days of happiness. In this world, the most clear-minded people are always unhappy.

In the distance, a vast array of brilliant lights lit up—red, green, golden, and dark pink—a spectacular display. The sound of firecrackers, children’s happy laughter, vendors’ calls, and ladies’ coquettish voices carried over on the wind from the lakeshore, sounding to her ears like cool, warming flames, glowing warmly but without any warmth, as if coming from another world.

The Lantern Festival—it had been a long time.

She raised her head and looked, her gaze seeming to pierce through time, fixing on that first day: a vermilion pony, a child in white fur, holding a snow-white rabbit lantern, following that young man. He turned his head, his eyes cool and quiet. She always thought it was cruel coldness without emotion, a chill without warmth, with eyes that raised a mirror—regardless of what gaze looked in, it coldly reflected, looking down with disdain on the masses below from a lofty height.

Yet now, thinking back, she seemed to see the bottom of his eyes, to see a trace of profundity hidden in those elegant, long eyes, though it was firmly suppressed, unable to burst forth.

If there hadn’t been the lantern parade that day if a child’s firecracker hadn’t startled her small horse, if she hadn’t galloped out of the city, and if she and Yan Xun hadn’t trudged through the snow for a night, would anything have changed, even slightly?

Perhaps not. Perhaps the hands that should have been held firmly would still be held firmly, the war blade that should have been raised would still be raised, and the oath that should have been betrayed would still be betrayed. Everything would proceed slowly according to the process set by Heaven, and no one could escape this cycle of fate.

But at the very least, if there hadn’t been that separation, then today, remembering the Lantern Festival related to him would not consist of just a blurry silhouette and warm candle light.

Unconsciously, she had walked very far. A large elm tree, thick and tall, stood by the lake, probably thirty or forty years old. It was wrapped with red cloth strips and various paper cutouts—a superstition of the country folk who believed elm trees housed immortals. The thicker and older the tree, the more it could communicate with the divine. Over time, commoners who faced difficulties often came here to kneel and pray, asking for smooth affairs and the safety of loved ones.

Chu Qiao stood under the tree, a strange emotion rising from the bottom of her heart. She didn’t know what was in the tree, just silently raised her head to look, gazing for a long time, half closing her eyes, without joy or sorrow, her vision penetrating the dust-sealed years, like a clear lake.

She didn’t know that three years ago when she was bought by the Zhan family here, someone else had ridden by this place. That day, the sunlight was blue-white, his clothes fluttering, standing quietly under the tree, passing by her with just a hair’s breadth between them.

Reaching into her bosom, she only felt a jade pendant. Chu Qiao held the jade pendant and suddenly lost her mind.

This was what she had taken when sparring with Zhuge Yue at night in Wupeng City at Governor Tian’s mansion. Afterward, when she had disguised herself as a maid and was discovered by him, he had asked for it back. She was still angry then and said she had thrown it into the lake in the mansion. This caused the servants in Governor Tian’s mansion to busy themselves all night, digging the lake and diverting water, but ultimately to no avail.

The day she left Yan Bei, she took nothing, only this, as if possessed.

Time flies, memory like a cold jade pressed against the heart. Looking up, it was already a pool of watery bitterness.

Round and round, in the end, it was the face of one who had departed. Even though mountains and rivers were no more, time twisted, and life and death were not separated, there was still the entangled national hatred obstructing them. Moreover, with her mind and body like this, what qualification and courage did she have to approach?

Closing her eyes, she waved her hand and threw the jade pendant up. Though it was only a moment, thousands of thoughts rushed into her mind. Heaven and earth toyed with them; she and he ultimately were nothing.

Turning to leave, suddenly there came a crisp “ding” behind her ear, like slender fingers lightly plucking the strings of a guqin, the sound lingering and pleasant, instantly penetrating the crossroads of her spine. She hurriedly turned back, and two bright jade lights fell from the elm tree, landing precisely in her two hands, one on the left and one on the right.

Translucent white, smooth and lustrous, identical in both style and quality—they were a pair of twin jade pendants.

Chu Qiao was suddenly stunned, her blood boiling, thoughts climbing from her spine to her throat, a bitterness choking her throat, hot as magma. With the slightest gap, it would erupt. She closed her eyes and used all her strength to swallow that trace of sourness.

Vaguely, her thoughts traced back, weaving with threads of memory that faint ink-like mountain water figure. That person with fluttering clothes, straight eyebrows, and solemn eyes—with what thoughts did he throw up that jade pendant, then turn his horse around and leave this tree full of peace and blessings, step by step?

Her eyes stung, but no tears flowed. She stood silently, not knowing how long passed. Row after row of lights burned to where she stood. Countless flower boats floated on the lake. Children laughed as they passed by her, yet she seemed unaware. Only when a lantern vendor passed by did she suddenly awaken.

The colorful lantern was still there, with familiar features, seemingly just like the one she once had. She stared at it, almost unable to move her gaze. The vendor grew impatient, frowning and asking, “Miss, have you made your choice yet?”

She hurriedly paid, holding the lantern on the road, her figure thin, like a bewildered child.

The crowd gradually surged forward, and she followed them in a daze. All along the way were warm voices of joy and laughter, drums and gongs. A wealthy household was setting off fireworks, the sky colorful and vibrant. Everywhere there were fragrances: strong wine, rich roast meat, the perfume of young ladies passing by, and the scent of half-open winter plum blossoms. Some played with lanterns, some guessed lantern riddles, some drank wine, some ate, some watched acrobatics, and some sang songs. On this night, everything seemed to come alive, happiness so recklessly surrounding her. She looked straight ahead, walking alone silently, carefully holding the colored lantern to prevent it from being damaged.

The bright lights shone on her face, making it look so thin. Her silhouette was just that one line, lonely and out of place amid the surrounding bustling.

Some noticed her, some didn’t. She just walked silently, passing through so many people’s attention and disregard, alone going forward and further forward, not knowing where she was heading.

Finally, the candle gradually burned out, only emitting a faint light. She walked to the lakeside, carefully lifting the lantern. The green lake water wet the hem of her skirt, but she didn’t mind. The lakeside willows dropped their withered branches onto her face, tickling, entangling, like the locks of fate, gently sweeping her shoulders.

Zhuge Yue, I will owe you for my entire life. If possible, in the next life, may we meet earlier at the right time.

With pale fingers, she gently pushed, and the rabbit lantern floated away. The lake water rippled, and the lantern was like a tiny boat, floating away, carried by wave after wave of water, gradually merging into the night, gliding gently on the lake’s brilliantly lit surface.

Chu Qiao stood up and just kept looking. The night wind blew on her face, a trembling cold like an arrow, lightly gliding through her heart. The world was colorful, a piece of glass, but her heart was like that gradually distancing lantern, the light flickering, about to extinguish. She had made that decision, crushing that thread of hope with her own hands. The world collapsed silently in her hands, carved beams and painted pillars rotting to ash, pearls and embroidery drying to white. Vitality had long abandoned her, leaving only vast grayness and endless gloom.

Suddenly, a tiny wave surged toward the small lantern. A dragon boat’s guide boat arrived first, and the water splashed by the oar sprinkled on the lantern. The light flickered, nearly extinguishing. The lantern tilted, seemingly about to sink into the water.

For some reason, Chu Qiao’s already cold and numb heart suddenly tightened. She unconsciously stepped forward, slightly frowning, as if worrying about the small lantern drifting with the waves.

Just then, a slightly larger lantern floated over, its top string entangled with Chu Qiao’s lantern string. After spinning several circles in place, it unexpectedly saved the small lantern from its impending submersion, blocking most of the water spray from the flower boat, and gradually drifting with the small lantern to a quieter area of water. Both with snow-white jade rabbit patterns, one large and one small nestled together, creating a uniquely warm and harmonious image. With the shelter of that lantern, the small lantern’s light brightened again, becoming gradually warmer, warmly illuminating the surrounding area of water.

Chu Qiao slightly relaxed, thinking that although it would eventually extinguish, it was good to stay bright a little longer.

She slowly relaxed her furrowed brows, lightly exhaling. Inadvertently looking up, on the other side of the jade lake, a vague figure often wandering in her dreams appeared truly and clearly before her eyes!

Her entire being felt as if struck by lightning, standing there stunned. She seemed to see him again, just like the elegant bearing of years ago: a light white robe, a light silk cape, half-covered black hair, lips like a touch of vermilion, eyes like a cold lake. Just a quiet glance had already stolen thousands of lights and beautiful radiance from her world.

The dragon boat passed through the lake with its music, vaguely blocking their view. Red silk and joyful crowds adorned this night. Through the sparse gaps, their eyes finally crossed the barriers of a thousand mountains and waters. In an instant, time turned, spilled water returned, and the cold pool’s clear and quiet eyes in her memory overlapped with the lonely, silently standing man before her, like a shadow, like a phantom, like flowers, like mist.

He also quietly looked at her, holding a lantern rod in his hand just like her. His distant gaze penetrated through the flowing time, the joys and sorrows of separation, similarly starting with shock, turning to complex incomprehension, and finally quietly stopping, frozen in this moment of brilliant lights.

In an instant, thousands of brilliant fireworks ignited behind them, the bright flames illuminating their intertwined gazes.

Chu Qiao looked at him, with a look he had never seen before. He didn’t even know what words to use to describe it. It was like a traveler in the desert looking up at a mirage, like an abandoned child gazing at their hometown in a dream, like an illusion that seemed unbelievable, yet unwilling to look away, yearning, yet knowing that no matter what, it could never be obtained. It was the wish of more than six hundred nights, yet at the moment of daylight, all hope was shattered.

She parted her lips, as if wanting to say something, but ultimately couldn’t speak. Her red lips trembled, expanding bit by bit, curving up, meandering, almost breaking, but finally forming a smile. Before the smile reached her eyes, two lines of clear tears had already fallen, flowing down with the trembling smile, rolling down her pointed face, her brows rising with relief and the sorrows of time.

As the dragon boat dispersed, she suddenly ran wildly. All her life she had been avoiding, shrinking back, staying away, pushing back. After nine deaths and one life, she suddenly collapsed in panic. Would it just be a momentary illusion and play of light? Would it scatter and fly apart like a broken dream if touched?

The young woman ran so urgently that passersby cast strange glances at her, but she couldn’t care about that anymore. Her clothes were like distant pale lotuses, flying with her running. Her knees were weak, her ears roaring. She passed over the lake embankment, passed through the plum forest, crossed the stone bridge, passed through willow branches, and finally stood there panting, only feeling that everything was like a passing cloud scene, so unreal it made her heart race.

Zhuge Yue was still looking at her, his eyes clear and quiet, with a hint of hidden pain visible in their interwoven gaze.

The bustling crowd suddenly arrived, noisily surging toward them.

Chu Qiao was suddenly so afraid, unlike the fear of death, unlike the fear of being adrift. She had been strong all her life, firm in mind. In over a decade, she had only been so afraid twice. The first time was when he fell into the deep lake, and the second time was now.

She reached out without hesitation, clutching his robe tightly, regardless of how the surrounding crowd pushed and shoved, refusing to let go.

Suddenly, a layer of warmth covered the back of her hand as his hand firmly held hers.

The lights scattered, and she moved closer to him. He used his arms to create a quiet space for her. The figures around them moved, and waters rippled horizontally. She was so close to him, close enough to smell his breath. Her black eyes looked at him as if trying to dig two holes in his face.

Tears flowing, she forced herself to calm down, yet couldn’t help reaching out with a trembling hand, as if to lightly touch his form.

This was the brow, long and slightly upturned, yet never truly high above and detached from the world. These were the eyes, cold and quiet, yet never allowing her to be in danger without looking back. This was the mouth, sparse in words and sharp, yet never as arrogant and cold as he appeared.

The answer she had been seeking was right before her, yet she felt her knees weaken and her body lose strength. A suppressed sound escaped her throat, and her body softened, falling to one side.

He quickly caught her waist. At the moment their bodies touched, it was as if vast, vicissitudinous years passed between them. Her long-suppressed crying could no longer be restrained and finally burst from her lips. He embraced her, her tears falling on his chest, dampening his clothes, seeping into his heart and lungs layer by layer.

“Why did you deceive me? Why didn’t you come to see me? I thought you were dead—”

She sobbed, her body trembling slightly, repeating over and over, “I thought you were dead—”

Zhuge Yue pressed his lips tightly and said nothing. He had come thousands of miles, not to see her, but hoping to be closer to her without disturbing her.

Xianyang ancient city was the last city in Da Xia’s territory near Bian Tang.

He opened his lips several times but ultimately didn’t know how to face her like this, feeling almost helpless. Finally, suppressing the many surging and complex thoughts, he gently stroked her back, maintaining his usual demeanor with a clear voice, pretending to be impatient: “Stop crying, I’m not dead yet.”

“Not dead and didn’t think to find me!”

Chu Qiao pushed him away, crying with tear-filled eyes: “Don’t you know how to send a letter?”

She had never cried like this in front of him before, seeming about to lose her balance. Suddenly, all his past nine deaths and one life, his wandering and hardship, became as faint as clouds and mist. Those desperations and hardships of being hunted and mistakenly entering deadly places, the several near-death escapes over two years, all seemed so insignificant.

He reached out his hand, imperiously calling to her: “Come here.”

She wiped away her tears, for the first time in her life no longer wanting to oppose him, throwing herself into his embrace, crying and cursing: “You madman!”

A thousand mountains and waters separated them, national hatred and grudges stood between them. Crossing life and death, looking back suddenly, that person was at the end of the distant lights.