“I am merely reading it out of idleness.” Yan seemed almost a little bashful, and set the book down.

“Was it Xue Gu who sent it to you?” Yan had few interests to speak of, and with all his past memories gone, he could not even take up cultivation again.

Though in moments of danger he possessed an instinctive ability to defend himself, in ordinary times with nothing pressing, it was unlikely he would go off to practice his skills.

In this entire courtyard of people, Yan himself understood clearly that everyone kept a certain distance from him. And so, as time went on, he too had grown unwilling to engage much with others.

In truth, he was not a cold or unfeeling person — he simply did not wish to add to anyone’s burdens.

Seeing him nod, Feng Jiu smiled and asked: “Then, after reading all this time, what conclusions have you reached?”

“I would not presume.” Yan was relatively at ease in Feng Jiu’s presence. He was quiet for a moment before he said: “I do not know who wrote this book, but there are certain views in it that I personally cannot agree with.”

“Such as?” In truth, Xue Gu had no particular knowledge of the art of governance. The books she had found for Yan were simply meant to give him something to occupy his time.

The contents of those books — Xue Gu herself likely did not even know what was written within them.

Xue Gu was genuinely very busy; she had almost no time to read anything at all.

“For instance,” Yan considered for a moment before saying: “The book argues that for a nation to be at peace and its people to prosper, the most important thing is to expand its territory. The author believes that only through vast lands can a nation grow wealthy, and that to be small is to invite persecution.”

“But you do not think so?” Feng Jiu was actually a little surprised. Was this not precisely the philosophy that Tuoba Keyan had once held?

If not for that belief, why had Tuoba Keyan spent all these years campaigning east and west — precisely in order to expand the territories of Mohe?

Yet why was it that now, he found this line of thinking to be wrong?

“Expanding territory can indeed make a nation formidable — resistant to incursions from foreign peoples. However, all things carried to excess become their own undoing. To pursue territorial expansion single-mindedly while neglecting the welfare of the common people is a path no nation can walk for long.”

Yan picked up the book again, turned another page, and continued: “The book says that weakness invites oppression — and naturally I agree with that view. But a small territory does not equate to weakness. Some small tribes are, in fact, extraordinarily powerful.”

“What matters most is the will of the people. To win the people’s hearts, one must first allow the common people to truly prosper. And if there is constant warfare, then no matter how far you expand your borders, there will not be enough resources at the rear to truly develop those territories — and the conquest becomes nothing more than meaningless seizure…”

Without noticing, the tea in Feng Jiu’s cup ran dry. She poured another cup, and again drank it down sip by sip.

She did not know how long she had been listening. She only suddenly realized that her own understanding was still remarkably shallow — especially in the matter of governing a nation. Many principles she grasped in their broad strokes, but when it came to the true specifics, she might not see them clearly at all.

Yan was truly a man of hidden depths. Had she not heard it with her own ears, Feng Jiu could never have imagined that within him, there lay such an abundance of thought on governance.

Most significant of all was that his starting point — in everything — was the people. The common people. The lives of all beneath heaven.

Yet why had Tuoba Keyan, in his past life, been a warlike chieftain? Why had what he thought and what he did been so utterly at odds? Could it truly be that his mother consort’s suffering in those early years had transformed even his very character?

Now, Yan had lost those memories. He had forgotten the grief of losing his mother. His original heart had reemerged — and what had taken shape was a man of compassion.

Life was truly impossible to foresee.

“Is there something I said wrong?” Yan suddenly paused, his gaze fixed on her downcast eyes.

Feng Jiu raised her eyes and met his gaze, shaking her head.

“In the past, I…”

Yan had in truth always sensed it. He had simply never been quite willing to face it.

He pressed his lips together and continued: “Was I, in the past, a wicked person?”

“What if you were?” Feng Jiu replied with a question instead of an answer.

Yan was silent. If he had been — where would that leave him now?

“If you truly were a wicked person before — now that you know it, what would you do?”

Feng Jiu’s follow-up question struck like a heavy blow, crashing down hard upon Yan’s heart.

His breathing grew slightly heavier. His fingers slowly curled inward. If he had truly wounded countless people in the past — if he had been a man of great evil — what was he to do?

Feng Jiu said nothing. She only picked up her cup and took a small sip of tea, giving him time to think.

Time passed — she could not say how long — before Yan said quietly: “If there is still a chance, I am willing to repay the debts I have incurred.”

“Of all the countless souls in this world, who can say they have never made a mistake?” The tea had grown cold. Feng Jiu did not continue to drink it, but simply set the cup down and watched the clear tea within gradually settling back into stillness.

Even saints commit errors — all the more so a person whose childhood had been struck by unbearable blows.

“A mistake is a mistake, and the past is the past — what need is there to dwell on it further? What we must look toward is the present and the future. Even if you truly were a wicked person before, so long as from this day forward you go forth with your original heart and treat others with sincerity — is that not itself a kind of amends for the wrongs once committed?”

Without realizing it, Yan had tightened his grip on the book in his hands. For Feng Jiu to speak this way — it meant that his past self had most likely been a man of grave and terrible sins.

Yet it was just as she had said — the past was the past. Even if he were to torment himself over it now, what good would it do?

“How does your body feel at the moment?” Feng Jiu shifted the subject.

Some things — some truths — anyone could understand in their mind. But whether one could truly make peace with them still required time and reflection.

“There is no discomfort. Do not worry.” Yan instinctively glanced out the window. The night of the full moon was drawing near. Feng Jiu was anxious about it — and in truth, he was anxious as well.

The bone-eroding agony of the Gu Poison’s flare was not something an ordinary person could easily withstand. To endure it each month was truly no small feat.

“And you?” He fixed his gaze on Feng Jiu’s face and turned the question back on her.

“Me?” Feng Jiu wanted to smile, but there was a bitterness to her smile.

The Gu Poison in her body had been transferred to him by Xue Gu in order to save her. This — Yan still did not know. Yet here he was, turning around to worry about her.

Indeed — who could say they had never made a mistake?

The Gu Poison had been transferred from her onto Yan. Was that not, in itself, a grievous wrong committed against him?

Even if Xue Gu had acted while she was still unconscious and unaware, he was ultimately bearing pain on her behalf.

“I am fine. My symptoms are far lighter than yours — what could possibly be the matter with me?”

Feng Jiu stood, glanced once more at the book Yan had set on the tea table, and said with quiet sincerity: “Do not worry. I will certainly find a solution soon enough to rid your body of this pain.”

Yan said nothing, and personally saw her to the door.

Just as Feng Jiu was about to leave, he suddenly took two quick steps after her and said in a low voice: “You need not worry either. From now on, I… I will certainly never be a villain again.”

Feng Jiu paused, turning back to meet his gaze. It seemed as though there were many things she wished to say, yet in the end, she only gave a small nod and returned a quiet, simple word: “Good.”