Shen Zhuxi sat in the bridal chamber, filled with nervous anticipation. The laughter and chatter drifting over from the front courtyard only made the room’s silence feel more pronounced. Though this was not truly her first wedding, she sat on the ceremonial bed like a genuine new bride — tense and bashful — twisting her fingers together, her gaze wandering beneath the scarlet veil, unable to find a place to rest.

She did not know how long she waited before the sound of footsteps approached from the front courtyard.

Shen Zhuxi immediately straightened her back and held her breath, her heart pounding as though it might leap from her throat.

With a creak, the door was pushed open. A single pair of footsteps entered. Many people seemed to be crowded in the doorway, causing a noisy commotion.

“Go on, go on — get lost, all of you. I’m lifting the veil myself, and I’m not letting any of you watch. Go back and eat and drink to your hearts’ content — there’s plenty for everyone!”

Li Wu’s voice rang out, warmer and higher than usual, laced with the scent of wine.

A burst of raucous laughter followed, and then Li Wu shut the door without further ceremony.

The noise outside ceased — but even the sound of footsteps disappeared, and Shen Zhuxi immediately pictured the absurd image of everyone pressing their ears flat against the door to eavesdrop.

Li Wu’s footsteps drew closer. A moment later, a pair of brand-new boots appeared at the very edge of the vision half-obscured by her veil. Shen Zhuxi sat rigid, not daring to move, until the scarlet veil — adorned with cascading pearls and jade — was lifted away by a jade ruyi scepter, and Li Wu’s tense, solemn face appeared before her.

Li Wu was usually carefree and careless. On the day of their first wedding, when she had lifted her veil and seen him for the first time, his face had been grinning and shameless before swiftly turning grave. Now, from the very beginning, he wore an expression of seriousness and solemnity — as though what lay before him was the most precious treasure in the world, the most important thing in his life.

The tension and anxiety in Shen Zhuxi’s heart dissolved like smoke. In her shyness, she tilted her head up to look at him, and the smile on her face carried a genuine, heartfelt adoration and longing.

Li Wu’s face broke into a smile as well.

His right hand settled against Shen Zhuxi’s cheek, and the warmth of his palm spread through the place where their skin touched. He gazed at her steadily and said in a low voice:

“…Dressed up this beautifully — are you trying to ascend back to the heavenly palace tonight?”

Li Wu’s sudden sweet words made Shen Zhuxi flush scarlet. She was just about to speak when he continued:

“Worthy of being my woman. You’re a celestial fairy, and I’m a celestial man — we were simply made for each other.”

“You are the Heavenly Marshal Tianpeng,” Shen Zhuxi said, suppressing a smile.

“Even better then — you’re the little pig, and I’m Zhu Bajie.”

As he spoke, Li Wu leaned his face down toward hers.

His face grew larger in her vision, his deep, unwavering gaze leaving her nowhere to hide. Shen Zhuxi couldn’t help but lean back, until her back pressed against the bed and there was nowhere left to retreat —

“…Tell me — aren’t we made for each other?”

His warm breath brushed across her face like a feather, light enough to tickle its way straight into her heart.

Shen Zhuxi’s cheeks burned as though they might catch fire at any moment, and yet she still held his gaze without looking away.

This was improper etiquette — but Shen Zhuxi knew he did not care, and she no longer cared either.

“…Yes,” she said softly. “We were made for each other.”

In this vast world, how miraculous it was that they could wander through all of it and still find each other — the one they were made for.

Meeting Li Wu had been, for her, a miracle.

The day she met Li Wu had been the beginning of her new life.

Without quite realizing it, their lips came together. Shen Zhuxi closed her eyes, kissed breathless until her vision blurred and her thoughts scattered.

She was cast by Li Wu into the heart of the Milky Way.

Drifting.

The stars scattered across the heavens became the hairpins, earrings, sashes, and jade pendants tumbling loose in the wild abandon.

Li Wu was patient with her, playful and tender, until the spring overflowed. Waves washed over her, gentle and rhythmic, one after another. There was far less of the pain she had anticipated. This wondrous journey showed her only a sea of stars — dazzling, intoxicating, spilling with light.

“You — how did you…” Shen Zhuxi’s trembling voice had not yet finished before it was cut off.

Li Wu had buried his face in the curve of her neck. At her words, he tilted his head slightly, his breath flowing into her ear, stirring an involuntary shiver.

“We’ve tried one of the hundred and sixty-eight positions — there are still a hundred and sixty-seven to go…”

His voice was low and husky, like a rain of dandelion seeds — striking her heart one after another, making her tremble without end.

The river of stars blazed on, magnificent and endless.

The wedding banquet guests filed out one by one through the Bai Family’s main gate, each climbing into their carriages to return home.

Fragments of conversation drifted through the night air:

“That groom really is possessive of his bride — he wouldn’t even let us catch a single glimpse of her.”

“The bride is a proper princess, after all. It’s hardly the same as with a common woman — did you really expect to see her in her wedding dress?”

“Even so, I’m still a little bewildered… that Princess of Yue, the one rumored to be extravagant and dissolute — and the Lady of Xiangzhou, beloved for defending the city through blood and fire — they’re actually the same person? There’s really been no mistake?”

“How could there be a mistake? The way I see it, those old rumors were probably spread by someone deliberately trying to destroy the princess’s reputation…”

“Who would do something like that? What would they stand to gain?”

“Only the one who did it would know that…”

The murmuring voices faded away along with the last of the carriages outside the Bai Family gate, swallowed gradually by the darkness of the night.

The doorman yawned and pulled the great doors of the Bai residence shut.

Beneath the still night sky, the festive red lanterns swayed gently, their shadows dancing across the bluestone pavement below. The thick darkness flooded every corner, staining the eaves and alleyways black. From within that blackness, a gaunt, tall figure slowly emerged. He moved with steps heavy as a thousand pounds, and came to stand before the cold, unyielding gate of the Bai Family.

The frigid night wind stirred his wide sleeves.

He stood motionless, staring at the door at the top of the steps — a door that seemed almost within reach, and yet was one that would never open for him. His pale face held not a trace of color.

Yan Hui had been standing not far behind him at first, not even daring to breathe too deeply. But there, in the darkness of the night, he heard what seemed like the faint sound of dripping water.

The ground was not wet, and no rain was falling from the sky. His searching gaze swept downward — and the moment it landed on a dark patch of blood at Fu Xuanmiao’s feet, his expression changed drastically.

“My lord!”

Yan Hui rushed forward and pried open Fu Xuanmiao’s tightly clenched right hand with desperate force.

Blood dripped from his raw, mangled palm, merging with the bloodstains already on the ground.

The pain in his palm was not even a thousandth of the pain from the old wound on the back of his hand.

The cold, clear moonlight felt like fire, scorching the wound that had long since healed over — as though an invisible sharp hairpin were piercing through him, again and again, without end.

“My lord…” Yan Hui’s face was full of words he could not bring himself to say.

They had gone to great lengths just to slip into the heavily guarded city of Yangzhou. Setting aside the fact that they had no forces with them, even outside the city, there were only a few hundred elite soldiers — how could they possibly stand against Li Wu, who commanded the full military strength of Yangzhou?

Yan Hui was genuinely afraid that Fu Xuanmiao would lose all reason and charge through the Bai Family gates to seize her by force. He had already braced his hands, ready to intervene — if it truly came to that, even if he were punished by his lord afterward, he would knock him unconscious and drag him away.

Yet for all his tense waiting, his lord remained as unmoving as a mountain.

Only the blood sliding down along his finger bones continued to fall, drop by drop, striking the cold bluestone ground in broken intervals.

The cold moonlight froze every expression on Fu Xuanmiao’s face. He still gazed at that door — the door that had never opened for him, and never would — as though time itself had stopped within him.

The chill moonlight poured over his thin, tall frame. Against the pallor of his complexion, the moonlight reflected in the depths of his eyes flickered faintly, in and out of sight. The moonlight made everything seem like an illusion. Those eyes — eyes that looked as though they had already died — revealed, for one rare moment, the trembling shadow of something fragile.

“My lord…” Yan Hui could not bear to watch any longer. His face showed reluctance as he said, “Let us go…”

A long while passed. Fu Xuanmiao turned, and moved his heavy feet forward, back down the alley from which he had come.

His palm was sticky with blood. But the pain — the pain was coming from his chest.

His expression was numb, his body rigid, and he walked step by step into his own darkness.

The world believed his parents were devoted to one another, a perfect pair in harmony.

In truth, his father’s heart belonged to another. He only stepped through his mother’s courtyard door once a year, on the night of the Mid-Autumn Festival.

In truth, his mother spent her days drenched in tears, and he alone seemed powerless to stop her sorrow.

The world believed he was a born prodigy, brilliant as snow and ice.

In truth, his study was lit until the dead of night every evening — through cold and heat, through driving rain, he had not missed a single day of martial practice.

The world believed the Grand Chancellor cherished him like a rare and priceless jewel.

In truth, his father paid more attention to the daughter of an old flame than to his own son.

The world believed he had obtained, without effort, a happiness that most people could never hope to reach in a lifetime.

In truth, he had strained every last resource he possessed just to earn a single glance from the one he loved.

He had pretended to be loved. Pretended to be brilliant. He had worked desperately to construct a flawless illusion before the eyes of the world, fighting to maintain his pride — until the final, fatal blow arrived.

Everything the world believed he had — he had none of it. And more than that — he was not even the Grand Chancellor’s son. Between himself and the man he had admired and revered, there was not even the faintest thread of blood.

He was nothing but the lowly son of a stable hand.

The product of his mother’s disgrace.

Was there anything more laughable than that?

There was —

He had fallen in love with the very person he had placed upon his chopping block.

He had refused to acknowledge the stirring of his heart. Refused to acknowledge the fear that lived inside it. Every moment he had drawn close to her, he had been terrified of losing her. He had forbidden her to wear bright-colored dresses. He had bound her feet with the doctrines of female virtue. He had planted countless informants throughout the palace. He had replaced every person around her with his own people. He had systematically eliminated every man who might take her from his hands —

He had been so desperately afraid of losing her.

So desperately afraid of being unable to keep her.

Just as he had failed to keep his father’s gaze. Failed to keep his mother from running toward another man. Failed to keep the innocence and purity of his childhood.

He had spent every last ounce of his strength, struggling with all he had against the cruelty of fate — and yet in the end, there was nothing left in his hands.

Fu Xuanmiao stopped walking. His bloodied right hand rose into the moonlight.

The pure, bright moonlight flowed away between his fingers like water.

Fu Xuanmiao’s body lurched suddenly, and a glaring streak of crimson forced its way from between his tightly pressed lips. Against the contrast of the blood, his face turned even more paper-white.

“My lord…” Yan Hui’s voice had already broken.

Fu Xuanmiao said nothing. His slender frame swayed beneath the moonlight as though it might collapse at any moment.

A moment later, he steadied himself. He pushed away Yan Hui’s outstretched hand, and seemed once again to become that peerless young lord who could face the collapse of a mountain without so much as a change in expression.

Fu Xuanmiao raised his hand and wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. Then he started walking again —

He walked forward without looking back, into the endless dark.