Eight years, plus eighteen years.

What a long span of time—so long they’d both grown old.

Yan Sanhe looked at the incense, lowering her voice even more.

“The story’s beginning should be just like the play—a wealthy young lady and a poor scholar met. Though their statuses were high and low, it couldn’t stop their hearts from stirring.

The story’s process was the young lady’s downfall and the poor scholar’s endurance.

Eight years at the Jiaofang Bureau, eighteen years at Shuiyue Temple—from noble to lowly, from lowly to Buddhist halls. The poor scholar’s heart never changed; he silently kept vigil.

The story’s ending—after the young lady’s death, the poor scholar drew his sword against everyone who had hurt her.

His final sword thrust pointed at heaven.”

Everyone was stunned, their eyes moving back and forth between the incense and the stage.

Was this story real?

Twenty-six years—how did he manage it?

Yan Sanhe looked at the scholar on stage and smiled gently.

“Zhu Qing, Buyan. When the play is about to end, you two guard Changchun Garden’s front and back gates. Huang Qi, you keep watch on the poor scholar.”

The three exchanged glances and nodded simultaneously.

“Young Master Pei.”

“Ah?”

“Do you know what acupoint to needle to wake someone up?”

Pei Xiao shrank back. “I roughly know.”

Yan Sanhe: “When the incense burns out, if I faint, you must needle me awake no matter what. If that doesn’t work, cut me with a knife.”

Pei Xiao’s face turned deathly pale: “Yan Sanhe, choose someone else—my heart can’t take it.”

Yan Sanhe turned her head: “Can Third Master do it?”

Third Master’s eyes held fragments of ice: “If you faint, it means the heart demon is already resolved. Is there still necessity to see Lu Shi? Is it still worth the risk?”

“There is!”

Yan Sanhe was silent for a long moment.

“I’ve resolved so many heart demons, but never has there been one where after resolution, I still had a bellyful of questions to ask.”

Just then on stage, Yingying and Hongniang were chasing butterflies, tempting Scholar Zhang until he couldn’t help emerging from behind the artificial mountain.

Yingying turned around. Seeing a handsome young man, her pretty face flushed as she couldn’t help stealing another glance.

Scholar Zhang lost his soul, standing like a silly goose.

Hongniang blocked their gazes with her fan. “Miss, let’s return!”

“Look—in the play, the young lady and scholar have met. What about outside the play?”

Yan Sanhe’s tongue tasted bitter.

“Aren’t you curious what happened between them? Curious about the true meaning of that gong sound? Curious why a single Romance of the West Chamber could resolve her heart demon?”

Your curiosity is mine.

What you want to know, I want to know.

Xie Zhifei looked at Yan Sanhe’s profile. “Alright!”

With everything arranged, Yan Sanhe had no more worries.

“Now, let’s accompany her to watch this play properly.”

…

The play became more thrilling as it progressed.

By now, audience members below were whispering.

“Today’s performance—though the scholar’s appearance is old, his manner and bearing are proper.”

“The singing is also good—clean and crisp, not dragging at all.”

“Look at his eyes—surprisingly bright.”

“Who’s playing him?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard this person perform.”

“He must be a professional!”

With the drum music, the scholar closed his fan and began singing—

“Having spoken thus, my heart grows melancholy, a day’s worth of sorrow locks my brow. Oh, young lady…”

The final “ah” sustained in one breath, repeatedly circling and returning.

The audience below erupted in applause.

In the “Chrysanthemum” box, except for Yan Sanhe, the other five stared blankly.

Huang Qi: One minute on stage, ten years of practice offstage—this single note must have taken more than ten years!

Zhu Qing: Nearly sixty years old, how is his bearing still like a young man’s?

Li Buyan: Later, I must go to my mother’s grave and tell her all about this man—what an unusual phoenix man!

Young Master Pei: This world has so many people with secrets. My old ancestor is one, now here’s another—they’ve all become spirits!

Xie Zhifei: Censor, actor; actor, censor… Who would believe it? Who would dare believe it?

Xie Zhifei’s gaze secretly glanced toward Yan Sanhe.

She was the same.

Without so many coincidences coming together, who could believe the Zheng family’s young miss, who should have perished in the fire, was still alive?

Eh?

Xie Zhifei’s gaze shifted back slightly, falling on the incense.

This incense wasn’t right.

It had burned so long but only consumed a tiny portion at the tip—unlike before when a gust of wind would make it burn completely.

Having been shocked too many times, Xie Zhifei was numb.

“Yan Sanhe, have you noticed—today this incense is burning especially slowly?”

“I noticed.”

Yan Sanhe looked at that barely visible wisp of white smoke, speaking softly:

“This incense probably doesn’t want to miss his every movement, every line of singing!”

Yes!

After such a long separation, every smile and gesture of his was precious.

Xie Zhifei’s gaze secretly glanced at Yan Sanhe again.

In her eyes, tenderness lay deep.

…

On stage, Lu Shi playing the scholar stood in the moonlight, talking to himself.

“During the day, Fa Cong mentioned that Miss Yingying comes to the garden to burn incense every night. What luck—tonight the moon is bright and wind gentle. If she comes, I can surely see her clearly.”

Step by step he approached the garden, peering in—

In the moon’s shadow stood a graceful young woman.

That young woman turned, her powdered face immediately colored like peach blossoms dipped in spring water, her eyes sparkling brilliantly.

Lu Shi shook his head inwardly.

This was Cui Yingying in the play, not the young woman in his heart.

The eyes of the young woman in his heart were far brighter than Cui Yingying’s—handsome yet with an alluring charm.

Yes, charm.

This was the first feeling that arose in twenty-two-year-old Lu Shi’s heart when he first saw twelve-year-old Tang Zhiwei.

He’d seen this kind of charm in his birth mother Yuan Shi.

The difference was that Yuan Shi unconsciously emanated this charm toward all men, while that little girl…

Only toward him!

Generally speaking, three-year-olds have no memory.

Lu Shi did.

At three years and eight months, he clearly remembered that thunder-and-lightning night when the man who slipped into their mother-and-son courtyard was the Lu estate’s eldest master.

Also Lu Shi’s nominal uncle.

That night, he’d been sleeping beside his mother.

Already asleep, a thunderclap woke him. Opening his eyes, he saw two naked people…

He was terrified beyond measure, not daring to make the slightest sound.

The bed creaked and groaned.

Unable to maneuver, the man lifted the woman and placed her against the bed’s edge, entering from behind…

They’d both had their eyes closed.

With one forceful thrust, the woman’s spring-filled eyes opened, meeting his gaze directly.

Just then, lightning flashed across the night sky.

The woman with loose black hair gave him a seductive smile, finger pressed to her lips, signaling him not to speak.

What beautiful eyes—the corners narrowed into thin long lines, charming and alluring to the extreme.

What a beautiful finger—like a spring onion, the tip tinged with pale pink.

At three years and eight months, he silently cursed two words: Whore.