No mistake.

“I didn’t even know whether they’d broken through that window paper.”

Dong Chengfeng pointed at his own chest.

“Shen Duruo was the type to suffer in her heart without letting a single word escape. Fox Zhao—what he thought in his heart, only ghosts knew.”

Yan Sanhe: “You left in autumn of the twenty-ninth year of Yuanfeng.”

Dong Chengfeng: “Correct.”

“After leaving, did you ever return to the capital?”

“Never again.”

“In the seventh month of the thirty-first year of Yuanfeng, the witchcraft curse case occurred. Everything that happened in the Crown Prince’s palace during those two years—you didn’t know?”

“I knew.”

Yan Sanhe’s heart jumped. “Who told you?”

Dong Chengfeng: “Shen Duruo!”

Yan Sanhe: “You met up with her again later.”

“Not met up.”

Dong Chengfeng swallowed. “I found her through painstaking effort.”

Liangzhou was a thousand li from the capital. Even with swift horses, it required a month’s journey.

In the ninth month of the thirty-first year of Yuanfeng, news of the Crown Prince’s rebellion reached Liangzhou Prefecture. Dong Chengfeng was shocked senseless.

After sitting woodenly through one night, he headed straight for the capital.

“Weren’t you afraid…”

“Afraid!”

“Afraid but still went?”

“Had to go.”

Dong Chengfeng: “First, I didn’t believe the Crown Prince would rebel. Second, I had to collect her corpse for her. Even if too late to collect the corpse, I needed to visit her fresh grave.”

“You didn’t know she was still alive?”

“That official bulletin had few words, only stating the general situation. I assumed she was dead.”

Yan Sanhe suddenly felt a touch of kinship with this person.

When trouble struck the Crown Prince, how many avoided it desperately? Even Tang Jianxi hid in deep mountains. Yet he swam against the current.

“You reached the capital—it should have been October?”

“The following year’s February.”

“Why so late? Isn’t it only a month’s journey?”

“The Crown Prince staged a military uprising, the old Emperor died, the new Emperor ascended—one after another, all enormous matters.”

Dong Chengfeng: “The four-nine city was sealed tight as a drum. Couldn’t enter, couldn’t leave. I could only wait at an inn fifty li away.”

Those days truly felt like years.

He couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. Every day he sat in the main hall, ears pricked listening to passing guests chat about four-nine city affairs.

Unfortunately, useful information wasn’t much—all rumors upon rumors.

At night, he’d stand at the inn entrance, gazing toward the capital’s direction, heart full of regret.

If only he’d known, he’d have revealed his feelings regardless;

If only he’d known, he’d have knocked her unconscious and taken her away;

If only he’d known, that morning he shouldn’t have left so resolutely—should have turned back to look at her once more…

Waiting and hoping like this, finally the four-nine city gates reopened.

He rode into the city. Before reaching the Crown Prince’s palace, he was stopped.

Those stopping him were patrolling guards. Seeing his outsider’s attire, they questioned him briefly then told him to take a different route.

Only then did he learn that all streets and alleys leading to the Crown Prince’s palace had stationed guards. No one was permitted near this already-ruined palace.

A full half year, and still guarded so tightly.

He dared not imagine what terrifying scene the four-nine city must have presented half a year ago.

He immediately changed course toward Yongding River. Wine houses and pleasure quarters lacked nothing if not customers discussing such matters.

Just sitting down, he heard customers nearby quietly discussing—discussing precisely the person he’d been thinking of day and night.

Only then did he learn that from the entire Crown Prince’s palace, only Shen Duruo had survived.

He suddenly recalled that day leaving the inn, mounting his horse, when he’d suddenly seen in the dim morning light a carriage racing toward him.

As the carriage brushed past him, his nose detected a strong herbal medicine scent.

Anxious to enter the city, he’d glanced back once then galloped toward the four-nine city.

“Yan Sanhe.”

Even now thinking of it, Dong Chengfeng felt his heart tearing with pain. “I actually passed her by.”

Yan Sanhe wanted to console him but didn’t know how. She could only ask, “How many years did it take to find her?”

“A full three years.”

Finding her wasn’t difficult—just inquire after female physicians who treated patients.

The difficulty was that after he’d inquired and searched there, she’d already quietly left.

“Yan Sanhe, guess how we met up?”

“Can’t guess.”

“In Qinglian Alley of Liangzhou City.”

It was an early summer evening.

He’d rushed the road all day, dusty and travel-worn, starving front to back.

He randomly found a night market stall, sat on a small stool, and asked the old man tending the stall, “What’s best at your stall?”

At this moment, a voice lightly came from behind: “Cold noodles are good.”

He felt thunderstruck, whipping around to see a familiar face—precisely Shen Duruo.

Four eyes met, as if separated by lifetimes.

Everything between heaven and earth stilled. Those days of travel, lonely nights—in this moment finally exchanged for this person before his eyes.

After a long while, this person pulled out a smile. “Long time no see, Chengfeng!”

She wore a married woman’s bun, dressed in married woman’s clothing. Her skin had lost its pallor, several fine lines at her eye corners. She’d aged more than a decade.

Only her eyes remained so black, so bright.

His eye sockets heated, vision blurring. “Shen Duruo, how the hell did you become like this?”

Warm wind lifted her hair. She smiled again. “Dong Chengfeng, why can’t I become like this?”

Hearing this, Yan Sanhe’s elegant brows knitted tightly. “I’ve heard nothing about the Crown Prince taking her into the palace?”

“Right, he didn’t.”

Dong Chengfeng looked directly at Yan Sanhe, saying word by word: “But she bore a child for the Crown Prince.”

What?

All blood in Yan Sanhe’s body stopped flowing.

“A premature infant. Born not crying, no breath. She performed Ghost Gate Thirteen Needles, reaching the twelfth needle when she revived the child.”

Dong Chengfeng said quietly, “Still a… female infant!”

These words falling on Yan Sanhe’s ears were like thunder on a clear day, shocking until her blood ran cold.

“If this female infant is still alive, she should be eighteen this year.”

Dong Chengfeng smiled slightly.

“Daughters mostly resemble fathers, so she should look like Fox Zhao. I think Fox Zhao’s appearance was quite ordinary, couldn’t compare to me—just had nice eyes, fair skin.

Oh right, Fox Zhao had insomnia. I imagine that child should have it too;

Fox Zhao would fall asleep hearing my qin—I estimate his daughter has the same constitution.”

Saying this, he knocked his head several times, making a “tsk” sound.

“Forgot to mention—Fox Zhao had another quirk many people didn’t know about. This person wouldn’t eat mushrooms. He’d smell mushrooms and want to vomit.

Yan Sanhe, you judge—isn’t this kind of man delicate?”

“…”

Yan Sanhe’s lips moved, her voice floating so she couldn’t even hear herself clearly.

“Dong Chengfeng, you, you… what were you just saying?”

—