On the horizon, dawn broke through the earth.

Rays of morning light scattered across the sky, the full moon dissolving into the firmament, becoming one with the heavens.

At that moment, a crow spread its wings and soared high, its flying posture remarkably like that of an eagle.

It circled the tree three full times before landing at its base, raising its small head to look up at the tree full of crows.

And in that instant, all the crows stood up in unison, lowering their heads to gaze at their eternal king.

They had fought for him, bled for him, accompanied him in life and in death, stayed with him in this bone-chilling cold netherworld for eighteen years.

They had lived together day and night, close as brothers, sharing life and death.

Now.

Finally, the time had come to part.

And it should be time to part.

At this moment, the crow spread its wings and beat its feathers three times.

This was the final command from a king to his warriors.

Return!

Return!

Return!

And his warriors spread their wings, looking up at the blue sky above their heads, crying out three long calls.

The sound was deafening, breaking through the morning light, echoing through the heavens, reverberating endlessly.

Then they bent their legs and, meticulously and orderly, knelt before their king.

Performing one final salute.

And then.

With a great rush of sound, the tree full of crows took flight, circling around their king.

They flew very slowly, very low, reluctant, bidding farewell.

What an honor it was to accompany you through this journey.

What a regret that the road ahead you must walk alone.

Walk slowly, so that we may slowly catch up, until we meet again.

After flying three circles, they showed no lingering attachment, did not look back, and beat their wings toward the radiant dawn.

Flying toward mountains, seas, grasslands, forests…

Flying toward their coming next destiny, next reincarnation, next karmic cycle.

Only one crow did not leave.

She flew to her king’s side, standing shoulder to shoulder with him.

The king lowered his head, gazing at her with tender eyes, spreading his wings to embrace her.

Then together they turned around to look at Yan Sanhe.

So light, so gentle, so proud was their gaze.

As if…

Parents looking at their own child.

So you know who I am, don’t you?

Yan Sanhe’s heart warmed as she ran toward them with all her might.

She couldn’t wait to tell them—

Her name was now Yan Sanhe, she had grown up in old General Zheng Yu’s household, came to Yan Xing’s side at age eight, and after Yan Xing passed away, came to the capital.

She had several good friends around her, and there was someone she liked, named Xie Zhifei.

These nine years, she had been searching for her roots…

Suddenly, a “click” sounded in her ears.

It was the sound of a coffin closing.

The heart demon had been resolved.

The smile hadn’t yet faded from Yan Sanhe’s face when darkness engulfed her vision, and she fell into boundless darkness.

…

Yan Sanhe seemed to have had an extremely long dream.

When she awoke, she found herself standing in a vast white mist.

Sunlight fell, and the white mist dispersed.

Before her eyes was an elegant courtyard with a tree of red flowers.

A nobly dressed woman stood on a ladder, a basket over her arm, picking flowers.

Hearing the sound, she looked down and smiled warmly at Yan Sanhe.

Yan Sanhe looked at her somewhat bewildered.

“These are pomegranate flowers. Stir-fried, they’re fragrant and sweet, and can also be used in medicine.”

The woman raised her chin toward the space behind Yan Sanhe, indicating she should look back.

Yan Sanhe turned around.

Under a osmanthus tree, a middle-aged man crouched, holding a small shovel, digging in the soil.

Yan Sanhe frowned. “What are you digging for?”

The man didn’t look up. “Digging for wine.”

“Why would wine be buried underground?”

“Wine buried underground becomes fragrant.”

“How many years must it be buried?”

The man raised his head. “Eighteen years.”

His features finally appeared before Yan Sanhe’s eyes—

It was a bearded face, with deep wrinkles between his brows and at the corners of his eyes, yet his gaze was extremely gentle, like a clear breeze and bright moon.

Yan Sanhe stood frozen in place.

“There—”

“Found it.”

He quickened his movements, and within moments excavated a jar of wine from the earth, holding it like a treasure, looking at it again and again.

He placed the wine under the eaves, patted his hands, dusted off his clothes, and walked into the house.

Yan Sanhe involuntarily followed, stopping beneath the window.

She saw him sit down at his desk, pick up a carving knife, and cut into white jade stroke by stroke.

He carved with great concentration, seemingly unaware that Yan Sanhe stood outside the window, watching him intently.

Yes.

Yan Sanhe was watching him at this moment, her heart filled with a thousand words she wanted to say, but when it came to it, she couldn’t speak any of them.

This was not the former Crown Prince Zhao Lin from the heart demon.

This was her father, Zhao Rongyu.

His features were identical to hers.

He wore an ordinary blue robe, his whole being exuding a strong scholarly air, overlapping with the image in Yan Sanhe’s mind.

“What are you carving?”

“Two characters.”

He seemed to dislike being disturbed while working, still not looking up, only after finishing one stroke did he raise his eyes to glance at her.

“Would you like to come in and sit?”

“I…”

Yan Sanhe said uncertainly, “…May I come in?”

His eyes curved into a smile. “Why not? This is your home.”

Yan Sanhe’s eyes grew hot. She walked through the door, all the way to his side.

He pointed to the chair by the desk. “Sit.”

Yan Sanhe sat as instructed, still watching him, tracing his outline with her gaze.

He really did look very much like her.

He lowered his head again to carve the jade.

In the study, it was very quiet—one could hear cicadas singing outside the window.

Yan Sanhe felt somewhat dazed.

As if she had returned to that village by the Nu River, with Yan Xing reading at his desk while she dozed on the bamboo couch.

Where the heart finds peace is home.

That one was the home Yan Xing had given her.

This one was her true home.

“When I was three or four years old, I was very attached to my mother.”

He suddenly spoke, his voice gentle.

“Wherever she went, I wanted to follow. At night I wanted to sleep beside her too. But I was the Crown Prince. From childhood, the Crown Prince had to sleep alone—couldn’t be close to anyone.

One night there was thunder. I cried hysterically, calling for my mother. The palace attendants carried me to her chambers. That night was the best sleep of my entire life.

When I woke, I thought to myself—when I have children someday, I definitely won’t make them sleep alone.”

Yan Sanhe listened, entranced. “And then?”

“Then your mother conceived you. In my heart I hoped for a daughter.”

He smiled slightly. “A daughter wouldn’t have so many rules. Your mother was certain to leave, so I thought I’d keep you by my side.

At night when it was cold, I’d cover you with a blanket. When it was hot, I’d fan you. When there was thunder, I’d cover your ears so you wouldn’t be frightened.”

Tears began to well up in Yan Sanhe’s eyes.

“In this life, I’ve done many wrong things. The most absurd mistake was that night, not being cruel enough to push her away, resulting in bringing you into this world.”

His hands didn’t stop—he still kept his head lowered, the expression in his eyes unclear.

“I gave you neither a healthy body nor a home to shelter you from wind and rain, leaving you to drift and wander for eighteen years.”

His hands paused. “Child, you should resent me.”

Yan Sanhe’s tears rolled down.

“Not only did I fail to cover you with blankets, fan you, or cover your ears—I missed your first smile, your first words, your first steps, your first tantrum… I missed them all.”

His lowered neck curved into a fragile arc.

“I wanted to teach you music, chess, calligraphy, and painting. I wanted to carry you on my back, watch lanterns at the fifteenth, admire flowers at mid-autumn, celebrate your birthday warmly every year, let your mother practice medicine outside with peace of mind…”

He fell silent for a moment, his tone filled with indescribable guilt.

“I didn’t do… didn’t do a single one of them.”