The sky overhead showed gray-blue, the horizon stretched endlessly, waves gently lapped the ship’s sides as it tilted slightly, leaving a gleaming white wake with thousands of rippling lights.

This dragon-leaf boat, with its embroidered chambers and carved eaves, was uniquely crafted—perhaps this was why pirates had targeted it for plunder.

He had merely encountered it by chance while sailing and helped drive off the attackers. The ship’s owner was so grateful he insisted on keeping him aboard for lavish hospitality to show his gratitude.

Rolling waves carried the ship up and down. Leaning against the railing, gazing at the azure sea, he recalled how he once feared water terribly, refusing to board ships unless absolutely necessary. It was she who had coaxed and tricked him onto a boat years ago, setting off the world’s most beautiful fireworks while he remained shaken with fear.

He realized it had been eight years since he’d seen her.

He had never wanted to be a ruler. That mystery of parentage and weighty entrustment—he had always carefully hidden it away, wishing only that she could stay carefree by his side. But ultimately he couldn’t conceal it from her.

After she left eight years ago, his face lost all trace of smiles.

That had been the most painfully regrettable decision of his life.

Those little tricks of dismissing the guards, her desperately hidden sorrow—how could he not have seen through them?

He knew her stubbornness and willfulness too well. To keep her, he had even considered having her confined.

But she said she was unwilling.

She was unwilling to compromise and stay by his side, living sneaky, sunless days.

After his coronation, he raced to the city outskirts and saw her silhouette. How desperately he wanted to embrace her and leave together.

He chased after her like a madman, but saw her slightly raise her head to look at the sky’s maples, slowly closing her eyes.

Countless intrigues still awaited him in the palace. He truly couldn’t bear to drag her once more into those troubles she most despised.

In that instant, he thought perhaps letting go, allowing her to soar freely, was the best choice for her.

Even if it meant a lifetime of loneliness, becoming history’s most solitary emperor.

He never took an empress or consorts—the hardships of this, others couldn’t fathom. He made the late emperor’s son Xiao Yixuan Crown Prince. During those turbulent times, with the Crown Prince young, he devoted himself to reforming governance, transforming the court’s decadent atmosphere, then governing the four seas until he won the people’s hearts. When all civil and military officials were loyally devoted to him, no one dared mention establishing an empress again.

By then, five years had passed since her departure.

During this time, he sent people to search for her many times, always without news. Chief Tao Yuan of the Mingjian Division said she hadn’t used any of the Division’s resources—in this vast world, her traces couldn’t be found.

He always remembered her promise: when he held great power and the four seas were at peace, she would return.

He often returned to their princess mansion, lying alone on that stargazing lawn. He would linger at her favorite restaurants and teahouses, countless times seeing women with similar silhouettes, only to taste disappointment each time they turned around.

Until that evening, after a victory banquet following the battle with Great Liang, he invited General Lu Lingjun for a casual stroll. Lu Lingjun told him he had seen her.

He became incoherent with excitement, asking where she was seen, why he hadn’t brought her back.

Lu Lingjun was silent for a long time, then said: “This subject saw her on the northern grasslands. She… still has such ability, leading an entire merchant caravan to trade silk for horses.” He paused: “But she already has a husband and child. They… looked very happy. This subject… didn’t dare disturb them.”

Seeing the light in his eyes extinguished, seeing his disbelief, Lu Lingjun said: “This subject once even resented Your Majesty for letting her leave. Now this subject only hopes Your Majesty can let go of this obsession and not sink deeper.”

That night was the first time since his coronation that he drank himself senseless. The sleeping chambers were vast and cold, chilling moonlight penetrating to his bones.

He staggered to the highest point of the palace walls. The capital’s brilliant prosperity lay beneath him, but except for his robes flapping in the wind, all other bustling sounds were too distant.

He instinctively turned back—behind him was endless white snow, vast and empty, with no one there.

In that moment, even he couldn’t understand why, despite hoping for her happiness and fearing her loneliness, his heart felt cut by knives, even rising anger that wouldn’t fade.

From then on, he never again sent people to search for her.

He considered trying to forget love with love, but no matter how stunning the beauties the ministers offered, in his eyes none compared to even a fraction of her. Closing his eyes, he could only remember his promise to her: she would be his only wife in this life.

He ultimately couldn’t forget her.

Sea waves lapped gently, damp wind brushed his face, pulling him back from memory to reality.

A ray of dawn lit the eastern sky’s rose colors. Ahead lay Dujiang Town, south of the Huai River.

The ship’s owner, Dong Xun, past fifty years old, saw him gazing alone at the sea and invited him into the cabin for tea and conversation. Seeing a long scar on his wrist when he raised his sleeve, Dong Xun said: “This wound seems to be from a blade.”

He said: “This was wounded in battle against Great Liang three years ago.”

Dong Xun was surprised: “I didn’t expect you to be a military man.”

He smiled faintly.

Over three years, he had personally led expeditions twice, despite fierce opposition from all court officials.

Even he couldn’t say clearly whether this was to completely drive out foreign enemies or to place himself on battlefields, casting aside all vain longings.

Both battles were great victories. Daqing’s forces not only completely expelled Liang from the borders but opened entirely new territories.

But the second time he was too severely wounded—the enemy had poisoned their blades, nearly taking his life.

He didn’t know how long he remained unconscious. When he awoke, he found himself in his sleeping chambers with the young Crown Prince holding his hand while asleep beside the bed. Seeing him wake, the Crown Prince was overjoyed, telling him he’d been unconscious nearly two months, that the imperial physicians said if he couldn’t survive this night, he might never wake again. Just as he was about to speak, the Crown Prince continued: “During Your Majesty’s absence, everything in court remained stable and orderly. Xuan didn’t disappoint Imperial Uncle. Having barely survived this calamity, please don’t overwork yourself again.”

The Crown Prince’s eyes held maturity and composure beyond his years. He quietly watched the Crown Prince, and seeing him about to summon the imperial physicians, he held him back, saying softly: “No. Tell the physicians—I didn’t survive.”

The Crown Prince looked at him in disbelief. He smiled weakly: “Xuan can do very well. I should have spent more time with you, but Imperial Uncle… is truly tired.”

His funeral was magnificently solemn. He naturally couldn’t witness it himself. Choosing to escape through feigned death was his most self-indulgent decision in life. After this indulgence, he didn’t even know where to go.

He drifted aimlessly southward, deliberately visiting that Guangling town where they once lived, but things had changed while peach blossoms remained the same.

Until wandering here to this vast sea, time stretching endlessly, even worldly concerns seemed distant.

“Young Master Song?” Hearing Dong Xun softly call his name, he suddenly returned to awareness. Song Langsheng—he hadn’t used this name for eight years.

Unwilling to discuss the past much, Dong Xun asked no more. The ship now reached harbor. Seeing the darkening sky and light rain beginning, Dong Xun warmly invited him to stay temporarily at his estate.

The carriage moved slowly. The estate had surrounding walls and drooping green willows. Song Langsheng remarked: “I didn’t expect Master Dong’s residence to be so elegant.” Dong Xun said modestly: “The properties in this Dujiang area belong to my mistress. I merely manage them for her.”

He was slightly surprised. This Dong Xun was among the wealthiest in Jiangnan—he’d never known he answered to a master, and a woman at that.

Light rain fell steadily, pedestrians hurried past. Though the small town couldn’t compare to the capital’s bustling prosperity, it was simple, peaceful, tranquil and comfortable.

The carriage reached the estate entrance. Dong Xun led the way as he opened his umbrella and walked slowly inside. Among green trees and brilliant flowers, a clear stream flowed through stone crevices into beautiful groves.

The lovely scene before him felt deeply familiar, unconsciously drawing him forward several steps. He saw the flowing spring creating clear music, white jade railings surrounding ponds where fish leaped up.

Suddenly her idle words from Guangling echoed in his mind: “A’Sheng, when we have lots and lots of money someday, we must get a big, big house to live in…”

He couldn’t help rolling his eyes: “Just the two of us—what would we do with such a big place?”

She said longingly: “Plant flowers in the courtyard, especially crabapple blossoms… The princess mansion couldn’t have so many before—Liu Bo said too many flowers attract bees and butterflies… But I love living in a flower garden… Oh, but I still want the mansion’s big lake with lots and lots of fish, so whenever we want fish we can just catch them…”

“Fish you raise yourself, you probably couldn’t bear to eat them.”

“…Now that you mention it, that’s true…”

He couldn’t help asking: “What else do you want?”

“Ah? You were listening! Um, also plant maple trees, so in autumn we can take our children to swing under them and tell them our story…”

He suddenly turned back—this garden was indeed full of crabapple blossoms, every plant and flower her favorites.

Seeing him stop, Dong Xun asked: “Young Master?”

He stood stunned for a long time, asking with a trembling voice: “Are there maple trees in the courtyard?”

Dong Xun was slightly surprised: “Planted in the front courtyard. How did Young Master know? My mistress loves maple trees—it took considerable effort back then…”

Before he finished speaking, Song Langsheng had already rushed toward the front courtyard. Rounding the corridor corner, he saw red maple shadows swaying on the lake surface through misty rain.

A gentle breeze lifted a maple leaf, spinning in the air. He reached out to catch it, remembering her young smiling face, eyes sparkling like stars: “Have you heard the legend about maple leaves? Legend says those who catch falling maple leaves will find happiness. If lovers witness thousands of maple leaves dancing like snow together, they’ll never part.”

He walked forward step by step. The swing by the tree swayed gently in the wind, as if all soul-stirring memories were fleeting shadows, every flower and leaf, every frame, faintly dispersing.

Approaching the swing, he saw carved on the supporting wooden post: “Plum blossom snow, pear blossom moon, always longing—naturally spring comes unnoticed, departure particularly known.”

His trembling hand touched that familiar handwriting as tears accumulated in his eyes, finally bursting forth uncontrollably.

It was her. He knew it was her.

Dong Xun had caught up, seeing his sorrowful grief with great confusion: “Young Master… is something wrong?”

He turned away to dry the tears on his face: “This courtyard closely resembles my old friend’s residence. I was momentarily moved by the scene—I’m afraid I’ve made Master Dong laugh…”

Dong Xun laughed: “Not at all, not at all…”

He asked: “Is the estate’s owner present? Since I’ve come, I should pay proper respects.”

Dong Xun shook his head: “Several months ago, Madam suddenly took Xiu and left. She hasn’t returned since. I only came to manage things after receiving her letter. Young Master needn’t be so formal.”

Hearing “Xiu,” remembering Lu Lingjun said she had a husband and daughter, his heart darkened. “In that case…” He had wanted to take his leave, but his heart held countless reluctances. He at least wanted to see what her husband looked like, how he treated her, why she would write that poem belonging to them on the swing despite being married.

After much hesitation, he finally asked: “Is… the master of the house present? I…”

Dong Xun smiled slightly: “My mistress has always been independent and single. There’s no master here—everyone in town knows this.”

His whole body shook: “Single? How… how is that possible? Four years ago, someone saw her with her husband on the grasslands…” Reaching this point, he suddenly fell silent. Dong Xun said: “Young Master is Madam’s old acquaintance?”

Seeing his momentary speechlessness, Dong Xun smiled again: “Young Master has shown various strange behaviors since entering the estate. If I couldn’t see through this, I’d have lived these many years in vain. Four years ago… Madam did indeed take Xiu to the grasslands. If I’m not mistaken, that ‘husband’ was likely my young lady playfully disguised… However, Xiu is indeed Madam’s own flesh and blood…”

These successive revelations left him at a loss. Hope rekindled in his heart, yet he feared it was mere delusion, afraid even this last thread of hope would become bubbles. He stared blankly at the maple tree, finally asking: “Her… her daughter, how old is she now?”

Dong Xun said: “I first met Madam in the first month of the Dingyou year, when she was already six months pregnant. Four months later, Xiu was born. Counting to today, Xiu is already seven years old.”

Dingyou year, first month of Dingyou year.

He closed his eyes tightly, tears still streaming out.

How had he not thought of it—that was his daughter.

How could she bear to leave while pregnant with their child? How did she endure alone all those years?

Dong Xun invited him inside for tea and gradually told him about her recent years.

She had originally drifted to Guangling, to their former home, liquidated all her savings, then wandered here. By chance, she met Dong Xun, whose nearby tavern faced bankruptcy and closure.

She bought that tavern, reversed its decline, and kept Dong Xun on to manage it. From then on, Dong Xun never left her side.

Even later when he had his own merchant group and great wealth, in her presence he still regarded her as his most respected person.

Dong Xun said he’d never seen a stronger woman than his mistress.

He still remembered the night before the child was born, when she suddenly suffered severe abdominal pain with no time to summon the town’s midwife. Even so, when everyone else panicked, she could calm them all down, gritting her teeth to deliver a healthy baby.

Song Langsheng couldn’t imagine such a scene. She had always been so afraid of pain, yet he wasn’t by her side during her greatest pain.

Dong Xun said he didn’t know his mistress’s past. Though she often smiled, her eyes couldn’t hide their underlying loneliness.

Due to business, she had traveled extensively over the years, visiting many places and meeting many distinguished men. Among them were those who admired her devotedly, but she was never moved.

When occasionally asked, she would only say: “I’m already married—how can I marry again?”

She said she was already married, but Dong Xun had never seen her husband.

The dull pain in his heart made him unable to listen further.

He asked: “Do you know where she went?”

Dong Xun gently shook his head: “When the former emperor died and the new emperor ascended, I only knew Madam rushed northward, leaving in great haste, but I don’t know why…”

His fingers gripped his palm until it hurt. The rain had stopped at some point—only the sound of dripping water from the eaves could be heard, splashing into puddles.

She had gone to find him. After hearing news of his death, she had rushed day and night toward the capital, no longer caring about anything else.

Years later, though she had become the composed and wise mistress others spoke of, she was just like before—when it concerned him, she couldn’t remain calm and collected. At this moment, he wished he could sprout wings and immediately fly to her side. He feared she would shed tears for him again.

Seeing his urgent desire to leave, Dong Xun called out to stop him: “Young Master Song, southeast winds have risen at sea. I’m afraid ships cannot sail tonight.” He paused, then Dong Xun said meaningfully: “Whatever urgent matter there may be, you should first protect yourself well in order to protect those you wish to protect.”

He thought perhaps Dong Xun had already guessed something, just hadn’t spoken it aloud.

Early the next morning, he waited at the dock for the first northbound ferry.

Sea and sky showed gray-blue—only ship lights could be seen on the water, slowly approaching with the dawn light.

He stood quietly, facing the sea breeze, watching daybreak’s first radiance.

When the ship docked, sailors lowered planks for passengers to disembark first. The dock bustled with endless coming and going. Just as he was about to board, his body froze like stone in that moment of intersecting light and shadow.

By the stone railing, the person he’d longed for day and night was slowly approaching, holding a beautiful young child’s hand.

He held his breath, not daring to make the slightest sound, afraid of disturbing this dreamlike scene.

The little girl, trying to cheer her mother, had her mother bend down as she reached up to smooth her forehead hair. Among the crowded waterfront, she hadn’t noticed him, carrying her daughter past him.

His heart beat faster and faster, yet he dared not step forward to recognize them.

The sun rose in the east, seagulls swooped low overhead. The little girl rested her head on her mother’s shoulder and noticed him staring their way in a daze.

She wrinkled her small brow, pointed at him with her finger, and said sweetly: “Mama, there’s a very handsome uncle looking at you and crying.”

She turned around. Morning glow shone through clouds onto her blue-green smoke-colored dress, her face rosy and elegant.

Having searched for her thousands of times in crowds—eight years, eight months, and thirteen days, counted silently in his heart—finally they met again.