Cheng Chang’s estate lay to the northeast of Jinling, built against the mountainside; it took some time to reach by carriage.

Before leaving, Yun Xi told her personal guards to only come find her if something truly urgent arose.

The estate had an elegant name—Wangshan Retreat. This was Cheng Chang’s first visit there as well. As they walked in, led by the estate’s steward, he explained, “The young prince rarely visits, so only a few of the side chambers in the main courtyard have been kept prepared. Besides the main courtyard, there are several gardens to the east, west, south, and north. There aren’t many servants at the estate currently—they all live in the rear quarters.”

Each of the gardens had its own distinct character—pavilions and terraces, foliage half-concealing paths, rockeries and unusual stones. Since the estate had been built against the mountain, there was also a pavilion built partway up the slope to the south.

Steward Lin led Cheng Chang and Yun Xi over, saying, “Back when this garden was first built, Young Prince, you were especially fond of this pavilion on the mountainside, and personally named it Fufeng Studio. You’d also set aside a large open area, saying you wanted to dig a lake and build a pavilion over the water.”

Outside Fufeng Studio, a waterfall cascaded down along the mountain’s slope, blocking the path forward.

Yun Xi was still puzzling over this—there seemed to be no way forward—where was this “open area” supposed to be? But then Steward Lin, leading the way ahead, took a sudden turn, guiding them onto a narrow path behind the waterfall—it turned out a plank walkway had been built along the mountainside.

At the end of the walkway lay the open space.

The scenery here was exceptional—the mountains rose in deep green solitude, lush and thriving, the roar of the cascading falls mingling with birdsong, a peaceful stillness amid the noise, as though set apart from the mortal world.

Steward Lin said, “Later, when the Prince learned that you were building this estate, Young Prince, he grew angry, and the plan to build the water pavilion was shelved. Now that you’ve come today, Young Prince, do you wish to have the pavilion built after all?”

Hearing this, Cheng Chang turned to Yun Xi, who was looking around at the scenery. “Should we still build the pavilion?”

Yun Xi blinked, then said, “This is the third young master’s estate—naturally, this decision is yours to make.”

Cheng Chang asked again, “Do you like it here?”

“I do,” Yun Xi smiled. “The scenery here is lovely.”

Cheng Chang nodded, then said to Steward Lin, “No need for the pavilion. Let’s build a training ground instead.”

Steward Lin acknowledged. “This humble one will have craftsmen come survey the area tomorrow morning, and once the sketches are drawn up, I’ll send them to the mansion for your approval, Young Prince.”

Cheng Chang made a small sound of acknowledgment, then followed the steward’s lead along the walkway back down toward a small pavilion at the mountain’s foot.

Yun Xi hurried to catch up a few steps. “The third young master wants to build a training ground?”

She added, “I know how to drill troops—if the third young master wants to raise more guards, I could help you with that.”

She was, after all, a fourth-rank general of the court, and understood the current political situation within the palace quite well—on the surface, things between Cheng Chang and Prince Ling appeared calm, but underneath, they were already bitterly at odds.

Cheng Chang glanced at her. “No need—the mansion already has its own grounds for training guards.”

He said, “This training ground is being built for you.”

Yun Xi didn’t quite understand, pausing in place for a moment before catching up a few more steps. “Built for me?”

The two of them reached the small pavilion at the foot of the mountain. Steward Lin said he’d go fetch some pastries and withdrew first. Cheng Chang responded with an unrelated question, “Are you heading back to Xishan Camp today?”

Yun Xi glanced at the sky and shook her head. “It’s too late—I won’t make it in time. I’ll go back to the marquis household tonight.”

Cheng Chang picked up the teapot in the pavilion, poured a cup of water and handed it to her, then glanced at Sun Haiping, who was waiting outside the pavilion.

Understanding at once, Sun Haiping immediately took out the estate’s bronze key, placed it on the stone table, and withdrew a good distance away, dragging Zhang Dahu along with him.

Cheng Chang pushed the bronze key toward Yun Xi. “This estate is yours now. Keep the key for now—I didn’t bring the deed today, but I’ll have it transferred to your name another day.”

Yun Xi stared blankly for a long moment. “How could I possibly accept this?”

She wasn’t a rigid person by nature—having pledged herself to him for life, she had no qualms about accepting the occasional hairpin or jade ornament from him. But this Wangshan Retreat had surely cost a fortune to build—how could she possibly accept something like this?

Yun Xi said, “This is the third young master’s estate. I can’t accept it.”

Cheng Chang had already anticipated this response and sat down on the chair by the pavilion. “Have I ever told you about my homeland?”

“Where I’m from, when marrying a woman, if you can afford it, buying her a car and a house is quite common practice.”

Yun Xi was stunned—she’d never heard of such a custom before.

“Where exactly is the third young master’s homeland?”

Cheng Chang said, “Let me think about how to explain this.”

He gazed at the distant waterfall, and after a long moment, chose his words carefully. “You and I—we’re actually not from the same time and place.”

“The level of civilization here is roughly comparable to the Song dynasty in my world, about a thousand years ago. But in our history, there was no such dynasty as Sui. Geographically, there are a lot of similarities, though—perhaps at some point during the course of civilization’s development, history took a different fork in the road, and this dynasty emerged from that divergence.”

Yun Xi listened, half-understanding, for a long moment, then asked, “Does the third young master mean that you’re from a thousand years in the future?”

“Yes, you could understand it that way,” Cheng Chang said. “Two years ago, the first time I came here, I woke up right after falling into the Qinhuai River.”

“So the real third young master had already died once he fell into the river.”

“I share his name, and his appearance, but I’m not him.”

Yun Xi stared blankly at Cheng Chang.

The last rays of the setting sun were falling now, casting light over him, his expression calm and quiet.

She’d known the old third young master—reckless, tyrannical—nothing like the man in front of her now.

Yun Xi felt she should be shocked by these bizarre revelations, should find them hard to accept. But she wasn’t. Perhaps having witnessed so much of his uniqueness already, having imagined countless times where he might have come from, she found herself unexpectedly calm in accepting all of it. After a long moment, she even tried to explain herself. “The old third young master and I were never actually close. From the very start, I only ever had eyes for the current third young master…”

She pressed her lips together, unable to finish the sentence.

“I know,” Cheng Chang smiled. “I figured that out long ago.”

He continued, “So where I’m from, when you meet a girl you like, you generally pursue her first. Once you’ve won her over, you start dating. If things go well, you move toward marriage. If not, you part ways and try again with someone else.”

Yun Xi asked, “What is ‘dating’?”

Cheng Chang looked at her—dusk had fallen, the glow of sunset wrapping around her vermilion robes, making her look extraordinarily radiant. She was undeniably striking, and yet her eyes remained remarkably clear.

Such a wonderful girl.

Something stirred in Cheng Chang’s heart. He said, “Come here.”

He took her hand and drew her to sit beside him.

He rested one arm along the back of the chair, as though about to encircle her, then looked into her eyes and slowly leaned down.

He could feel her tension, her breathing quickening, her hand curled in his palm shifting slightly, as though wanting to curl her fingers, yet forcing them to stay open.

He smiled inwardly, and once close enough to feel each other’s breath mingling, he suddenly pulled back an inch, looking into her eyes, explaining with an entirely straight face, “Something like this—this is what we call dating.”

Meeting his gaze, Yun Xi froze, then turned her face away, flustered.

After a moment, she asked, “Did the third young master date anyone back in his homeland?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Did any of them… reach the point of talking about marriage?”

Cheng Chang fell silent for a moment. “No.”

He lowered his eyes and said, “I couldn’t be with anyone.”

“Why not?”

“I have a congenital condition,” Cheng Chang said. “A congenital heart defect—my heart had problems from the moment I was born.”

“Irregular heartbeat, blocked blood vessels—I had a pacemaker fitted when I was very young, had bypass surgery at seventeen, and just recently had a triple-chamber pacemaker replaced.”

Listening to Cheng Chang, Yun Xi didn’t fully understand the terms, but she gathered enough to know it was some kind of heart ailment.

But if he’d been born with a condition like this, how could he possibly have survived safely into adulthood?

“Are you wondering how I managed to survive and grow up?” Cheng Chang said.

“Where I’m from, medicine is highly advanced. It can’t bring the dead back to life, of course, but a condition like mine can still be treated. For blocked blood vessels, they connect a new pathway from other vessels to let blood flow through. For irregular heartbeat, they implant a machine that keeps the heart beating regularly.”

He took Yun Xi’s hand and pressed it against his own chest. “Right here—they cut this open, then cut open the outermost layer of skin over the heart, and implant the machine beneath the skin.”

Beneath her palm, his chest felt solid and warm. Yun Xi couldn’t begin to imagine the pain of having this cut open, the heart itself cut open.

She looked at Cheng Chang, asking worriedly, “Does it hurt?”

“Not during the surgery—there’s anesthesia for that. But afterward, once it wears off, it hurts quite a lot.” He paused, then smiled faintly. “But I’m used to it by now. My parents had the same condition. They passed away not long after I was born.”

They’d planned ahead, leaving him a fair amount of money and some assets, and had entrusted him to the care of an elderly orphanage director.

Unfortunately, when he was thirteen or fourteen, that director had also passed away unexpectedly.

At the time, his appointed lawyer had asked whether he wanted to be placed with another adoptive family.

But he’d felt somewhat despondent, believing he was fated to bring misfortune to family and friends alike, that being close to him might harm others.

“I had a rather absurd thought back then—if my heart could only beat properly with the help of a machine, was I even a complete person at all? Maybe partly because of that, or perhaps to prove something to myself, I worked hard throughout my whole life, never allowing myself the slightest slack. Later, after graduating and starting work, I’d originally planned to spend a few years at a financial conglomerate to gain experience, then strike out on my own and start a business. I never gave much thought to what I’d do with any money I earned. I was alone in the world anyway—money is something you’re born without and can’t take with you when you go. I figured that one day, when my body truly gave out, I’d donate everything to society, to those who needed it. I never expected that before I could arrange everything properly, I ended up here instead.”

Yun Xi asked, “So when the third young master fell from the cliff before, and again when he was hunted at the Imperial City Guard—where did he actually go? Back to his homeland?”

Hearing this question, Cheng Chang’s brow furrowed slightly, then relaxed again after a moment, though he still didn’t answer.

Seeing him seem reluctant to speak, Yun Xi didn’t press further.

Cheng Chang glanced at her, then smiled. “Where were we?”

“The third young master said he’s never talked about marriage with anyone.”

“Right, never have.” Cheng Chang said, looking at Yun Xi, a faint ripple stirring in his eyes. “You’re the first, and the only person I’ve ever wanted to marry.”

“So giving you this estate isn’t for any particular reason.”

“I just want to do everything within my power to make sure the person I love never suffers again, not even a little.”

Yun Xi gazed back at him, and in his eyes she caught a rare glimpse of deep affection. Lowering her eyes, she smiled softly, and said, “This place is close to Xishan Camp. If I’m ever unable to make it back to the marquis household in time, I’ll come here instead.”

She quickly added, “But there’s no need to transfer the deed to me.”

“Fine, we’ll settle the deed once you’ve married me,” Cheng Chang said. He glanced at the sky—dusk had already settled in, and it was getting quite late—then stood up. “Let’s head back.”

Yun Xi nodded and rose to follow him, but just as she started toward the pavilion’s exit, he suddenly pulled her back.

“A’Ting.” His tone was casual, carrying a hint of amusement. “Shall we pick up where we left off, with that dating we didn’t quite finish?”

Yun Xi blinked, still not quite registering what he meant, when she saw him already leaning in close.

A gust of mountain wind swept past, sending her vermilion robes fluttering. Dressed rather thinly, she seemed a little cold, even her long lashes trembling slightly.

He reached out and wrapped his arms around her, drawing her into his embrace.

Cheng Chang had only intended a light, brief touch, but the gentle contact proved unexpectedly soft and sweet.

And she didn’t pull away—seeing him seem to hesitate, she recalled how he’d done it before, and imitated him, lightly grazing her tongue against his lips.

Cheng Chang paused, thinking she truly had no idea what she was getting into.

The faint, tingling sensation on his lips traveled along his teeth, reaching the tip of his tongue, then sinking into his very core, as though kindling a tiny flame deep within him.

His throat moved slightly, and he leaned down again.