The carriage had long been waiting at the palace gate. Sun Haiping, seeing Cheng Chang walking over covered in blood, asked in trepidation, “Young Prince, shall we… shall we return to the mansion?”

The last traces of sunset glow still lingered on the horizon. Cheng Chang looked at it with unusual calm and said, “To Wangshan Retreat.”

Wangshan Retreat was about an hour’s journey from Sui Palace. Once Cheng Chang arrived, he walked up the mountain without a word.

Outside Fufeng Study there was a terrace. It was the middle of the night, and a waterfall cascaded down directly, splashing over the edge of the terrace, scattering droplets.

Steward Lin of Wangshan Retreat knew the Young Prince favored this place, and had already made sure Fufeng Study was prepared these past few days. A stone table and bamboo couch had been set on the terrace, and gauze curtains hung in the room inside.

Cheng Chang sat down by the stone table and asked, “Is there wine?”

“Yes—yes, there is,” Steward Lin answered, immediately ordering servants to bring out several jars of fine aged wine.

Cheng Chang said, “You may all go.”

He picked up a jar and drank straight from the mouth of it.

A burning heat went down his throat, harsh with a trace of sweetness beneath it, gone before he could really taste it.

Cheng Chang took another drink.

In truth, he wasn’t fond of alcohol. In his previous life he’d had a heart condition and couldn’t touch it. Since crossing over into this world, his life had often hung by a thread, and though he occasionally took a sip or two at palace banquets, he always stopped while he still could.

They said wine could make a person drunk enough to forget the world, to live as if in a dream.

But drink after drink went down, his stomach burning fiercely, yet the more he drank, the more clear-headed he became.

He didn’t know, at this point, whether his hands could be counted as stained with blood, whether they were dirty.

But he was starting to understand what was happening to him.

Cheng Chang wanted to shut himself away here, refusing to see anyone.

Until all the rage and hatred and desire had settled.

“Third Young Master.”

He didn’t know how much time had passed when a soft call suddenly came from behind him.

Cheng Chang’s hand, gripping the wine jar, paused.

Ever since he’d been made a young prince, everyone in the palace addressed him as “Your Highness” to his face. Only she still stubbornly called him “Third Young Master,” as if doing so could somehow keep things unchanged.

Yun Xi stood by the curtain, watching Cheng Chang.

She had heard about the trouble at the Court of Judicial Review as night fell.

The Young Prince of Prince Cong’s household had driven a Censorate official to his death, and the palace was on edge.

She had rushed back to the palace, where a minor clerk of the Censorate told her, “The Young Prince’s attendant left word that he’s gone to Wangshan Retreat in the western part of the city. If the General has time, perhaps she should go see him.”

Yun Xi had never seen Cheng Chang like this—so helplessly alone.

His hands gripped the wine jar tightly, as if it were some miraculous elixir.

She walked over, crouched down by his knee, and covered his hand holding the jar with her own. “Third Young Master, why are you drinking?”

Her hand was cool as snow. He lowered his eyes to look at her, and after a long moment said, “Chai Ping is dead.”

“I know.”

He continued, “I drove him to it.”

His tone was utterly desolate.

Yun Xi felt a pang in her chest at hearing this. She looked up at him. “No. It has nothing to do with you, Third Young Master.”

The corner of Cheng Chang’s mouth curved, as if he wanted to smile, but the smile never came.

He asked, “Why did you come here?”

Yun Xi said, “I was worried about Third Young Master.”

Her face was clear and delicate, a stretch of pale skin at her neck clearly cool to the touch—unlike him, whose drinking had stirred up an unquenchable fire within.

The wine hadn’t made him drunk, but seeing her, he felt something like intoxication.

He stared at her without blinking, reached out and cupped her cheek, slowly caressing it. “A’Ting, have I ever told you that I like you very much?”

“From long ago, before I even knew it myself, I already liked you very much…”

His tone was seductive, laced with a bewitching quality.

Yet these deeply affectionate words, coming from him, sounded lost and powerless.

Cheng Chang asked, “A’Ting, can I… with you…”

He trailed off, but Yun Xi understood.

In his eyes she saw a flicker of burning fire, desire stirring beneath the gentle, watery calm.

Cheng Chang asked softly again, “Is that all right?”

Yun Xi didn’t answer. She reached up with both hands to hold his face, slowly leaned in, and pressed a light kiss to the corner of his mouth, then met his gaze.

Cheng Chang looked at her too, and suddenly smiled.

The smile spread through the night, mingling with the turbulent waves in his eyes, stirring up a hint of the fierce wildness hidden deep within.

He hooked his hand around the back of her neck and lowered his face.

A sea of desire churned within him, surging like waves, turbulent and overwhelming.

Only now did he finally understand.

When he had first arrived in this world, he’d thought it was because he couldn’t fit into it that he’d been so unusually cold and indifferent.

But that wasn’t it.

It was as if his soul had been damaged somehow, having lost feeling and desire while drifting through time and space.

So much so that joy and sorrow could no longer connect him to this world.

Only after falling from the cliff and returning had he found his feelings again.

That was why, back at Baiyun Temple, when he’d been chased to the brink of death, his heart aching and suffocating, he had still reached for the safety charm she’d given him, fumbling for it again and again at the cliff’s edge.

It was that his feelings had already taken root, without his even knowing it.

He lingered again and again between her lips.

The aged wine was sweet and clear, but it wasn’t a fraction as intoxicating as she was.

This frost-and-snow-like taste of hers drove a person mad, yet also brought them peace.

He loosened his hold on her slightly, then suddenly scooped her up and laid her on the bamboo couch nearby, leaning over her, propped above her, gazing down.

It was as if he’d left behind a fragment of his soul in another world.

Only once the two lives connected, once he’d returned from that raging fire, had he found his desire again.

He looked at her, his gaze sharp and cold, yet gradually tinged with crimson.

This was the feeling of his senses reawakening deep within him.

His affection, his desire.

It was the same feeling from when he’d been at the brink of death, desperately searching at the cliff’s edge for the safety charm she’d given him.

It was also the same bone-deep hatred from when he’d later been locked in that sea of fire, wanting everyone to be buried alongside him.

Unfortunately, all this love and hatred and desire had been building up too long deep in his heart, and now, in one night, the floodgates burst open.

Ever since his return, it had churned ceaselessly, unable to settle, and now it seemed to be driving him to madness without his even realizing it.

The spray from the waterfall splashed onto the terrace. Cheng Chang’s mind was in complete chaos.

Who was it that lost all joy and sorrow, transcending love and hatred entirely? Just a pitiable soul stripped of love and hate.

In the end, mortal roots were hard to sever—he would still sink into this mortal world regardless.

Cheng Chang felt that this shallow taste alone wasn’t enough. He no longer wanted to restrain himself, licking and biting again and again, until the tip of his tongue tasted something like the metallic taste of blood. Then he reached out and untied her sash, peeling back the clothing at her shoulder.

Somehow, the words the old monk master had said to him when he’d returned to the 21st century suddenly came to mind.

“I wonder if I’m mistaken, but has Mr. Cheng returned this time carrying hatred in his heart?”

His brow furrowed slightly. The hatred churning restlessly within him lay hidden beneath his sea of desire, and he wanted to release it all.

The smell of blood spread through his teeth, seeping into the burning fire in his bones. He seemed to see again the terror in Chai Ping’s eyes as he died, and him lying on the ground, hot blood gushing endlessly from his half-severed throat, his body finally still and lifeless.

“Born into this world, love and hatred are ordinary things. But good and evil often hinge on a single thought.”

“Benefactor, your life’s path has been full of hardship, yet through three lifetimes you have managed to hold onto your good nature. You are one blessed by the Buddha, and surely understand this truth better than the rest of us.”

Chai Ping deserved to die.

Those who harm others must pay with their lives—that was simply justice.

But what troubled him wasn’t Chai Ping’s death—it was that after Chai Ping died, the surging, uncontainable desire that followed, the hatred and killing intent that nearly drowned his consciousness entirely.

He still wanted Prince Ling’s life. He wanted Fang Furan’s life.

He wanted to kill everyone who had ever harmed him—even Emperor Zhaoyuan, who had tolerated and indulged it all, all his sons, and every official at court who had turned a blind eye and never spoken up for him.

Even if it meant countless deaths, blood staining the entire palace, he wouldn’t care.

He even wished the missing Fifth Prince and the innocent, unknowing Sixth Prince in the harem didn’t exist in this world at all.

From now on, let him be the one who decided who lived and who died!

A voice told him to sink into it.

Just sink into it, then.

“In this vast world, all impermanence is itself the constant.”

“Just as the hatred you cannot resolve right now in your heart, and the predicaments you’ve encountered in this other life—none of it escapes the workings of cause and effect.”

“Always remember: plant good seeds, reap good fruit; plant evil seeds, reap evil fruit.”

Cheng Chang’s heart felt almost anguished.

What good man across three lifetimes—he was nothing but an ordinary mortal unable to restrain his desires.

Loving too late, hating too late.

He bent down and removed her last remaining garment.

He wanted to take all of her ice-pure, jade-like being into himself, wanted to use her purity and sincerity to wash clean the filth and blood staining his body and soul.

Yun Xi looked at Cheng Chang. There was a wild, deranged look in his eyes, as if tonight he’d lost all sense of restraint.

And now, she knew what he intended to do next.

She felt a flicker of fear, and trembling, reached up to touch his shoulder.

Just as Cheng Chang was about to lose himself entirely, the night wind suddenly picked up, blowing the waterfall’s spray sideways across them.

The mist fell like rain, drenching Cheng Chang. In the midst of it, an extremely faint sound suddenly reached him.

“Third Brother.”

“Cheng Chang!”

“Teacher Cheng…”

“Wake up—”

As if trying to call his consciousness back, Cheng Chang’s heart gave a violent lurch.

He froze, tilting his head to try to make out those indistinct voices, but beyond the vast howling of the night wind, he could hear nothing more.

He lowered his eyes and looked at Yun Xi, trapped in his arms.

Red marks covered her neck and shoulders; there was blood at her lips and below her collarbone where he had bitten through the skin.

But she looked at him, her eyes afraid yet resolute.

As if she wouldn’t be afraid even to fall with him into the deepest abyss.

The fire of killing intent and hatred mixed within him still burned fiercely.

But the last thread of consciousness that finally returned brought him back to clarity.

What was he doing?

Her life had been hard, full of hardship even now—he only wished he could give her the best the world had to offer. How could he hurt her like this?

Something pressed lightly against his skin beneath his robes.

It was the bronze hairpin he kept hidden at his waist, the one that had accompanied him through his cycles of death and rebirth.

Cheng Chang abruptly pushed himself up and walked barefoot to the terrace railing.

Yun Xi had arrived in the dead of night; by now, the sky was gradually beginning to lighten.

But everything around them was still dim, the waterfall’s spray drifting in and gathering into wisps of mist.

His figure looked especially forlorn within that mist.

Yun Xi pulled her clothes back on and walked toward him, calling softly, “Third Young Master.”

Only once she was close did she notice the fine beads of sweat on his collarbone and forehead.

Perhaps the hatred in his heart was too fierce, too hard to quench, and thus unbearable.

Cheng Chang answered her with a soft “Mm.”

His voice was hoarse too.

Looking closely, Yun Xi saw he was gripping her bronze hairpin tightly in his hand, its sharp point piercing his palm, blood dripping drop by drop.

There was a glimmer of moisture at the corners of his eyes—whether from the waterfall’s spray or tears, she couldn’t tell—reflecting the first light of dawn, red as blood.

He simply stood there, his white robes fluttering violently in the wind, utterly silent.

Using killing to stop killing wasn’t something he’d wanted either—he didn’t wish to be stained with blood, still less to implicate the innocent.

But right now, he wished he could wipe out everyone standing in his way.

Cheng Chang didn’t know if continuing down this path would drag him into an abyss from which there was no return.

Even the pain of having his heart carved out hadn’t brought him to tears, yet after so many brushes with death and this tide of love and hatred, he had finally nearly succumbed to madness.

He didn’t know whether he should trust in this world once more.

Yun Xi was silent for a long while, then said, “A’Ting’s life was already promised to Third Young Master long ago.”

“Whenever Third Young Master wishes it.”

Cheng Chang lowered his eyes and said quietly, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Yun Xi smiled faintly. “I’m not afraid of pain.”

She added, “I know how things stand. If Third Young Master wanted to propose marriage to the Marquis of Zhongyong’s household, His Majesty would surely stand in the way. Third Young Master needn’t trouble yourself over it—I don’t care about a marriage document.”

Cheng Chang said, “That’s not it.” He paused. “I can’t do this now.”

He knew how sincerely and deeply she cared for him.

So he couldn’t let all his uncontrollable pain and hatred spill out onto her just to find release.

He should be treasuring her, protecting her.

Cheng Chang turned his face away, then looked back at her and smiled as well. “Actually, I don’t care about the marriage document either. Either way, you’re the only one I’ll ever have in this life.”

The crimson hadn’t quite faded from his eyes, but his gaze had already grown clear and gentle again.

As if he were still her cool, aloof Third Young Master—and yet, somehow, not quite the same as before.

“I just want to pick an auspicious date,” he said. Seeing the deep affection in her eyes, he added, “Don’t worry. I’ll get better.”