The garnet-red brocade robe embroidered with coiled dragon patterns had just been draped over Ji Chang's right shoulder when the bedchamber door was violently thrown open. The maidservant, startled, let go with both hands, and the robe fluttered back to the floor.
She recognized the man who strode in—General Tang, Ji Chang’s personal guard. He was extremely young, usually calm and refined, entirely lacking the imposing aura of a military man. But now, she suddenly felt an instinctive fear. He was no longer the gentle youth she had known.
He swept a glance over her.
The maidservant shrank back, not even bothering to pick up the fallen robe, and hurriedly retreated, her gaze lowered the entire time, not daring to meet the young man’s eyes again.
“Zhenchu?” Ji Chang frowned in confusion, bending down to pick up the robe and put it on himself.
Tang Qianzi’s lips and tongue were so dry he couldn’t make a sound. Silently, he pulled a small object from his bosom and handed it over. It was a narrow strip of cotton paper, about two fingers wide, crumpled into a messy ball.
Before the paper was even halfway unrolled, the thirteen-year-old boy abruptly squeezed his eyes shut, as if the words had scorched him. It took a long while before he could continue reading.
The bedchamber was filled with a heavy silence. “Is this news confirmed?” Ji Chang finally asked after a long pause, his voice hollow and fragmented.
Tang Qianzi spoke with difficulty, “It’s news brought by a merchant ship that docked this afternoon. They just returned from Yunmo Town.” Ji Chang lowered his eyes again to the note in his hand.
“The emperor is dead. The city has fallen, the imperial clan is entirely lost… What does ‘entirely lost’ mean? What were the 70,000 Imperial Guards and 120,000 Capital Defense troops doing… Couldn’t they even protect my mother and Sister Mudan?!” Ji Chang’s voice grew increasingly hoarse and grating as he muttered on. “How many troops did Zhongxu break through with? Thirty thousand? Forty thousand? He took every last soldier who could fight. His own mother died of illness last year, but he left my mother and Sister Mudan in the palace to die!” Suddenly enraged, he flung the note with all his might.
Tang Qianzi had anticipated Ji Chang’s reaction, yet he was still at a loss. He could only step forward and firmly grasp the boy’s thin shoulders.
Consort Nie had been bedridden for years, and from a young age, Ji Chang had learned to yield, obey, and read others’ moods. In the palace, he was no more noticeable than a cat. His elder sister, Princess Yanling, nicknamed “Mudan,” had earned a bit of their father Emperor Xiu’s favor, and it was thanks to her that Ji Chang had been spared much humiliation and bullying. When he set out from Tianqi to the Western Continent, the arrangements had been hasty and careless. Princess Yanling, married far away in Lanzhou, hadn’t even had time to return to the capital to see him before his departure.
These were the only two people in the world who cherished and protected him. In the overwhelming turmoil of rebellion, Zhongxu drew his sword and joined the fray, Yingjia the Great Lord raised an army to overthrow the state—even a poor thirteen-year-old boy would have taken his mother and sister to flee, wouldn’t he? But he was no one. He was merely Chu Ji Chang. With the mere 5,000 troops at his command, he couldn’t even deploy them in time. All he could do was watch from this distant, detestable foreign land as his mother and sister bled, cried out, and died. This was the extent of Chu Ji Chang’s capabilities.
Ji Chang fell silent, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on the note he had just thrown.The note was soft and flimsy, slipping from his grasp without any force, fluttering in the air like a cicada's wing for a moment before soundlessly settling on the ground. The sudden outburst of resentment and words seemed to be swallowed whole by the room, leaving no trace of embers or echoes.
"Your Highness..." Tang Qianzi carefully chose his words, attempting to console, "Princess Yanling has already married Zhang Yingnian and is likely spending the summer at the Xia Palace in her fiefdom, not in Tianqi City." Ji Chang did not respond. It was a long while before he lifted his head. "...And my mother?" Tang Qianzi, pinned by Ji Chang's gaze, found himself at a loss for words. The boy's eyes held no tears—only a stark, unconsolable despair, clear as black and white.
A light knock sounded at the door. The Zhu'nian maid, not daring to enter, spoke through the door panel, "Your Highness, today is the fifteenth. It is time for you to pay respects to His Majesty." A flash of anger reignited in Ji Chang's eyes. He turned, about to speak, but Tang Qianzi cut in first, "Understood. You may leave." Ji Chang broke free from Tang Qianzi's hold, tearing off the red dragon-embroidered robe and hurling it to the floor. He lifted his head defiantly, glaring, "Zhenchu, what do you mean by this? My father has passed, the Great Zheng is in mourning—do you expect me to wear this crimson and kowtow to that half-dead king of Zhu'nian?" "Your Highness!" Tang Qianzi lowered his voice, chiding, "The news of the Emperor's passing won't officially reach the palace until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest. How could you possibly know of it today? Should we tell them your Imperial Guards bought the secret report from the common folk? Our dealings with the merchant guilds—are they something the Zhu'nian should know about?" Ji Chang stared at his guard commander, his eyes wide with fury, as if suspecting this man had no heart or lungs in his chest, only cold iron and stone.
"Your Highness, the immediate priority is for you to write a letter quickly. I will find a trustworthy sailor to deliver it to Prince Xu." Ji Chang stared at him in disbelief, letting out a hoarse, cold laugh. "Write to Zhongxu? And say what?" Tang Qianzi looked at him for a long moment, then sighed. A surge of bitter anger flared in Ji Chang's heart. That expression was unmistakably one of pity, as if saying, I understand your grief.
Unconsciously, his voice rose to a strained shout, "What do you understand? It wasn't your mother who died! I didn't choose to be born into the royal family, nor did I choose to come to this damned place! All of you are free to do as you please—how could you possibly understand me!" Tang Qianzi's face paled for an instant before he composed himself, saying, "Your Highness, please lower your voice." Ji Chang stared at him blankly for a while, then his clenched fists fell slack, and his entire frame seemed to shrink."You were right, Zhenchu." He spoke each word deliberately, as if afraid he might not comprehend them himself, needing to explain them to his own ears. "During the turmoil of Panxiao, it was you who led me to escape. Later, when chaos erupted at the port, it was you who dispatched soldiers to protect the merchant convoy from Dazheng, saying they would repay us in the future. It was you who sent trusted followers to patrol and guard the merchants at night, exchanging their efforts for wealth and information, accumulating resources and influence... You have always been right. Now, with Chu Fengyi raising an army in rebellion, if he were to succeed and seize control of the Eastern Continent, these Chuzan fishermen, eager to continue trading with the East, would not hesitate to hand me over to Chu Fengyi for punishment. If I want to survive, I have no choice but to rely on Zhongxu. If Zhongxu fails, I will surely die." Ji Huang walked to the desk, unrolled a fresh sheet of paper, moistened the tip of his brush on the inkstone, and added, "Withdraw the silver and coins. Tomorrow, go to the market to purchase provisions and fodder, along with the weapons we have stored... Find out where Zhongxu has set up camp and hire a few bold, capable ships to deliver them to him." Though his words flowed smoothly, his hand still hovered in the air, hesitating. From a young age, he had learned how to bow to fate, how to bend and suppress the small, childish pride and willfulness beneath an ironclad, unbreakable smile. Each time, he told himself it would be the last, yet each time, he was met with disappointment.
Tang Qianzi did not rush him. He picked up the vermilion silk robe embroidered with coiled dragons from the floor, brushed off the dust, and draped it over Ji Huang's shoulders.
The ink had been dipped too heavily and was beginning to congeal at the tip of the brush. Ji Huang's hand trembled, and a drop fell with a soft tap, instantly seeping into the pristine paper, spreading irreversibly.
He bit his lower lip and, resigning himself to the inkblot, swiftly began to write: "To His Highness Zhongxu: The situation is critical." The boy's eyes suddenly brimmed with tears, but he continued writing without pause.
The letter, when finished, was precisely twelve lines, written in a clear and dignified hand. Every prince of the Zheng dynasty possessed such skill. Ji Huang pressed his vermilion seal onto the black-and-white characters, examined it carefully, then folded the letter and handed it to Tang Qianzi. The childish yet resolute expression on his face reminded Tang Qianzi of a gambler in a casino staking his last gold coin.
"Then, I shall go pay my respects to Junliang." Ji Huang straightened his robes and pushed the door open, pausing to add, "You will accompany me." Tang Qianzi tucked the letter away and followed silently behind. Not a single attendant was in sight outside the door. Only when they reached the lower floor did they see the Chuzan maidservants, all held back by the Imperial Guards he had brought from the Eastern Continent, unable to ascend.
Ji Huang looked at his Imperial Guards and suddenly smiled. He was still just a thirteen-year-old boy, and his smile remained bright, yet weary, his eyes heavy as if they would never again lift with joy.
Ji Huang hurried through the winding, dimly lit corridors, where occasional shafts of the setting sun pierced through, splashing dazzling light upon the gold-and-jade-adorned walls. He glanced down at his crimson robe, slightly too long, as if he were always stepping on its hem. Tang Qianzi followed two steps behind, silent as a shadow.
"Zhenchu." Ji Huang stopped abruptly but did not turn around.
"Your Highness," Tang Qianzi responded.Ji Chang spoke quietly, "I'm truly sorry for what I said earlier. Your mother remains alone in Autumnleaf City with no news at all. I was only thinking of my own sorrow and grievances... I'm utterly useless." Tang Qianzi was taken aback and said, "Your Highness, you exaggerate."
"Zhenchu, you must have your own aspirations too? That night I asked you - since you possess martial skills, how did you end up last in the imperial guards examination. You told me your late father was a deputy general, and your mother hoped you'd follow military service, but you wanted to apprentice with the Heluo craftsmen instead. So you deliberately showed flaws during the exam, hoping failure would justify your choice to your mother." Ji Chang paused, then continued softly, "I never expected the Ministry of War would select you to escort me, trapping you here far from home with no telling when we can return to the Eastern Continent. No one comes to this place willingly... We're both equally unfree."
Tang Qianzi stood in the dim corridor turn, and after a long silence, finally responded, "Your Highness, we'll be late for the evening greetings." Ji Chang nodded and continued forward.
The corridor was nearing its end, opening to a terrace complex bathed in brilliant sunset, where floating platforms connected by turning staircases hung in the air. On the largest suspended platform, flowering vines cascaded like flowing water from three sides, blooming in fiery profusion. Several figures leaned against the gilded railings. Ji Chang frowned. This platform led to the bedchamber of Zhunian King Junliang. On the fifteenth of each month before evening meal, Zhunian royal descendants gathered here awaiting summons to pay respects to Junliang - a ritual Ji Chang couldn't avoid. Besides studying Zhunian language, this was his most detested obligation.
The suspended platform formed a considerable garden overlooking half of Bipoluo City, cooled by pleasant breezes where a strip of emerald sea remained visible in the distance. They had just stepped onto the platform when someone approached, grinning, "Little milk custard, you're so slow. Did you get lost again?" Ji Chang's face flushed with loathing as he turned away without acknowledgment.
Under rose trellises stood swings, with brocade cushions scattered across grassy patches and flower beds where dark, beautiful noble youths lounged or reclined. Only Ji Chang and Tang Qianzi, both Eastern Continent natives, stood out with their pale complexions.
The Zhunian youth who approached was about Tang Qianzi's age, tall and wearing loose purple-gold gauze robes. He brought his face close to Ji Chang's flushed cheek, suddenly revealing perfectly white teeth as he laughed, "Heavens, look everyone - little milk custard has rouged his pale face!" A lock of black curl at his left temple was braided with delicate gold chains and jeweled tassels, while a heavy royal dragon-tail deity pendant hung on his chest - the dragon's scales inlaid with precious sapphires the size of rice grains, marking him as one of the higher-ranking princes.
"Fifth Brother, don't bully little milk custard. He's like fresh cream - if your dark hands leave marks on him, even his imperial father won't recognize him when he returns to the Eastern Continent," another similarly dressed Zhunian maiden called out while swinging.
At the mention of "imperial father," Ji Chang's face went stark white - he no longer had an imperial father. Tang Qianzi stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder from behind, feeling the slender frame tense rigidly beneath his palm, as if ready to unleash astonishing power at any moment.At that very moment, the side door of Lord Junliang’s bedchamber opened, and a procession of graceful palace attendants emerged. They knelt respectfully before the assembly, offering up large trays held above their heads. On the trays, strings of jasmine blossoms floated in shallow water. Each person took a string, holding it reverently with both hands, and fell silent, knowing it was time to pay their respects to Lord Junliang.
The attendants inside the chamber began calling out the titles and names of the royal descendants in order. Crown Prince Suolan, not yet three years old, was led in by his wet nurse. Soon after, Ji Chang’s name was announced. Tang Qianzi followed closely by his side as they entered Lord Junliang’s main bedchamber.
Since the Panxiao Rebellion nearly three years prior, Lord Junliang had not once left this chamber. The windows were draped with brocade to keep out drafts, and lamps burned day and night, filling the air with a stifling, foul odor. Ambergris, borneol, storax, and eaglewood were piled generously in incense burners at the four corners, burning like charcoal in a desperate attempt to mask the faint, lingering stench of decay.
Through dozens of layers of sheer gauze curtains, those paying their respects could barely make out a curled human form. Rumors said Lord Junliang had suffered grievous injuries, and aside from his physicians and a few trusted attendants, no one was permitted beyond the curtains, for fear of introducing pestilence. Once, during a formal audience, Lord Junliang had suddenly fallen into a frenzy, his body stiffening as he thrashed upon the bed, limbs convulsing, his throat emitting terrifying, guttural rasps. The attendants immediately summoned the physicians and opened a side door leading to the Hanging Terrace, dismissing the princes, princesses, and nobles to their own quarters for the evening meal. That day, a violent storm raged at sea, whipping sand into the sky and sending fierce gusts sweeping through the chamber, skimming the floor. As Ji Chang turned his head to avoid the wind, he caught a glimpse of the layered curtains billowing nearly two feet high. Though he could not see the figure within, his eyes fell upon a silver basin beside the bed, its surface illuminated by flickering candlelight, floating with dark red blood and thick yellow pus. From that day on, every time Ji Chang entered Lord Junliang’s chamber, he could not help but imagine how the nominal ruler of the nation was slowly rotting from the marrow outward, concealed behind those crimson and violet gauzes, and his palms would grow clammy with cold sweat. Yet the splendidly attired young nobles remained blissfully unaware, whispering and laughing softly among themselves, their glances exchanging unspoken secrets.
Before the gauze curtains stood a low table bearing a half-life-sized statue of the Dragon-Tailed Deity carved from marrow jade. The deity was depicted as an exquisitely beautiful maiden, her upper body human and her lower body that of a serpent, with sharply pointed ears and a cascade of deep blue curls that seemed to drift as if swayed by invisible underwater currents.
The wet nurse guided Crown Prince Suolan forward, gently holding his small hands as he lifted the jasmine garland before him. After paying homage, she reverently draped the garland around the statue’s neck before withdrawing.
Next, it was Ji Chang’s turn.He moved forward, each step slow and arduous, barely suppressing the urge to turn and flee. From behind the lustrous, radiant statue, separated by dozens of sheer curtains, a faint, fermenting stench slithered out like thousands of venomous snakes, coiling tightly around his throat. The smell reminded him of that chaotic night two summers ago, when charred corpses gleamed with a dark lacquer-like sheen under raging flames, their features and limbs fused indistinguishably with the scorched stones. He feared that the current state of the Tianqi Forbidden City was just as horrifying. His brothers were scattered, his beloved sister’s fate unknown, and his parents had perished—he dared not dwell on the state in which they had been laid to rest. Ji Chang struggled to hold back his welling tears, bowed before the Dragon-Tail Deity statue, and then stood to drape a garland of flowers around its neck.
"Look at Little Su Lao’s face—it’s as if his parents just died," a girl’s silvery voice, though deliberately hushed, reached Ji Chang’s ears clearly. A young man’s low laughter rippled through the air like waves, unsettling Ji Chang and making him sway.
Something inside Ji Chang shattered and burst into roaring flames. In an instant, his tears evaporated, and everything before his eyes was drenched in a deep, bloody crimson. Summoning strength from nowhere, he spun around like a furious, rearing colt and took his first charging step toward the blurry faces in the crowd.
This was the most ferocious moment in Chu Ji Chang’s thirty-five years of life. Though there was no mirror before him, he knew his expression must be terrifying—he could see the noble youths, radiant and beautiful, stepping back in alarm.
He had shed his body and his senses; only one violent thought remained: he would strike these people dead, and anyone who dared stand in his way would meet the same fate. The thirteen-year-old boy clenched his fists, channeling all his strength into them, ready to strike in the next instant.
That moment stretched on, vast as the dawn of time. He heard Tang Qianzi’s shouts and the girl’s panicked screams; he even heard the crisp sound of his own knuckles tightening. Yet it all felt unreal, as if listening to clamor from the shore while submerged underwater—distant and hazy, like a lifetime away. The resentment festering deep within him surged like scorching magma breaking through the earth, on the verge of erupting into a roar—but in the end, it did not.
A heavy, explosive thud silenced everyone.
The half-human-height Dragon-Tail Deity statue toppled to the ground, its arm adorned with faint dragon-scale patterns still stretching seductively toward the sky, but both hands had broken off at the elbows. The golden beads embedded in its eye sockets clattered as they rolled out.
In Ji Chang’s fist, crushed jasmine flowers trickled through his fingers, the other end of the garland still tightly wound around the statue’s delicate neck. Panting like a wild young beast, his eyes still brimmed with bewildered ferocity.
The people of Zhu-Nian stared in shock at the scattered fragments of marrow jade, all rendered speechless.
"Heavens!" After what felt like an eternity, a maid finally cried out, rushing to Ji Chang’s feet and futilely attempting to reassemble the shattered statue.
Only then did the noble youths seem to awaken from their daze, slowly closing in around Ji Chang. Tang Qianzi swiftly stepped forward, shielding Ji Chang behind him.The leading youth bent down to look at Ji Chang, sneering coldly, "Whoever shatters the idol must serve as a slave for a month to atone for the sin. For this month, you and your follower are both our slaves." Over Tang Qianzi's shoulder, Ji Chang raised his head to gaze at the youth's face. The red haze in his eyes gradually faded away, and he meticulously discerned the cruelty in that face, etching it bit by bit into his memory so he would never forget.
"No," he finally replied after a long pause, his voice still trembling slightly.
The youth had never imagined such a response in the world. He widened his eyes and said, "What did you say?" "I will not be a slave," Ji Chang said clearly, in a low voice.
"Madman! Those who do not atone for their sins must be burned as sacrifices to the gods, and even His Majesty the King cannot be exempt! If the Dragon-Tailed God becomes enraged and sends down punishment, white waves will surge on the sea. Do you know what white waves look like? Even nine-masted magnolia ships will be tossed into the air and shattered upon the sea's surface—not a single one can escape!" Ji Chang stared intently at him, his eyes having regained their original clarity. "You deserve it," he said with a faint, disdainful smile, exuding an indescribable arrogance.
The people of Chola wholeheartedly believed in the Dragon-Tailed God and naturally could not tolerate such words. Enraged, the youth grabbed Ji Chang by the collar and raised his hand to strike him. Tang Qianzi, quick as lightning, seized the youth's wrist and said, "Your Highness, please restrain yourself." "Hah, a slave's slave, do you also want to be burned as a sacrifice to the gods?" The youth grew even more arrogant, shaking off Tang Qianzi's hand with hatred and drawing a precious dagger.
Tang Qianzi furrowed his brow, one hand already gripping the hilt of the sword at his waist, when suddenly he heard a clear, crisp jingling of silver bells behind him. Someone ducked out from beneath the beaded curtain of mermaid silk, and a sweet, firm voice sharply declared, "Yishita'er, that is my slave. You are not allowed to touch him!" Outside the curtain, the crowd fell silent at once.
Ji Chang heard a voice within his heart say, Ah, it's her.
For the next twenty-two years, whenever he recalled this scene, the girl's appearance, her gaze, and her attire remained blurred in his memory. Only that sweet, resolute sentence echoed clearly in his ears, like the first pure ray of dawn at the break of day, sharply piercing through the dusty, murky world.
Crown Prince Suolan dashed out from beside his wet nurse, tugging at the hem of the girl's skirt, calling out repeatedly, "Sister, sister!" The girl crouched down, groping to embrace Suolan in her arms. A plain, wide white silk ribbon was tied horizontally across her forehead, knotted at the back of her head, concealing her blind eyes. Both siblings wore identical dragon-tailed deity emblem pendants on their chests.
Tang Qianzi also remembered—this blind girl of eight or nine was the little princess who had nearly died by his blade on the night of the Panxiao Rebellion. The day after the rebellion, the two orphaned children of Princess Lingjia were sent by Lord Yingjia to the Five Provinces of Fengnan. By that winter, when the royal city had been repaired, Crown Prince Suolan was welcomed back, but Princess Tilan remained in Fengnan to be raised. It seemed she had only just returned to the royal city.
Yishita'er let out a low, disdainful snort. "I almost forgot—Little Sulu saved your life back then, no wonder you're so eager to snatch him from your brother's hands, eh, Tilan?" "Since I want these two slaves, and Brother Yishita'er wants them too, let's seek Lord Yingjia's judgment. But don't forget, brother, Lord Yingjia is my uncle, not yours." Tilan's tone was calm, but her arrogance surpassed even Yishita'er's.
The muscles in Yishita'er's cheeks tightened. Their father, Junliang, nominally remained the King of Zhuni, but in reality, he had long been rendered powerless; Lord Yingjia was the true ruler of the country. Pressing his lips together, Yishita'er turned his face away and strode off.
Tilan paid him no further mind. She called out "Gongye," and a young slave girl of similar age promptly stepped forward. Tilan handed Suolan to the girl and said, "You and the wet nurse take Suolan back to the palace for dinner. I'm going out for a walk." Gongye was startled and immediately knelt, saying, "Your Highness, if no one is there to support you, and the superiors blame us, Gongye will lose her life." "What is there to fear? Aren't there new slaves right here? Hey, you two, come and lead the way for me." Tilan remained crouched on the ground, one small hand imperiously extended in the air, waiting for someone to take it and help her up.
Ji Chang's face flushed hot with shame, mingled with something else he couldn't quite identify. "I will not be a slave," he said.
"If you won't be a slave, then you must die. Aren't you afraid of death?" Tilan tilted her head, as if genuinely puzzled.Ji Chang gritted his teeth and said, "I'm not afraid." Tilán was taken aback for a moment, then suddenly broke into a smile. "You're lying. That day, you were trembling all over, and even your voice shook." A satin ribbon, about an inch wide, covered her eyes, hiding the subtle shifts in her gaze beneath her brows and lashes—all anyone could see was half a smile. Yet, in that instant, Ji Chang felt something burst through his chest, soaring on the wind and vanishing into the depths of the azure sky, never to return.
"Hey, why are you spacing out? Help me up." Tilán stamped her foot, the silver bells on her wrists and ankles jingling chaotically. "I want to go outside." Ji Chang himself was surprised at how naturally he reached out and helped her to her feet.
"And the other one? The tall one?" Tilán’s other hand groped aimlessly in the air.
Tang Qianzi took her hand and replied, "Yes, Your Highness." Tilán smiled again, tilting her head upward. "It’s you. I remember your voice. You’re braver than him—your hands were shaking too back then, but you spoke as if nothing was wrong. Ah, what are you doing?" She gasped, her brows furrowing.
"Your Highness, watch your step on the stairs," Tang Qianzi said, jolting slightly before slowly relaxing the grip he had unconsciously tightened.
That rain-soaked night when the city burned with fire vividly came back to life before his eyes. More than once, he had actually contemplated killing this child. He still remembered seeing her, perched on Kuafu’s shoulder, turning back with a bewildered look through the cold curtain of rain. The vivid red spot on her cheek was a drop of blood flung from the tip of his blade as he raised it to strike. Yet, to this day, she believed that Ji Chang and he had saved her life. How absurd—the thought of killing her had once been so clear, simple, and effortless. Now, he suddenly found he lacked the courage to even look directly at the blind girl’s face.
Unaware of the turmoil in his heart, Tilán simply tugged at both of them, eager to run toward the hanging terrace. "Come on, let’s go look at the stars." Noticing their hesitant steps, she giggled. "So silly. You look, and then tell me what you see." Outside, the sky had darkened completely. The rainy season had just ended, and from the Papar River stretching over ten miles to the northeast, endless lights twinkled. Occasionally, a speck of brightness drifted along the water—a trembling lantern dangling from a pointed boat. The clamor of the day had settled, and the hanging terrace was filled with the cool, fragrant scent of flowers and trees. They sat side by side beside a cascade of bougainvillea, their legs dangling over the railing. The melodious calls of vendors selling candied fruits from their boats floated up, while fishing lights drifted in the distant expanse of sea and sky.
"What do the stars look like? And the moon—is it bright or dim?" The evening wind surged in from the sea, and Tilán, squeezed between them, let her waist-length hair and plain white satin ribbon flutter wildly around her. Strands of it, carrying the scent of roses, brushed softly and ticklingly against the young men’s cheeks.Tang Qianzi looked rather troubled, and unable to withstand repeated questioning, he finally told the truth: "Your Highness, it's overcast today." Tilann fell silent at once, her face clouded with disappointment. After a moment, she hugged her legs and rested her chin on her knees, murmuring softly, "That's just as well. The palace attendants, afraid I might get upset, would even on a cloudy day brazenly lie, telling me how bright the Qingxu Star is or how the Yinchi Star is shining. I may be blind, but I'm not foolish. Just by stepping into the sunlight during the day, I can tell whether it's clear or overcast. You didn't lie to me—you're as good as Gongye." Tang Qianzi merely smiled, but Tilann began chattering again like a little sparrow: "By the way, where is your country?" The young man replied softly, "Over there... in the direction the wind is blowing from, beyond the sea." The girl raised her hand, pointing toward the horizon against the wind. "Over there? There's an island in the middle of the Chuliao Sea—have you been there?" "Mount Minzhong? We stopped there on our way to offer sacrifices to the Dragon-Tailed God." Tilann asked again, "And how far is Mount Minzhong?" After a moment's thought, Tang Qianzi said, "Even with a full sail and favorable winds, it would take about ten days." The girl fell silent, her lowered face lifting only after a long pause. "I've never been to such a faraway place. Without someone to guide me, I can't go anywhere." She sighed, then suddenly remembered that the boy beside her had been quiet for a long time. She nudged him with her elbow. "Hey, are you dumbstruck from listening to stories? I don't want a mute slave." Ji Fang ignored her, silently gazing down at most of the city of Bipoluo below. It was the time for evening meals; behind every small, dimly lit window was a family, young and old gathered together, their warmth enclosed within, leaving only the lonely, indigo night outside. His expression gradually darkened, yet a shimmering light flickered in his eyes.
Tilann sensed the slight tremor coming from Ji Fang and asked curiously, "Huh? What's wrong with you?" Without waiting for a reply, she reached out and found his face, her delicate fingers tracing downward until they touched cold, smooth tears. Flustered, she cupped his face and said urgently, "Hey, don't cry. I didn't really mean to make you a slave. You saved me—I won't let Yishitu'er torment you." Ji Fang turned his head away from her hand, roughly wiping his face with his sleeve, and grumbled, "You're so noisy." Yet the tears would not stop.
"Then stop crying," Tilann pouted, stubbornly wrapping her arms around the boy who was a head taller than her, though her voice began to tremble as well.
Another warm hand landed on Ji Fang's back. He looked up and saw it was Tang Qianzi. His eyes remained calm and steady, as if to say, I understand your sorrow. The boy's heart was like a deep bronze censer, swallowing all the unyielding grievances and despair. He naively believed that if he kept them sealed and untouched, they would eventually extinguish and never reignite. But he was wrong. His home was gone, and his country was on the verge of collapse. The news struck like a spark falling into still ashes, igniting a fierce blaze. The long-suppressed pain turned into countless venomous tongues of fire, licking at the thin, brittle shell within him. He endured the torment, unwilling to show the slightest sign of weakness. Jealousy, humiliation, longing, and hatred—the calloused layer over his heart could withstand anything, yet it crumbled under the gentlest touch. The boy could bear it no longer and burst into violent sobs. His chest felt as if it had been torn open, exposing his soft, vulnerable flesh, which then shattered into dust, washed away by his tears.
Tilan clung to his neck, frightened and weeping herself. The silk ribbon covering her eyes grew damp, faintly revealing the dark, thick lashes beneath.
Blood would eventually run dry, leaving only tears. Jichang knew that once those salty, bitter tears were spent, his calloused shell would mend itself, thicker and harder than before. As for the mottled wounds within, only the two beside him would ever glimpse them. From that night on, his childhood truly came to an end.
The young man sighed silently and gently drew the two weeping children into his embrace, as if wrapping them in another layer of dark, warm night, shielding them from any possibility of being seen or harmed.
Exhausted from crying, the children eventually fell asleep on the young man's lap, their breaths soft and even. He sat alone above the vast, brilliant, yet cold sea of lights in the harbor city, the sea breeze gently tousling his hair.
For years, he had slept very little. At first, it was out of fear that the men he had sent to guard the merchant caravans might encounter trouble in the night, and a misstep in command could implicate Jichang and the entire camp of five thousand. He remained vigilant through the night, a habit that eventually became an affliction. Every night, whether in the palace, the main camp, or one of the two strongholds seized from pirates, he would sit by a dim lamp, half-leaning on military texts, unable to sleep until the first light of dawn. At seventeen, the newly grown roots of his hair at the temples were already gray.
As the night deepened and the dew grew heavy, a strong wind parted the thick clouds. Gazing up from the high platform, the stars, dense as silver sand, seemed about to fall into one's eyes.
Suddenly, the young man heard the silver bells on his lap jingle urgently. As he looked down, Tilan's small form jolted awake as if from a terrible fright. Tang Qianzi, fearing she might tumble from the ledge in her panic, quickly grasped her hand and asked, "Your Highness, what's wrong?" Jichang, too, stirred awake, rubbing his eyes drowsily.
Tilan clutched the young man's collar tightly, gasping, "There were so many monsters in the sea... they overturned the ship... He, he fell into the water!" "Who?" Tang Qianzi paused for a moment before realizing she meant Jichang. Seeing her pale face, a faint smile touched his lips. After all, she was just a child, her thoughts so simple—having just heard about sailing, even her dreams were filled with the sea.
"Wherever he goes, I'll be with him. Nothing will happen," he said, smoothing her collar with a reassuring smile.Tilan continued shaking her head, her expression still haunted by fear. "But you weren’t on that ship... There were many others beside him, and I couldn’t see their faces." She timidly tugged at Jichou’s hand and said, "It’s truly terrifying. Please don’t take sea voyages anymore." "I must return to the Eastern Continent someday," Jichou murmured softly.
She shook his hand insistently. "Then don’t go back!" Jichou forced a faint smile. "Don’t be unreasonable. How could you be sure it was me who fell into the sea? You’ve never even seen my face." For some reason, the little girl flared up in anger, flung his hand away, and cried out sharply, "I just knew it!" Both Tang Qianzi and Jichou were momentarily stunned. Jichou reached out to pull her back, but she broke free, stumbling backward. The blind child’s movements were clumsy and pitiful, yet fiercely stubborn. Tripping over something, she nearly fell as she tumbled toward the rose trellis.
Tang Qianzi leaped up to steady her. But Tilan, clutching the ropes of the swing, managed to pull herself upright again, her effort so intense that her full, soft lips pressed into a tight line. The overlapping silver bracelets on her wrist had tangled with the slender, resilient rose branches, and she couldn’t free them. Using her other hand, she tugged fiercely, ignoring the tiny thorns biting into her skin, driven by sheer stubbornness. Suddenly, she let out a short cry as she felt herself being lifted from behind. The hands that held her were warm, not exceptionally strong, but already bearing the strength of a grown man.
Those hands settled Tilan into a seated position. A cool night breeze brushed her face, and she felt herself swaying gently. After a moment’s thought, she realized she was sitting on the swing.
Her bracelet was a delicate silver chain over two feet long, intricately adorned with tiny silver bells. It coiled gracefully around her wrist, winding up and back, its ends clasped together. The man knelt before her, took her hand, and with careful, deliberate fingers, traced the bracelet’s loops, meticulously ensuring the tangled thorns wouldn’t prick her. His movements were slow and patient, exuding a calm that made one breathe easier and feel at ease.
"Does it hurt?" he asked, his tone gentle, as if accustomed to caring for children.
Tilan shook her head.
She remembered his voice. On the night of the Panxiao Incident, it was this clear, steady voice that made her feel, in a fleeting moment, that as long as he lived, she could go on living too.
When he had pulled her behind the screen amid a shower of arrows, she had sensed the faint, uncontrollable tremor in his cold hands. He wasn’t born with fearless courage, but with dozens still following his commands, someone like him, once becoming another’s reliance, no longer had the right to fear. This truth only became clear to her years later. She didn’t understand their language, but she never forgot those brief, resolute words, spoken as if right beside her ear—in her lightless world to come, they were the only solid support within reach.
Finally, Tang Qianzi found the clasp, carefully unwound the bracelet, removed the rose branches with care, and prepared to put it back on her.
Tilan withdrew her hand, hiding it behind her back, then extended the other one. "Take this one off too," she said. He complied.
She then lifted her small, delicate feet and declared with childish imperiousness, "Take them all off." He seemed to chuckle, asking her in a low voice, restrained yet warm as the dawn, "You don’t want any of them?""Hmm." She puffed out her cheeks. "I don't like them. They're afraid I'll wander off, so they tied bells all over me—above, below, left, and right—and made Gongye follow me around all day. This isn't allowed, that isn't permitted... But I'm not a cat or a dog. How annoying." So he placed her feet on his knees and removed the bells from her ankles. The four intricately crafted filigree bracelets were handed to her, heavy as a pair of silver shackles.
Swinging her bare wrists, she giggled, gripped the ropes of the swing, and curled her feet up. The small figure stood on the swing board, nearly as tall as the youth.
"Big guy, move aside," she said.
Just as Tang Qianzi stepped away from her, a cascade of silver bell chimes, swift and melodious like urgent pipes and strings, brushed past his ear. Tilán bit her lip, mustering all her strength, and flung the handful of bracelets into the night sky. Her entire body, along with the swing, swayed with the force of the throw, swinging back and forth, higher and higher.
The girl's strength was too slight; the bracelets hadn't even cleared the platform before they landed at Ji Chang's feet.
"Really don't want them? Don't come crying tomorrow, asking someone to retrieve them for you," Ji Chang said as he picked up the bracelets, weighed them in his hand, and couldn't help but smile.
"Don't—want—them!" Tilán shrieked with laughter on the swing, her sleeves fluttering, the two exceptionally long satin ribbons behind her head shimmering with a snow-white silk glow as they danced in the wind.
Ji Chang laughed. "Fine, let's toss them!"He stood up and hurled the entire handful of bracelets with such force, as if casting out all the weight of oppression in his chest." Tomorrow, news of their homeland's impending collapse would reach the palace—the day he, Chu Ji Chang, would begin fighting alone. Long after the silvery glints tumbled and vanished over the vast sea of lights, the clear, lingering chimes of the bells still faintly echoed.
The swing soared high into the night sky, oscillating between the boundless sea of stars and the sea of lights below. The blind girl's crisp, laughter-laced voice cried out, "Big guy, catch me—" Tang Qianzi turned back in surprise. At the highest point of the swing's arc, the girl in white let go of the ropes and leaped from the swing, like a clear, dazzling stream of water cascading from the brilliant stars, falling straight into his arms.
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