The twilight deepened, and the wind blowing from the mountainside carried the chill of early winter.
The Xie family, a century-old lineage of nobility, had their ancestral cemetery occupying half the mountain on the outskirts of the city.
The frost-white moonlight spilled over the stone-paved path, as if a light snow had just fallen.
Amidst the surrounding tombstones that exuded an eerie aura in the night, a figure approached under the moonlight, a lantern swaying in the cold wind, casting a hazy, dim glow.
The figure stopped before the joint tomb of Xie Linshan and his wife. The dark golden embroidery on the brocade boots flickered faintly in the lantern's dim light, barely discernible.
An elderly servant carrying a food box knelt down, opened it, and carefully arranged the offerings on the stone platform before the tomb. "Miss," he murmured, "the Prime Minister has come to see you, bringing your favorite longevity clover cake."
After setting out the three offerings, the old servant took out a flint and some yellow and white ghost money, lighting it slowly in the brazier before the tomb while muttering,
"Old Nie from the main kitchen, who makes the longevity clover cake, has grown increasingly dim-sighted these past two years. Since your marriage, the Prime Minister has kept him employed for twenty-one years just for this pastry. In another couple of years, he’ll likely be too old to work and will have to retire."
The flames from the burning ghost money eclipsed the lantern's glow, illuminating the weariness and sorrow in the old servant's eyes.
The engraved calligraphy on the stone tablet became clearly visible—most glaring were the words: "Tomb of Wei Wan, Wife of the Guardian General of the Nation."
Wei Yan, draped in a silver-furred cloak, stood silently before his younger sister’s grave, the flickering firelight reflecting in his eyes. After a long while, he finally spoke to the servant, "Wei Quan, you may leave."
The old servant rose and bowed. "Then, as in previous years, this old servant will wait for the Prime Minister at the mountain’s crossroads."
Wei Yan gave a slight nod, and the servant left the lantern by the tomb before retreating with a bow.
The wind grew stronger, rustling the hem of Wei Yan’s cloak and scattering embers and ashes from the burning ghost money in the brazier.
Wei Yan crouched, picked up a stack of unburned ghost money beside the brazier, and tore it piece by piece, feeding it into the flames.
He remained silent, not uttering a single word of grief, even to this lonely grave.
When Xie Zheng arrived under the cold, watery moonlight, this was the scene he witnessed.
Standing ten paces away, he curled his lips in a mocking sneer, his voice icy and sharp. "You drove her to her death, yet you come here every year to see her. Who are you pretending for? Or are you afraid she rests too peacefully in the afterlife, so you return annually to torment her?"
Wei Yan had recognized the footsteps long before Xie Zheng spoke.
He remained sideways to Xie Zheng, not even lifting his gaze, finishing the burning of the ghost money in his hands before brushing the ashes from his robes and standing.
Only as he passed Xie Zheng did he pause to say, "I had thought you’d lost the courage to come pay respects today, after hiding in the shadows for months."
Xie Zheng’s eyes narrowed, cold as a blade, his moonlit face like frost. He smirked derisively. "The Prime Minister visits the Xie family cemetery in the dead of night just to see if this Marquis has come to offer incense?"
He turned his face slightly, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "This Marquis naturally has no fear in coming here. The one who needs to borrow courage is the Prime Minister, is it not? Blood debts must eventually be repaid."
Wei Yan glanced sidelong at Xie Zheng, his expression unreadable, and without another word, he strode away.He had barely taken two steps when Xie Zheng, his expression cold and somber, fixed his gaze on the rigid tombstones of his parents not far away. The night wind tousled the stray hairs on his forehead, and his eyes, sharp as icy stars, churned with fury. Without warning, he drew his sword and swung it backward toward Wei Yan with a force as vast as a storm, swift as lightning.
"Clang—"
A grating metallic ring pierced the night.
Blades clashed, their shrill resonance sparking embers in the dark.
Martial Assassins hidden around the cemetery emerged, eyeing Xie Zheng as if facing a mortal enemy, shielding Wei Yan securely behind them.
A cold, mocking smile curled Xie Zheng's lips as he glared at Wei Yan, standing beyond a dozen Martial Assassins. Raising his sword, he declared, "Between you and me, it must come to an end. Why not settle it today?"
His eyes flashed with menace as he suddenly closed in on one of the assassins. His sword struck dozens of times in an instant, sparks flying, the sheer force splitting the assassin's palm open. Blood gushed, soaking the hilt, forcing the man to stagger back.
Xie Zheng's handsome face twisted into something ghastly, an aura of bloodlust radiating from him. His sword became a blur as he lashed out, demanding of Wei Yan, "My father supported the Chengde Crown Prince and stood in your way, so you plotted his death. When my mother uncovered your scheme, you sought to kill her too?"
With a final swing, the assassin's blade snapped in two with a sharp "clang."
Terror widened the man's eyes before Xie Zheng's strike cleaved through his waist. He convulsed and collapsed, crimson pooling beneath him.
The mountain wind carried the thick, nauseating stench of blood.
The remaining assassins watched Xie Zheng with growing dread.
These were Heaven-ranked Martial Assassins, the elite accompanying Wei Yan.
Trained by Wei Mansion, even military generals would struggle against them—yet none had lasted half a quarter of an hour against Xie Zheng.
Standing a short distance away, Xie Zheng gripped his bloodied sword, his striking features now marred only by a sinister ferocity, flecks of blood dotting his face.
He asked Wei Yan, "For seventeen years, how have you dared show your face here?"
The wind scattered ashes of burnt ghost money, his black robes outlining his tall frame as if merging with the suffocating darkness.
Wei Yan listened to his accusations in silence.
Flecks of ghost money settled on his shoulders, and in the dim light, the streaks of white at his temples seemed to multiply.
The assassins guarding Wei Yan eyed Xie Zheng warily, blocked by their comrades. One urged, "Chancellor, this place is unsafe. Allow me to escort you away at once?"
Wei Yan raised a hand, signaling the man to stand down.
Though puzzled, the assassin dared not disobey, sheathing his sword and stepping aside.
Wei Yan met Xie Zheng's gaze across the distance, his eyes inscrutable. "Your hatred is justified. If you didn't seek my death, I would have taken your head one day. But you shouldn't have been so reckless as to confront me here."
Brushing ash from his cloak, he added, "Alone, you cannot defeat all my Heaven-ranked assassins. Out of respect for your mother watching, I won't trouble you here—nor disturb her peace."
With that, Wei Yan turned and walked down the stone path, vanishing into the deeper night.Xie Zheng stood with his sword, suddenly letting out a cold laugh: "When she was alive, you couldn't tolerate her. Now that she's dead, you put on this act—do you truly think she'd know anything from the underworld?"
Wei Yan's figure paused slightly, yet he continued walking forward without uttering a word.
The Martial Assassins surrounding Xie Zheng dared not lower their guard. Their palms gripping their sword hilts were slick with sweat, fearing Xie Zheng might suddenly strike again.
Only after confirming Wei Yan had gone far enough did they point their blades at Xie Zheng, retreating a safe distance before turning and swiftly departing.
The cemetery fell into complete silence once more. As it was early winter, even the chirping of insects had ceased.
A lantern had toppled during the earlier scuffle. The paper shade and bamboo frame had burned to ashes, leaving only the spilled oil on the stone slabs still burning slowly. The faint blue flames cast light on Xie Zheng's blood-spattered face, as if coated with a layer of frost.
He turned his head toward the nearby graves of the Xie couple, standing motionless like a statue.
Memories flashed before his eyes—those sixteen years spent in Wei Mansion had never felt so vivid.
From the age of five, Wei Yan had brought him to the Xie family cemetery every Qingming Festival or death anniversary, leaving the carriage driver and guards at the foot of the mountain.
Wei Yan had said his mother preferred quiet in life, and bringing too many people would disturb her peace.
Afraid of Wei Yan's sternness and resentful of his mother for abandoning him, Xie Zheng had never spoken more than necessary when kneeling before her grave—only burning ghost money and bowing in silence.
Wei Yan was the same, standing wordlessly before the grave for a long time before leaving.
The spilled lantern oil burned out, the blue flames extinguishing with a soft hiss.
Under the cold moonlight, not a single other light remained in the world.
Xie Zheng finally stepped toward his parents' graves. Gazing at the characters "Wei Wan" carved into the cold stone, he reached out to touch them. His lowered lashes, bathed in moonlight, cast faint shadows beneath his eyes.
Oppression, gloom, suffocation, and hatred engulfed him like a tide, dragging him into an endless abyss.
His other hand, hanging at his side, clenched unconsciously. His jaw tightened, veins bulging at his temples, and a faint crimson hue flickered in his eyes.
From nearby came the sound of hurried footsteps—tap, tap, tap—as if stepping on someone's heartstrings.
Xie Zheng lifted his gaze and saw a small sphere of warm light rushing toward him through the dark night.
He saw the hem of the girl's dress glowing faintly under the lantern's light, her hair whipping in the night wind as she ran, her flushed cheeks and eyes full of worry from her frantic sprint.
A strange feeling—the darkness and heaviness in his heart gradually receded.
One day, though covered in scars, he was finally illuminated by the sun running toward him.
Fan Changyu had caught the scent of blood carried by the wind from the foot of the mountain. Fearing Xie Zheng had been ambushed, she had raced up the slope while Xie Zhong kept watch on Wei Yan's carriage below.
Along the way, she had seen large pools of blood on the ground. Now, noticing the blood on Xie Zheng's face, she quickly raised her lantern to check for injuries, her voice tense with worry: "Are you alright? Did Wei Yan's men ambush you here? Are you hurt?"She fired off a series of questions in rapid succession, her breath uneven from running too fast, her voice still carrying traces of panting.
As she anxiously checked Xie Zheng for injuries, the man before her merely lowered his gaze, staring at her intently without blinking.
Fan Changyu found no wounds on Xie Zheng's front, but the scent of blood around him was overwhelming. Worried he might be injured on his back, she urged, "Turn around and let me see!"
Xie Zheng didn't move.
Fan Changyu had already learned from Xie Zhong about him receiving 108 lashes at the Xie ancestral hall. Connecting this with his later return to Lucheng to find her, she knew exactly why he had endured those lashes.
The entire way here, she hadn't been able to suppress the stinging in her eyes.
Seeing Xie Zheng's uncooperativeness, her anxiety grew, fearing he might indeed be wounded on his back. In her urgency, she reached out to pull his arm, trying to turn him around for inspection.
Unexpectedly, the man suddenly raised his arm, pressing his hand against the back of her neck and pulling her forcefully into his embrace.
The crushing force around her waist made it difficult for Fan Changyu to even breathe.
The lantern in her hand fell to the ground during the stumble and was instantly engulfed by flames.
"You shouldn't have come."
With her cheek pressed against his cold, unyielding chest, Fan Changyu heard his low, hoarse voice resonate above her head.
Though the words were clearly a rejection, she couldn't shake the illusion that she would never break free from his grasp again.