Love and Crown

Her name was Ying, without a surname—just that solitary character.

The man who had given her life acknowledged the Xiao bloodline flowing through her veins, yet refused to recognize her as his daughter. In his eyes, she was merely the accidental product of a drunken indiscretion—a moment of drunken favor bestowed upon a lowly palace maid, neither remarkable in beauty nor intellect, who had borne him a daughter. That was all.

After her birth, he came to see her and, following the naming conventions of the Vermilion Branch, bestowed upon her the name: Ying.

There was no imperial decree announcing her existence to the world, nor any intention to inscribe her name into the royal lineage. After casually naming her, he abandoned her and her mother in a desolate side hall, leaving them to their fate.

Ying—a faint glimmer of light. To him, she must have been just that: a dim flicker, insignificant, extinguished without consequence.

In that vast, sunless side hall, under the scornful and indifferent gazes of the palace maids and eunuchs, the sharp, biting words of the supervising eunuch, and the occasional haughty humiliations from the higher-ranking consorts—within the opulent yet merciless walls of the Forbidden Palace, she grew up like a wild weed in a shadowy corner.

At the age of three, her timid and cowardly mother, who had spent her days hiding in their room clutching her and weeping, finally hanged herself one morning. Ying witnessed it all calmly. When the first light of the rising sun touched that frail, lifeless body, she opened the door and called for the eunuch on duty.

Her mother’s body was hastily disposed of. Then, for the second time since her birth, she met her father. The man sat behind a grand desk, his face pale and refined, rubbing his temples with a weary, indifferent expression. "From now on, would you like to live with Consort Mei?" he asked.

"No," the four-year-old girl declared firmly, voicing her own will for the first time in front of another. "I want to be alone."

After the briefest pause, that elegant, slightly hoarse voice behind the imperial desk spoke again: "As you wish."

Not a hint of hesitation. In his eyes, even sparing a thought for her seemed superfluous.

With court officials waiting for an audience, she was dragged out by the eunuch, and the conversation ended abruptly. Four years later, when he passed away without warning, she never saw him again.

After her mother’s death, she was assigned to live in a remote, small palace, cared for by an elderly maid who often dozed in the sunlight.

The old maid was frequently absent, but Ying found ways to amuse herself. The overgrown garden of the little palace became her playground—catching grasshoppers, trapping cicadas, poking at birds’ nests. Winter passed, spring arrived, and in that desolate, seldom-visited courtyard, she spent a season in solitude until she met him.

On that early spring afternoon, sunlight danced warmly between the glazed tiles and red walls. As she played in the courtyard, a youth wrapped in thick furs strolled into the garden. From afar, she spotted the unnatural flush on his cheeks.

She had seen that flush before. Once, a maid who had died of consumption had worn the same eerie crimson hue on her face until her last breath.This person won't live much longer, she thought to herself, when suddenly a group of eunuchs and palace maids emerged behind the young man, carrying alms bowls, food boxes, and dusters. They were all shouting in panic, and from their flustered words, she caught one phrase: "Your Highness the Crown Prince."

So this was the Crown Prince? Her blood-related elder brother? She had known of him long before—from the idle gossip of palace maids and eunuchs: he was the beloved son of Consort Liu, enfeoffed as Crown Prince from the day he was born; he was surrounded by the empire's most distinguished Confucian scholars, attended by more eunuchs and maids than even the Hall of Mental Cultivation, and a single winter wardrobe purchase for him could cost hundreds of thousands of taels of silver; he was the center of attention and conversation in the imperial harem, the empire's future glory and hope. His name was Huan, meaning brilliance and light.

Noticing her, the young man parted the crowd and walked toward her with a smile. His hands were tucked into a small hand warmer at his chest, his movements slightly hindered by the cumbersome fur robes he wore. Yet the smile on his face was gentle and pure, devoid of the arrogance and domineering air she had imagined.

He grinned, revealing a row of neat teeth. "Little sister, what's your name? Why are you here?"

She was momentarily stunned before replying calmly, "My name is Ying. I live here."

"Ying?" The young man frowned slightly, still smiling. "Which 'Ying'? There are many characters pronounced 'Ying.' Where are your parents? Do they live here too?"

Suddenly irritated—no one had taught her to read in her four years of life—she snapped, "How should I know which 'Ying'? It's the one with 'fire' in it! My mother is dead, and my father... is your father!"

Startled by her sudden outburst, the young man coughed lightly before turning to the eunuch beside him. "Wufu, is she Father Emperor's daughter?"

The slightly plump chief eunuch bent over with difficulty, leaning respectfully toward the young man's ear. "Your Highness, she is indeed His Majesty's flesh and blood, but her mother was of lowly status, so His Majesty did not—"

"You're very thin," the Crown Prince interrupted, suddenly pulling his hands from the hand warmer and grasping hers. His pale fingers brushed over the scab near her wrist bone. "Why hasn't your wound been treated?"

His fingers still carried the residual warmth from the hand warmer, almost scalding to the touch.

She yanked her hand away, stubbornly turning her head aside. "No one cares about me."

Pausing briefly, he frowned. "I'm sorry."

She froze. He was apologizing to her?

"I'm sorry," he said again, coughing slightly as a light breeze picked up. "I didn't know. I don't go out often. I wish I had met you sooner."

She found it almost laughable. Why was he apologizing? As if any of this were his fault? Suddenly, her nose stung, a sharp rush of heat rising to her forehead.

The young man reached out again, this time cradling her hands gently between his own and bringing them to his chest. "I'm sorry."She instinctively struggled and lifted her head, only to meet his eyes—pupils within pupils, so dark they seemed bottomless. Yet in his gaze, she saw her own reflection. Above the layers of deep black was a pure, watery light in his irises, clearly mirroring her image: shoulder-length black hair, bright yet shadowed eyes, a delicate and pale face. The look in her eyes bore an uncanny resemblance to his, almost eighty percent alike.

Something lingering in her blood made her dizzy for a moment. Was this what they called a bond of blood?

"I'm sorry," the boy kept repeating, opening his arms and pulling her into an embrace.

Her face buried in the snow-fox fur at his chest, warmth seeped through his slender frame. A faint, delicate fragrance drifted from his robes—like lotus after rain, clear and sweet, reaching the tip of her nose.

For the first time, she realized that aside from the cloying scents of eunuchs and palace maids, a person could carry such a pleasant aroma.

As if this fragrance had pried open a crack, emotions long suppressed surged forth like a river breaking through winter ice, submerging her, pressing down until she could barely breathe—she was just a child, after all. She feared the dark, the cold, the thought that no one would ever notice her again. She was terrified that her life would be like a patch of wild grass, silently sprouting, silently rotting away, devoid of any warmth or light—so utterly hopeless.

"I don’t want to be alone anymore. I won’t stay alone," she cried, clutching his sleeve desperately, as tightly as she had clung to her mother’s hem at two years old when her mother was dragged away by grim-faced palace maids to face punishment from a higher-ranking consort. Back then, she had been left sitting alone on the cold marble floor, weeping. The stone was icy, the palace so vast her cries echoed back to her—tiny, fragile, as if they would never be heard, as if no one would ever know her sorrow.

"Let me stay with you," she pleaded, tears spilling over. Gripping his sleeve, she suddenly burst into loud sobs. "I never want to be alone again! I want to be with you—I want to stay with you!"

The usually composed boy panicked, clearly unaccustomed to such scenes. Fumbling for a handkerchief, he awkwardly wiped her tears with his hand.

"Don’t cry," he said softly, suppressing a cough. He patted her back gently, mimicking the way adults comforted children. "I’ll stay with you. I won’t leave you alone again."

But she kept crying, as if determined to shed every tear she had held back since birth.

He held her tightly, his youthful frame not yet broad but tenderly enveloping all her grief.

After drying her tears, he took her to Jingren Palace, where he resided.

A warm bath, fresh clothes that hugged her snugly, and a table laden with colorful pastries were laid before her. When she looked up, the boy was watching her with a quiet, indulgent smile.

Instead of devouring the tempting treats, she picked up a rose cake, hopped off her chair, and held it out to him. "For you."The young man bit into the pastry, smiling as he affectionately stroked her ear-length short hair with a tender and solemn expression, though crumbs dotted the corners of his lips.

She giggled, standing on tiptoe to clasp his neck and plant a kiss on his slightly pale lips.

He looked at her with surprise and alarm, but soon broke into another smile, a faint blush coloring his delicate, almost prettier-than-a-girl features.

She laughed joyfully. For the first time in her life, she felt as if sunlight had spilled over her—warm and bright, capable of melting away all shadows and chill.

She knew then that from this moment onward, there was finally something she could hold onto in her life: he was her elder brother, who would protect her and never let her be alone again.

From then on, she became a little shadow trailing behind the youth.

He tenderly called her "Ying" and taught her to address him as "brother." Whether it was lectures, calligraphy practice, martial training, or even meals and rest, he kept her by his side.

Only then did she realize how demanding the daily routine of a crown prince truly was. His constitution was weak against the cold—even the slightest chill during the day would leave him coughing through the night, unable to sleep. Yet before dawn the next day, he would rise, dress impeccably, and proceed to the Hall of Mental Cultivation and his mother's quarters to pay his respects.

Upon returning to Jingren Palace, mornings were spent in study and reading, afternoons in martial arts until dusk. During festivals or unavoidable ceremonies and court assemblies, these unceasing duties would stretch late into the night.

He possessed a photographic memory, mastering classics, music, calligraphy, mathematics, and military strategy with ease. His martial training, however, was personally overseen by the stern Preceptor of the Household, demanding rigorous internal and external cultivation without compromise. After each session, his face would turn deathly pale, his robes drenched in cold sweat, his heart pounding as if ready to burst from his chest. She often feared he might collapse and never wake again, yet he would always manage a weary smile, stroking her head with trembling, ice-cold fingers.

Despite his packed schedule, he still found time to teach her to read and write, starting with the simplest poems, guiding her hand in calligraphy without a hint of impatience.

One evening, while teaching her calligraphy, he slumped over the desk, exhausted into sleep. When he startled awake, she finally asked him why he never rested, why he pushed himself so relentlessly.

He smiled faintly and shook his head. "There's too much to do. Father once said that once you take that seat, even a lifetime of diligence won't be enough. There's no time for rest."

At the mention of that man, she fell silent. After a long pause, she nodded. "I've only spoken to him once."

He, too, said nothing more. But the following night, he evaded the eunuchs and took her to Taiye Pond outside the inner city.

It was midsummer. The pond shimmered indigo, frogs croaking from the reeds. He pulled her down to crouch stealthily beneath a willow tree.

Just as she was about to ask what they were doing, he pressed a finger to his lips in a rare playful, mischievous gesture.

With a wink, he pointed ahead. Dusk had deepened, but following his arm, she spotted a faint glimmer rising from the water.

It was a tiny flicker of yellow-green light, barely noticeable unless one looked closely.After that first glimmer appeared, as if by magic, two, then three, and more points of light emerged before her eyes—from the water plants, from the scattered stones by the pond, from the water's surface.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, her vision gradually cleared. With the fresh night breeze, she finally saw the dense, faintly glowing dots flying through the air, shimmering as they drifted slowly, forming an endless expanse above her head like a sky full of twinkling stars.

Dreamily, she reached out her hand. A tiny insect flitted between her fingers, as if she had grasped the starry sky. She giggled, "I caught a star! I caught a star!"

The boy laughed too, stretching out his hand and opening his palm, watching the glowing insects pass through his fingers. "These are fireflies. Aren’t they beautiful?"

Delighted and amazed by these novel little creatures, she nodded. "Fireflies... Is the 'ying' in 'firefly' the same as the 'Ying' in my name?"

"No," the boy chuckled. "The 'Ying' in your name has 'fire' at the bottom, while the 'ying' in 'firefly' has a 'little insect' at the bottom." He pinched her cheek affectionately. "But if one day Ying turns into a little bug, then your 'Ying' will have to change to the 'ying' with the little insect."

"I won’t become a bug!" She paused for a moment before realizing he was teasing her. With a playful shriek, she tickled him, and they tumbled into the grass, laughing and wrestling.

When they finally tired themselves out, she held his hand and lay back in the grass, watching the fireflies flicker past. Beyond them, the starry sky stretched endlessly, and the dazzling Milky Way flowed across the deep blue expanse, breathtakingly beautiful.

He reached out and caught a firefly, then brought it before her. Opening his palm, he let the insect drift away, its light flickering as it settled peacefully on the pond’s surface.

Slowly, he spoke, "Ying, this little bug’s light is so faint—it can only illuminate its own body, not even an inch beyond. But for the firefly, isn’t it enough if that light shows it the path ahead and leads it where it needs to go? And maybe because its glow isn’t dazzling, people don’t pay too much attention to them or catch them. That’s why they can live so freely by the water. See? A faint light isn’t so bad after all."

She gave a soft "Mm" in response, rolling over to rest her head on his chest without another word.

She understood what he meant. The man who had abandoned her and her mother—she had once thought she would hate him forever. But if he wished for her not to hate him, then she wouldn’t.

"Brother, I just want to be with you. I want to stay with you forever," she said after a long silence.

He chuckled softly and shook his head. "You say that now, but when you grow up, you’ll meet someone. And then you’ll feel that person is the one you want to spend your whole life with."

She didn’t quite understand. "You just... meet someone by chance and suddenly want to be with them forever? How can you want to stay with someone you’ve never even known before?"

He smiled. "I don’t understand it either. That’s just what my teacher told me."The teacher he mentioned was the strict official from the Household Administration, and she vaguely knew him to be a profoundly wise man. She had never believed in so-called profound scholars, but she trusted every word he said.

She laughed, playfully rolling over to hug him. "I don't want anyone else. I just want my brother."

He chuckled too, trying to pull away her arms wrapped around his waist. "Ying, stop fooling around... That tickles."

Mischievously, she tickled him even harder, and they dissolved into laughter and playful tussling.

As if to confirm what he had said that night, not long after, he met that girl.

It was during the imperial autumn hunt that he encountered the daughter of the Chief Minister, just a year older than her.

Confined within the Forbidden Palace, she couldn't follow him to the hunting grounds. She had no way of knowing what kind of girl she was, nor did he ever speak of what transpired between them.

She only sensed that something about him had changed.

After returning, he still smiled at her quietly, but behind that gentle smile, there was now something she couldn't comprehend.

That day, with that same smile, he said to her: "It's truly remarkable how two people, completely unrelated and strangers to each other, can make you want to shelter them under your wings forever, wishing them happiness—at least more than your own. As long as their smile exists, no matter how arduous the journey, you'll never feel lonely before reaching the end."

"How I wish I could place complete happiness in her hands," he sighed softly at last. The expression on his face then was one she had never seen before—gentle, serene, tinged with a faint sorrow.

She watched him with a touch of innocence, memorizing that moment of unusual tranquility. As the speaking boy gradually grew into a silent, composed man, donning the mask of an emperor, she would often recall that serene and gentle face.

At that moment, the boy had completely forgotten the heavy burden on his shoulders, forgotten the deadly poison that could end his life at any time. He simply wished, with peaceful hope, for someone to attain happiness—greater and more abundant than his own.

Back then, she watched him with partial understanding. It wasn't until many years later, when she too met that person, that she finally realized: there truly exists such an emotion, born in an instant yet enduring a lifetime, uneroded by time and distance, undestroyed by misunderstandings and barriers, indifferent to life and death, unrelated to status, forever blooming at the pinnacle of life's cliff—radiant and beautiful.

Was that love? She didn't know. She only knew that once she took those hands, she never wanted to let go for the rest of her life.

Four years after meeting him, their shared father passed away.

The emperor's sudden demise left the empire in brief turmoil, with the crown prince still too young.

Abruptly, he was robed in imperial garments and thrust onto the throne, buried under a deluge of intricate affairs that left him no time to breathe.He moved to reside in the Hall of Mental Cultivation, and she followed him to that cramped, dim palace. She witnessed him stepping into the center of the empire's political whirlpool, where day after day, amidst the surging undercurrents, his complexion grew paler, yet his eyes swiftly developed a hidden sharpness—like an unsheathed sword revealing glimpses of its peerless brilliance after initial honing.

She couldn't see the struggle between him and the increasingly ambitious Chief Minister Ling, but she faintly detected the scent of conflict from the growing fear of Ling among the palace staff and the unfamiliar faces that began appearing around them.

Then one day, in the Hall of Mental Cultivation, she witnessed the death of the Food Supervisor. The female official had barely tasted the milk presented by the Imperial Cuisine kitchen before her face turned ashen, and she collapsed beneath the table.

He rushed from his seat to help her up, but his newly learned, rudimentary medical skills were too late to save the poisoned woman. The poisoner had used an exceptionally potent toxin, one that could kill in an instant. The use of such poison suggested the perpetrator didn’t intend to take his life—it was a warning, wasn’t it?

That day, he silently watched the corpse gradually cooling in his arms. After a long while, he finally stood up, smiled at her frozen figure standing nearby, and patted her head: "Scary? Don't be afraid."

She shook her head, walked over, and embraced his trembling body—trembling from forcibly suppressed rage. Her own body was also shaking slightly as she held him tightly, her gaze never leaving the corpse's horrifically discolored face.

Not long after that day, he abolished the rule that Imperial Cuisine must first be tasted by the Food Supervisor to ensure it was free of poison. Then, one afternoon soon after, she sought him out and told him she wanted to learn Poison Making.

He was momentarily speechless, looking at her with a smile: "Why the sudden interest in this?"

She shrugged indifferently: "Boredom."

He had always been helpless against her whims, so he could only continue smiling: "Ying, what do you want to learn this for?"

Instead of answering, she took his slightly cold hand, placed it on her shoulder, and pressed it there, looking up into his eyes: "Brother, can't I learn something useful?"

He paused, then quickly laughed: "Poison Making isn't suitable for girls. How about I teach you Incense Making instead? It also involves studying the uses of various herbs and materials."

She nodded half-heartedly: "I only want to learn that kind of thing."

He smiled helplessly: "I hope you never master it enough to graduate."

She gave him an even more mischievous look, grinning: "Then let it be so. If one day the poison I make can kill you, that'll count as my graduation."

"Oh? Then let's see what you're capable of?" He laughed too.

She never interacted much with anyone other than him, so the only one who could teach her was him. To impart knowledge to her, he first took the time to study the formulas of various fragrances and the properties of materials himself, then gradually passed them on to her.

Time always flies when one is engrossed in something. Unconsciously, several years slipped by. To have more open space for Incense Making, she moved from her original residence to the secluded Hall of Heroic Splendor, gradually mastering the uses of various fragrant herbs and even delving deeply into historical formulas she had collected.

The elusive scents that once danced like ethereal snakes before her now became docile threads twining around her fingers. If she wished, she could weave them into the most dazzling and exquisite fabrics.

Once she had achieved mastery, she often racked her brains to concoct new fragrances and then brought them to show him. At first, she demonstrated them in front of him. Later, in a playful mood, she once secretly applied a fragrance to the clothes he was about to change into while he was away, then hid to see if he would notice.

Unexpectedly, he laughed the moment he entered the room. Pinching the fabric between his fingers, he brought it to his nose for a sniff, then looked toward her hiding spot: "Borneol, cymbidium, Bewitching Powder—have you named it yet?"

She had cleverly masked the faint scent of the Emei Sect's Bewitching Powder with borneol and cymbidium powder, rendering the Intoxicating incense nearly odorless. Yet, despite her meticulous blending, the incense had no effect on him whatsoever.

She leaped out from behind the bookcase where she had been hiding and stuck out her tongue at him: "Drunken Immortal! That's the name I gave it—Drunken Immortal!"

He chuckled softly, a teasing lilt in his voice: "Colorless and scentless, even more insidious than Bewitching Powder—truly enough to intoxicate even an immortal. A fitting name indeed."She could only stick out her tongue at him in frustration, "Don't get cocky! Next time, I'll make you fall head over heels!"

Half-serious and half-playful, she began their "duel of wits." Every time she concocted a new poison, she would rack her brains to use it on him—only for him to effortlessly neutralize it every single time.

One administering poisons, the other unraveling them—what others saw as perilous acts became an endlessly entertaining game between the siblings.

As for her true motive in learning Poison Making, he never asked, and she never explained. But ever since she mastered it, no one in the palace dared to stir trouble with poisons—who would dare show off their meager skills before her?

Yet rumors gradually spread through the palace: the one residing in the Hall of Heroic Splendor was someone who sought to poison the emperor. As for why she bore a grudge against the emperor, or why the emperor tolerated her, theories abounded. Some guessed she was the orphaned child of the late emperor, others speculated she was a discarded consort, and some even connected her to court secrets from decades past, suggesting she was the descendant of a certain high official.

She paid no heed to any of it, tending to the courtyard's flowers and plants, fiddling with the materials in her rooms, surrounded by the fragrance of herbs and blossoms, living a leisurely and contented life. The years in the Hall of Heroic Splendor flowed silently past her like the changing seasons.

Until that day, when she finished watering the Asarabacca by her doorstep and looked up to see a figure hurrying toward the hall. It was a dignified woman, adorned with golden hairpins and jade ornaments, her silk skirt trailing along the stone floor as she walked with resolute steps.

Stopping directly before her, the woman met her gaze and said, "I heard you wish to kill His Majesty. Shall we join forces?"

Was this the girl he had spoken of? The one who had drawn such a tender expression from him?

No, it couldn’t possibly be her.

Tilting her chin slightly, she met the woman’s gaze with her own deep, dark eyes—inherited from her bloodline—and heard her own clear, chiming voice reply, "Yes, I’m delighted to hear someone wants to kill my brother... Consort De."

The woman seemed to exhale as if relieved of a burden, a faint look—somewhere between reassurance and disappointment—flickering at the corners of her eyes. Yet beneath that composed beauty, an undercurrent of sorrow was unmistakable.

She watched the woman quietly, her fingers deftly twisting a newly blended incense, laced with poppy pollen. Harmless, yet addictive over time, craving ever stronger doses with each use.

As the fragrant mist curled like blossoms between her fingertips, a thin smile touched her lips. She extended her hand, offering it to the woman. "Consort De, this incense is for you. It’s called 'Unattainable.'"

The lavishly dressed woman looked at her, the sorrow in her eyes now impossible to conceal, spreading like tendrils. Finally, she reached out, gathering the mist in her palm, and murmured, "It smells lovely. I like it very much."

She smiled back at her, yet in that moment, it was as if she glimpsed the storm clouds of the Virtuous Dynasty quietly gathering.

The twenty-second day of the twelfth month, the eighth year of Virtuous Blessing.Standing before the Hall of Supreme Harmony, she watched as the man who went by the name Gui Wuchang struck him down from the high platform with a single palm; watched as the girl he had brought out collapsed unconscious on the stage; watched as Li Hongqing, the first to rush down, froze in shock after hurriedly gathering his body in his arms; watched as Li Hongqing was swiftly knocked aside and fell to the ground, while that man picked up his body and vanished swiftly behind the palace walls; watched as the pursuing Empress Dowager paled instantly upon hearing the words "no breath left" murmured from Li Hongqing's lips; watched as Xiao Qianqing, the Prince of Chu who had come out with them, cradled the girl and fought his way through the encircling guards, risking his life to escape the palace...

Amidst the sorrowful and despairing crowd at that moment, she alone lifted her head and gazed in the direction where the man who had taken him away had disappeared.

She knew that man. As early as the year she had just moved into the Hall of Heroic Splendor, one morning, she had seen him by her bedside—his face masked, dressed in dark robes, standing quietly before her bed, watching her in silence.

After seeing her awaken, the man slowly removed the mask from his face. That countenance was still pale and refined, with an indelible trace of weariness and indifference in his brow. Yet this time, the sunlight from the window fell upon his face, and she saw his eyes filled with tender warmth.

Her nose suddenly stung with emotion. She crawled out from under the blankets and raised her head: "You're not dead?"

The man smiled softly, his laughter unexpectedly gentle, just like her brother's: "No, I'm not dead. But you mustn't tell anyone, not even your brother."

Without even nodding, she blurted out her second question: "Why did you name me Ying?"

Still smiling, his tone light, he replied: "Ying—like the free and unrestrained light of a firefly. Isn't that nice?"

She stared at him blankly, then lashed out as if in a tantrum: "What kind of light I am is none of your business!"

Through tear-filled eyes after her outburst, she saw him continue to smile faintly, just like that youth by the pond that night, his deep black eyes as if holding the entire starry sky.

She was a free and unrestrained firefly—that youth had once said so. Now, she had finally heard it from that man—the one she had resented, blamed, and sworn never to forgive, yet had always yearned for his embrace. Her father.

In the icy winds of the twelfth month of the eighth year of Virtuous Blessing, she looked in the direction where he had disappeared. Then, soundlessly, she stepped forward, one step at a time, and tugged lightly at the hem of Li Hongqing's robe—the Imperial Bodyguard who had been injured and was leaning against the stone wall. In a voice so soft it was almost lost in the surrounding clamor, she whispered: "It won't go out."

As if suddenly awakened, the wounded commander of the Imperial Bodyguard anxiously grasped her shoulders: "Ying, are you hurt?" He then paused, puzzled: "What did you just say?"

She tilted her face up, stood on tiptoe, and lightly kissed his cheek, smiling gently: "I said, it won't go out. That kind of light."

A tear slipped from her eye and fell onto her hand, the warmth of it slowly becoming distinct.

Just like years ago, when that noble youth had barged into her little courtyard, taken his hand out of the hand-warmer sleeve, and without hesitation, clasped her mud-covered little hand—so warm.

Back then, she had vaguely thought, perhaps he really was light—warm, radiant light that could shine far and wide.