The days felt as if they had been stolen.
When alone, Chu Qiao would often lose herself in thought. She would quietly watch the sun rise in the east and set in the west, as night fell again and again. The New Year came, and the New Year passed. Time flowed silently through her fingers, its pulsing veins visible like clear water.
The initial excitement gradually faded, and life began to move forward once more. She gazed at the sky, watching birds flutter in from the north, their wings cutting through the vast expanse, leaving winding trails of blue and white. She thought, perhaps they were returning home.
She moved into Zhuge Yue’s villa in Xianyang. There was no particular excuse or reason—Zhuge Yue had simply asked if she would like to spend the New Year with him. After a moment’s thought, she agreed.
It was a truly simple New Year.
There were no extravagant palace dances, no melodious tunes from performers, no lavish delicacies. Yet there was a rare tranquility, a genuine peace within her heart.
Over the past few days, she and Zhuge Yue had visited many places. They walked through long, quiet alleyways and ancient, dilapidated temples. They sampled street food, squeezed into crowded temple fairs, and on New Year’s Eve, they set off firecrackers for a long time.
The crackling of the firecrackers echoed just like that night two years ago. Standing on the bustling street, surrounded by fireworks and lanterns,
a long-lost joy quietly enveloped her. Amid the fading lights, he stood in front of her, shielding her from the jostling crowd. Occasionally, he would frown and turn around to scold her, like a petulant child.
Fireworks bloomed in the sky above his head, brilliant and colorful, their glow reflecting on his cheeks—beautiful.
Yes, it was beautiful.
Chu Qiao was at a loss for words to describe everything she saw. It was as if she had been abruptly swept from the battlefield into this dazzling, surreal world. She saw gentle sunlight, warm lakes, joyful crowds, and Zhuge Yue, stripped of all struggle and defenses. This man, who had once glared at her, drawn his sword against her, repeatedly aided her, and nearly crossed into the underworld for her—now stood alive before her, frowning and scolding her for being unsophisticated. Suddenly, she felt that time had been stolen from the heavens, every second of it precious.
The world was filled with fiery trees and silver flowers, yet her eyes could only hold one person.
Like deep seawater, thawing and surging from the depths of her heart, warming her chilled limbs and numb mind.
Life had blossomed brilliantly in a desperate place, vibrant and colorful atop decaying wood. Standing on the far shore of the underworld, she gazed from afar and thought, perhaps this was what they called rebirth.
Even though she watched it with her own eyes, it still felt so distant.
The door was half-open. He stood in the courtyard, dressed in a blue-purple robe embroidered with large, splendid golden brocade flowers. The moonlight shone upon him, casting a radiant glow.
He looked at her, as if wanting to say something, but remained silent for a long time.
The moonlight was somewhat hazy. From the square a few streets away, the lively sounds of gongs and drums continued to drift over—clattering and festive. Even without seeing it, Chu Qiao could imagine the common folk dancing joyfully.Time seemed to have passed for a long while, yet it also felt like only a brief moment had gone by. He spoke, "Go to sleep."
Chu Qiao nodded, smiling calmly, "You too."
The door closed bit by bit, along with it blocking out the moonlight outside—one ray, one sliver, one thread—until finally, all was enveloped in darkness.
She stood by the door, her fingers pressed against the door panel. The person outside lingered for a long time without leaving. The wind was somewhat chilly, whistling as it blew. Outside the window, the shadows of trees swayed, casting eerie, flickering silhouettes on the windowpane.
The time in the water clock slipped away little by little. At last, the sound of rustling footsteps arose—slow, yet gradually fading, growing farther and farther away.
Suddenly, the wind outside grew stronger, so fierce that even the door could not hold it back. It seeped coldly through the cracks. Chu Qiao rested her head against the door panel. In the darkness, she slowly closed her eyes.
**
When Zhuge Yue returned, Yue Qi had just received a letter from home by Xiao Fei. The young guard, now a distinguished general, wore a broad smile on his face, happily tucking the letter into his sleeve.
In high spirits, Yue Qi stood outside the door, unable to conceal his joy even upon seeing his master.
"Xiao Fei sent a letter?"
"Yes," Yue Qi chuckled, "Hai'er is one month old now."
After years of fighting side by side, the relationship between Zhuge Yue and Yue Qi, though nominally that of master and servant, was almost akin to brothers. Recalling that Xiao Fei had just given Yue Qi another son before their departure, Zhuge Yue couldn't help but smile faintly. "When I return, I'll prepare a grand gift for your son."
Yue Qi grinned, "Thank you, young master."
"How is Mo'er?"
"He's doing well."
Yue Qi answered crisply. Ouyang Mo, whom Zhuge Yue had brought back earlier, was now being raised by Xiao Fei. For a child who had lost all his relatives, perhaps this was the best arrangement.
"He's learning acupuncture from Master Bai and shows remarkable talent."
"Master," Fang Chu entered from outside. After Yue Qi went out to lead troops, Fang Chu had become Zhuge Yue's personal guard. Hailing from Qinghai, his parents were descendants of criminals exiled from Ximeng generations ago for their mistakes. After being subdued by Zhuge Yue, he followed him back to Daxia. He was a man of few words, yet resilient in character, far from ordinary, and even Yue Qi regarded him with special respect.
"A letter from General Feng."
The wax seal on the letter was intact. Zhuge Yue read it without changing his expression, then handed it to Yue Qi. After Yue Qi finished reading, Zhuge Yue said gravely, "What do you think?"
"Zhao Yang won't let this go so easily. Once the Seventh Prince returns to the country and joins forces with you, young master, the power he has built over the past two years will begin to falter. Wei Guang is already old and frail, but Wei Shu Ye has his own agenda. He cannot afford to let his guard down."
Zhuge Yue nodded faintly and said softly, "That man knows how to adapt to circumstances best, his mind full of clever schemes. Yet, even he has been blinded. To make such plans at a time like this..."
"What should we do?"
"Proceed as planned. Tell Xu Yang to stay vigilant. At this point, he can't stir up much trouble. Rather than worrying about him, we should focus more on keeping an eye on the movements in Yanbei."
Yue Qi nodded. Zhuge Yue then asked, "How is the extradition process going?""Young master, rest assured, all of Chen Yue's businesses are operating urgently. Lord Zhaoming and Mr. Liang have secretly recruited a large number of talents from various industries. The Emperor of Biantang is very attentive to the matters we entrusted to him and has personally dispatched Minister Sun to assist. Moreover, with this year's bountiful harvest, we no longer need to rely on the inland."
Zhuge Yue nodded. "Is everything well at home?"
The current person in charge of Qinghai was Fang Guangqian, Fang Guangqian was Fang Chu's paternal uncle and also Zhuge Yue's subordinate in Qinghai. Fang Chu replied expressionlessly, "Uncle wrote yesterday saying everything is fine at home. Everyone is waiting for the master's return."
"Mm." Zhuge Yue nodded silently and said, "Tell everyone to speed up. We don't have much time left. Once matters here are settled, we'll return."
Fang Chu nodded and withdrew with bowed head. After Fang Chu left, Yue Qi frowned slightly and said, "Young master, this subordinate doesn't understand."
"I know what you want to say."
The moonlight was clear and serene, softly casting its pure light upon his shoulders. The man's face carried a hint of coolness, his eyes narrow and long, but no longer possessing the spiritedness of his youth—instead, they were as calm as ripples in an ancient well, steady and gentle.
"You want to ask why we don't take advantage of Daxia's internal strife, the exhaustion of the noble families, and the presence of powerful external enemies to rise up, seize control of the family, and then replace the Zhao Clan, right?"
Yue Qi was startled and immediately knelt on the ground, yet he spoke bluntly, "This subordinate is bold, but that is indeed what I think. Daxia has been unkind to us, and the family has been unjust. Young master has suffered countless humiliations over these two years—why should we extend them aid now? At worst, we can return to Qinghai. After all, the young lady is here now, so we need not fear their threats. Qinghai is vast and rich in resources; even if Ximeng unifies, we may not necessarily fear them."
After Yue Qi finished speaking, he didn't hear Zhuge Yue's voice for a long time. Gathering his courage, he looked up and saw Zhuge Yue gazing at the sky. His originally handsome face was now shadowed with weariness, the furrows between his brows deeply knitted, full of the vicissitudes of time.
"Yue Qi, no matter how flawed the family may be, it was still where we found shelter and purpose in our youth. No matter how flawed Daxia may be, it is still our homeland. Now that our homeland is beset by internal and external troubles, with powerful enemies watching covetously, how can we bear to light another beacon of war on this ravaged land?"
Upon hearing this, Yue Qi was momentarily stunned. Then he heard Zhuge Yue continue, "Moreover, Zhao Che's kindness to me is far from just a drop in the bucket."
After saying this, Zhuge Yue left, leaving only Yue Qi standing dumbfounded, carefully pondering his words.
He didn't know what he felt in his heart. Subconsciously, he knew the young master was right, but when he recalled the experiences of the past two years, a sense of grief and indignation welled up in his chest, unable to be dispelled. Could it be that the young master truly didn't care at all?
Of course, Zhuge Yue cared.
In the dark bedroom, a short, light laugh echoed.
How could he not care about those days in his childhood when he struggled to survive in the family like a dog in the dirt? How could he not care about the frustration of repeatedly nurturing grand ambitions, only to be crushed and defeated? And how could he not care about the spittle and shame that greeted him when he narrowly escaped death and returned?
He could not forget, even in death, he could not forget.
He didn't want to dwell on the feelings from earlier, but the words Yue Qi had blurted out had stirred up turbulent waves in his heart once more.A man's heart remains steadfast unto death; after a lifetime of striving, what is it he truly seeks? Is it not to achieve greatness and establish a legacy? Is it not to rise above others? Is it not to one day ascend to the pinnacle of power, commanding the clouds and rain, with every call met by a hundred responses?
That is a fatal temptation, an addiction no man can ever truly break free from.
After narrowly escaping death in such desperate circumstances, he was met not with a shred of warmth. His reputation was in ruins, abandoned by his homeland, and in an instant, he became the public enemy of Daxia. He was no saint—how could there be no hatred in his heart?
Perhaps, as Chu Qiao had said at the graveside, he did feel an inexplicable sense of satisfaction when he saw Daxia repeatedly defeated by Yanbei's assaults. When Daxia's internal decay grew increasingly apparent, he had even contemplated leading his army eastward, overthrowing Daxia to replace it, using overwhelming force to wash away his shame and look down upon those filthy faces that had once trampled him underfoot.
But when it came time to take that step, he hesitated.
On the plains of Qinghai, the eyes of those who still lacked food and clothing gazed at him with earnest hope. The people who had generously taken him in when he had nowhere to go were still waiting for him to bring them a winter without death.
Yes, he could not bring himself to say it to Yue Qi, nor to the subordinates who had steadfastly followed him. They would surely stare at him wide-eyed and ask, "Young master, are you really going to give up seizing prosperous Ximeng for the sake of a few Qinghai bumpkins?"
Indeed, they were merely the descendants of convicts who had trudged through this prison-like land for generations, mere rustics untouched by the teachings of the sages. In the past, he would have thought the same, sneering contemptuously that a true man must make choices, aiming high rather than hesitating like a sentimental woman. But something had ultimately changed him. When his life was in ruins and the world had cast him aside, someone had opened a warm door for him. Though the door was shabby and the roof leaked, it was there that he sat and drank the warmest bowl of porridge he had ever tasted.
At that moment, he suddenly understood Chu Qiao, that ever-resolute girl who always told him to wait and see.
He was grateful to heaven. Without such an opportunity, he might never have understood her, never comprehended the joy of creation and protection. To his astonishment, he discovered that this joy was in no way inferior to that of conquest and destruction.
As for Daxia, as for gratitude and grudges, as for contending for supremacy in Ximeng...
He slowly closed his eyes and said to himself, "I know what truly matters."
Yes, he still needed to fight, to maneuver, using his abilities to protect and contend. He still had to scheme against those in the court with their own agendas, still had to cross swords on the battlefield with those who held differing political views.
Even if his ambition did not lie in seizing Daxia, he could not stand idly by and watch it decay and fall into the hands of others.
Moreover, he could no longer retreat. When he led his troops through Cuiwei Pass, when he assumed the position of Daxia's Minister of War, when he single-handedly halted Daxia's war against Biantang—everything had already been set in stone.
He recalled the oath he and Zhao Che had sworn on the frozen lands of Donghu in their most desperate hour, a faint, cold sharpness rising in the corners of his eyes.At that moment, a pair of tranquil eyes suddenly peered through the pitch-black mist. Their gaze was gentle, yet faintly revealed a trace of irrepressible sorrow.
He quietly closed his eyes, his fingers tracing the pristine rim of the cup.
He smiled faintly, a bitter smile, like cold snow.
Everything begins after it ends. They were always like this—meeting at the wrong time, parting at the wrong time. Fate pushed them along a path with no visible return, stumbling and brushing past each other along the way.
The room was pitch dark. The moonlight outside the window streamed in, casting a cold, clear glow upon him. After all, he was still just a young man in his twenties. Despite enduring so many hardships and struggles, he sometimes dreamed like this: a hero returns from countless battles, having achieved great feats, then presents everything before the one he loves, declaring with bold authority: "Here, it's all for you!"
But in the end, it could only remain a dream.
Leaning back in his chair, the corners of his mouth lifted slightly as he smiled gently, like a grown child.
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