Before one knew it, the year was drawing to a close. Though it could hardly be called a year of favorable weather and joyful peace, Zhenhuang City still maintained an outward appearance of prosperity and harmony. Half a month before the Spring Banquet, the capital's prefect lifted the curfew in the imperial city and, with the authorization of the Elder Council, reduced taxes for merchants during the New Year period to encourage trade and stimulate the capital's economy. In the emperor's name, an edict was issued summoning provincial officials to the capital to pay homage, with special commendations for those who had achieved outstanding political results this year.
Thus, within three days, Zhenhuang City regained its former splendor. With the authorities' deliberate indulgence, this year's New Year celebrations were particularly extravagant, as wealthy households from various regions flocked to the capital. The city was a scene of bustling prosperity, with colorful silk draping the trees and an atmosphere of revelry. No matter how chaotic the situation outside or how imminent the border conflicts, the people of the capital remained immersed in the grand illusion of the empire's might.
A biting wind swept through the city, carrying with it an intoxicating air of hedonism, drifting far to the north.
Yet, the conflict at the northwestern border and in Yanbei grew increasingly tense. Zhuge Yue slept later and later, often staying up through the night. The candle wax in his study dripped steadily, piling up in layers like crimson waves on the candlestick, reflecting his increasingly grim expression and his still upright posture, like a steadfast spear.
Three days earlier, Chu Qiao had finally seen Zhao Che again.
It had been snowing heavily that day, with four consecutive days of snowfall accumulating over two feet deep, making movement difficult as the snow reached almost to the thighs. Chu Qiao had been in poor health over the years and could not bear the cold, so she languidly refused to go out, spending her days curled up in her room in a drowsy haze.
That evening, Zhuge Yue's laughter echoed from afar. She lay on her soft couch, frowning slightly, but as soon as she opened her eyes, she felt a chill sweep over her. Shivering, she pulled the soft quilt tighter around herself and sat up slightly. Then she saw Zhuge Yue lift the curtain with a smile and say to her, "Xing'er, look who's here?"
With that, he ushered the person behind him into the bedchamber.
Zhao Che entered against the light, dressed in a plain black robe without any embroidery or patterns, understated and somber. He looked much the same as before, perhaps a bit taller and thinner, his face largely unchanged, but his eyes no longer held the arrogance and defiance of years past. Instead, they were deep and cold, like a frigid pond or a deep lake. Even when he smiled, there was a hint of distance and wariness in his expression. He greeted her calmly, just as he had in the past, with a slight nod and a faint smile, saying, "We finally meet again."
Food from the kitchen was brought in like a flowing stream. Zhao Che had brought northern Qianghu wine, which was exceptionally strong. As soon as it was opened, a rich, pungent aroma of alcohol filled the air.
He and Zhuge Yue chatted and drank together, discussing the recent battles and the current situation in detail. Occasionally, they would banter, exchange jokes, and mock each other lightly.
Zhuge Yue had few friends; in all the world, perhaps no one else could speak to him in this manner besides the man before him. Chu Qiao sat quietly to the side. As the wine warmed their spirits, she listened to them reminisce about the past—their awkward youthful clashes at the military academy, their mutual arrogance as they grew older, and how they had gradually come together only when war erupted, the court grew corrupt, conflicts raged across the land, and the empire's power began to crumble.Both were of noble birth and extraordinary status, harboring ambitions as vast as the sun and talents that could weave the fabric of the world. Both were equally unyielding and rebellious, filled with the fervor of youth, yet rejected by their homeland and spurned by conventional society. Both were proud, extreme, and stubborn, seen by their clans as heretics and branded as outsiders. Both were born into splendor, withered in that same splendor, then rose from the mud to claw their way back, step by step, to the center of power. Yet, though their hearts were as hard as iron, they could not conceal their genuine passion. The friendship between men often needs no words.
Chu Qiao sat quietly to the side, rarely having seen Zhuge Yue so radiant and never having witnessed Zhao Che so free-spirited.
In a daze, she seemed to see two poplar trees that had weathered storms, standing shoulder to shoulder, slowly growing into ancient giants.
Another shadow unconsciously emerged in her mind—those dark years of youth, those turbulent and perilous days. While Zhao Che and Zhuge Yue navigated the complexities of the world together, she too had once forged a path through thorns and brambles with someone. Yet, in the end, they did not reach the same destination.
That night, Zhuge Yue actually got drunk. His capacity for alcohol had never been great, but he was always disciplined and knew his limits. Today, however, reunited with an old friend, he had let himself go with uncharacteristic abandon.
But Chu Qiao knew he was simply too exhausted. In recent days, vast snow disasters had struck the northwest, while the southwest suffered crop failures. One-third of the empire’s territory was filled with lamentations. The grain and clothing dispatched from the capital were embezzled layer by layer by local officials and powerful clans, never reaching the people in time. Zhao Yang, the de facto ruler of the western region, indulged his subordinates in open corruption and curried favor with the great clans to secure support from higher authorities. In less than half a month, over two hundred thousand people had died in the west, and millions of refugees trekked thousands of miles south, east, and even toward the northwest. Wild Goose Cry Pass, Tanghu Pass, and Yao Pass were crowded with starving refugees, with hundreds freezing or starving to death daily. Yet the capital preferred to spend vast sums on renovating palaces and preparing for the spring banquet rather than sending troops or grain to give the people a chance to survive.
Zhuge Yue had submitted over ten memorials of remonstrance, but aside from a few powerless censors, no one in the court was willing to support him. His petitions were ignored, his advice shelved. The court was filled with voices of complacency and indulgence, and the elders of the Elder Council were like a swarm of rotten parasites, their vision limited to a narrow scope, allowing local officials to sing praises while turning a blind eye to the actual disasters.
He reported that the regional disasters were severe, with over two hundred thousand dead in the west. They retorted that Daxia was at peace, its people living in prosperity, and accused him of spouting nonsense.
He warned that Wild Goose Cry, Tanghu, and Yao Passes were crowded with hundreds of thousands of refugees, and if not properly managed, a popular uprising would surely lead to catastrophe. They insisted the three passes were impregnable, the lands beyond fertile and peaceful, where doors were left unbolted at night and lost items went unclaimed, with not a single thief or bandit to be found.
He declared that Daxia’s survival hung by a thread, that the Elder Council was deceiving itself, the court was corrupt, and local officials were embezzling without restraint. Without punishment, chaos would erupt. Instead, they falsely accused him of amassing military power, sowing discord in the court, and seeking to seize authority.The court debates raged like a boiling pot of porridge, while commoners died at any moment. They presented the virtue umbrellas and petitions offered by local people, praising the emperor's benevolence and compassion, the court's integrity and righteousness, and Daxia's enduring prosperity, then turned around to blame him for slandering the court without evidence.
Evidence?
She heard him in the study, furiously berating several generals, his face livid with rage, his eyes like turbulent, churning waves.
They turned a blind eye to the swarming refugees beyond the Three Passes, ignored the countless mangled corpses scattered across the western lands, and shut their ears to the heart-wrenching, earth-shaking cries of despair. Yet now, they clung to the virtue umbrellas presented by local parasites, deceiving themselves, and mockingly demanded evidence from him?
That night before sleep, he remained silent for a long time, then gritted his teeth and whispered in her ear that he wished he could cut those parasites down, one by one.
His voice was so low and suppressed that a chill crept up Chu Qiao's spine. She reached out to encircle his waist, lightly touching his arm, and felt his muscles tense, his fists clenched, his skin cold as if covered in a layer of frost.
Yet Chu Qiao knew that, in the end, he could only speak of it. No matter how powerful he was, no matter how high his status, no matter that he held military authority, no matter that he had become estranged from his family—there were still certain matters, certain people, and certain responsibilities he could not disregard.
Emperor Xia had been listless recently but had gradually improved these days, his mind clear again, and he occasionally attended court to handle state affairs.
No one dared to underestimate this emperor, who had reigned for many years and kept his intentions hidden. For years, he had always seemed this way—appearing indifferent to politics at any time—yet if anyone dared to overstep even slightly, they would face devastating consequences. The bloody extermination of the Lion King of Yanbei's entire family fourteen years ago was a stark example.
However, everyone also thought that the emperor was, after all, growing old. He was not a deity; he would not live forever. Now, with Zhao Che and Zhao Yang vying for the throne, whoever pleased the emperor more, whoever acted more in line with his wishes, would have a greater chance of winning. And at this moment, the emperor clearly favored the virtue umbrellas more. Who would be so tactless as to bring up the southwestern disaster to spoil the emperor's mood? Even Zhao Che had to consider his reputation among the western clans.
At that time, Zhao Che was not in Zhenhuang, and Zhuge Yue stood alone, forcibly extracting silver and provisions from the Ministry of Revenue, the grain departments, and the major merchant clans, continuously transporting them beyond the Three Passes. Yet it was merely a drop in the bucket.
Once, the Yaoguan garrison made a minor error in distributing food. Because provisions were scarce, the rice porridge was very thin. A soldier, facing the complaints of the people, spoke harshly, which unexpectedly triggered a small-scale riot among the local refugees. Soldiers and civilians clashed, resulting in over thirty soldier deaths, more than fifty civilian deaths, and nearly a hundred injured.When Yue Qi came to report, Zhuge Yue was in his study, and Chu Qiao happened to be there as well. She never pried into Zhuge Yue's affairs, but whenever she happened to be present, he never concealed anything from her. Thus, she heard the officials' various accusations against him, the curses and complaints from the people outside Yaoguan. With a grim expression, Yue Qi reported everything in detail—how they condemned him for embezzling relief supplies, called him a black-hearted, bloodsucking corrupt official, accused him of harming the common people, and cursed him for being heartless, predicting he would die without descendants.
He listened quietly, his face devoid of any expression, only signaling with his eyes for Yue Qi not to withhold anything when the latter hesitated to continue.
After Yue Qi left, she dared not approach him. The afternoon sunlight was unusually cold, casting a pale glow over his increasingly gaunt face. He sat in his chair, sipping tea calmly, as if nothing had happened. Yet Chu Qiao noticed the white jade teacup slowly leaking from its base. Though he held it in his hand, a crack had clearly spread across the cup's surface.
Yes, they were starving, facing death. Natural and man-made disasters struck one after another, leaving the people with no means of survival, while the government continued to embezzle and extort. They had every right to curse. However, they did not know that the court had tacitly approved this situation. No one would intervene to stop the local officials' exploitation, and all disaster reports were forcibly suppressed. The Secretariat's response was that all miscellaneous affairs must wait until after the Spring Banquet to be addressed.
And every bowl of porridge and grain they ate now came from the sale of Zhuge Yue's properties across the land. For a man as proud as him, it meant even stooping to win over merchants in the capital, urging them to join forces and help the people survive this famine.
He was exhausted, utterly spent. That was why he drank heavily, cursing the emperor's incompetence and the court's corruption at the dinner table, calling Zhao Yang a fool and vowing to behead him that very night.
He was truly drunk, hopelessly so.
That night, Chu Qiao personally escorted the half-drunk Zhao Che out of the residence. But as soon as they stepped beyond the gate, the previously unsteady seventh prince immediately straightened his posture, his eyes clear and sober. He said to her calmly, "Go back. Take good care of him."
Chu Qiao stood silently, watching him without a word.
Zhao Che's expression was somewhat cold. Standing face to face, it felt as if they had returned to many years ago. Back then, Daxia was prosperous and powerful, ranking first among the three kingdoms. He was the most favored prince, and she was the most prominent female instructor appointed by the emperor. Under the dark night sky, amid the sounds of slaughter outside the military camp, she had indifferently warned him, "If you take one step beyond the camp gates today, you will surely die."
How strange fate could be. Back then, they harbored ill intentions toward each other, scheming and guarding against one another. Who could have predicted that one day they would stand in the same trench, fighting side by side as comrades?
"The situation is already like this, and there is nothing more I can do. If this continues, we will be opposing the entire upper echelons of Daxia's nobility. Right now, we do not have the strength for that," Zhao Che said in a low voice, his face unreadable.
Chu Qiao stopped looking at him and turned to leave. Suddenly, Zhao Che called her name from behind. She turned back to see him speaking earnestly, "The fourth brother is a good man. Do not let him down."Chu Qiao's eyes narrowed into slits, a few glimmers of sharp light flashing through them like the edge of a keen blade. She spoke softly, her voice carrying an ethereal quality, "You are too."
Her words were so vague.
"You are too"—what did that mean? You are a good person too?
No, Zhao Che understood perfectly what she meant, but she didn't wait for his reply. She turned and left, her figure slender and frail, looking as if a mere gust of wind could carry her away.
He is a good person, and you must not let him down.
The sky was pitch black, dotted with countless stars, and the wind blowing from afar carried with it the scent of hunger from the west.
When Chu Qiao returned to her room, everything had been cleared away, and Zhuge Yue, who had been lying drunk on the bed, was nowhere to be seen. She made her way to the study and, as expected, found him sitting upright behind the desk, his gaze clear as he bent over the table, writing furiously.
She stood silently for a long time, watching as he finished writing, sealed the letter with wax, and only then did she slowly approach. She knelt before him, took one of his hands, and quietly rested her head on his lap without saying a word.
The candle in the room burned silently, occasionally sputtering with a soft crackle. The incense in the burner rose in a thin, wispy plume of smoke. His hand, dry and slender, gently brushed through her long hair.
"Xing'er."
He called her name softly, his voice thick with exhaustion and weariness. But after that single utterance, he fell silent again.
Her cheek pressed against his leg, her senses filled with his scent. Her voice, like gentle waves, echoed softly in the room as she whispered, "I understand everything."
His knee trembled slightly, and then he gripped her hand even tighter.
Yes, she understood everything. She understood his hardships, his fatigue, his disappointment in this nation, and his deep-seated disgust for everything around him.
The emperor was muddle-headed, the princes fought ruthlessly for the throne, the court officials were corrupt and incompetent, and every institution of the empire was decaying and paralyzed. Having endured the hardships of war and witnessed the suffering of the common people firsthand, having returned from the desolate and remote wilderness, how could he bear to watch the nation rot and the officials flaunt their ugly faces?
And yet, he was still a part of this brutal struggle for the throne. Once, he had naively believed that if Zhao Che ascended to power, everything would be overturned. But now, before they could seize control, they had to endure such a bitter and frigid winter. He didn't even know what would remain of this world once they stood atop the heaps of white bones and defeated all their enemies.
Civilization destroyed, people slaughtered, armies annihilated, nations overthrown—perhaps all that would remain were the two of them, facing a land scarred by war and chaos, with countless lives sacrificed for this battle.
Power and strategy—what did they truly mean? After the struggle, if it meant destroying everything, could they bear such a price?
"Xing'er, I am truly not a good person."
That night, as dawn approached, he whispered these words.
The following five days were a period of extreme darkness that shocked the entire Daxia and even the whole of Ximeng.Refugees beyond the Three Passes finally erupted into rebellion. They stormed the mansions of prominent western clans, seizing grain and money. Driven by hunger, they first begged; when begging failed, they stole; when stealing failed, they robbed; and when robbery failed, they ultimately rose in revolt.
Oppression breeds rebellion—the people had no choice but to rebel.
Hundreds of thousands of unarmed commoners armed with wooden clubs and stones smashed open the gates of wealthy households, igniting columns of black smoke across the western plains. Countless lives were lost in the chaos. The government troops in the Longxi region proved as fragile as paper figurines, collapsing before the refugees like wheat before a scythe. Though local officials repeatedly reported that the rebels were formidably organized with skilled commanders maneuvering behind the scenes, no one believed them—dismissing these accounts as mere excuses and sophistry.
Local officials and clan leaders who had just presented the "Ten Thousand People Umbrella" as a tribute were stunned. They rushed to submit memorials, but how could the capital officials dare contradict their own recent reports to the imperial court? They could only secretly dispatch troops to suppress the rebellion.
Yet Zhuge Yue, the Minister of War, retorted: "The empire enjoys universal peace. How could the people of Longxi—who just presented the Ten Thousand People Umbrella—commit such treasonous rebellion? This is utterly absurd!"
Thus, the deployment of troops was repeatedly delayed as the conflict in Longxi intensified. On the twenty-fourth of December, a galloping horse charged into the capital. The soldier on its back, drenched in blood, clutched a memorial from Longxi’s governor Cao Changqing before collapsing on the Glorious Imperial Way, vomiting blood.
Zhenhuang City was thrown into an uproar. The emperor, enraged, immediately suffered a migraine attack. He furiously rebuked the secretariat and all officials, stripping Zhao Yang of his title as Marquis of the Southwest on the spot. However, Zhao Che gained no advantage from this turmoil either. Instead, the previously inconspicuous seventeenth prince, Zhao Yi, was granted military authority over the southwest and sent from the capital to quell the rebellion. Zhuge Yue, punished for his delayed response, was confined to his residence for self-reflection. Despite Zhao Che’s repeated appeals to the emperor on his behalf, all pleas were rejected.
Yet Chu Qiao understood the origins of this rebellion. When Zhao Che visited Zhuge Yue’s residence, he flew into a rage upon seeing him, cursing him as a madman. Zhuge Yue merely laughed carefreely, slinging an arm around his shoulders as he said, "I did this to preserve resources for your future reign. If they all die, who will you rule as emperor?"
The Longxi rebellion left countless casualties—seventy to eighty percent of wealthy clans were destroyed, and nearly eighty thousand commoners perished in the conflict. But as Zhuge Yue had argued: rebelling cost eighty thousand lives, whereas not rebelling would have cost millions. This transaction was undoubtedly worthwhile.
Yes, worthwhile. The southwestern clans were decimated, the power of Young Lord Mu from Lingnan severely weakened, Jinghan suffered collateral damage, Zhao Yang was stripped of military authority after imperial reprimand, and Zhao Che—though gaining nothing—remained blameless. Only Zhuge Yue, under house arrest with suspended salary and forced introspection, temporarily withdrew from Daxia’s political stage.Everything seemed to proceed according to his predetermined plan, yet Chu Qiao clearly remembered how restless he had been during those days—how his heart burned with anxiety whenever news arrived of civilians being massacred en masse, respectable wealthy families slaughtered to the last member, local garrisons completely wiped out, or ordinary people turning to banditry and unleashing their savagery. Had there been the slightest misstep back then—if the forces he secretly dispatched had failed to control the rioters, failed to successfully evade local troops, or failed to incite mutiny among some soldiers—the outcome would have been a bloody morass, plunging the entire southwest into endless warfare with unimaginable consequences.
They were all correct—he truly was a madman.
She had worried he would grow despondent and heartbroken over being stripped of power, yet he was comforting her, saying he could finally spend the New Year with her.
When the Spring Banquet finally arrived, the gates of the once-powerful Minister of War stood desolate, but inside, rare laughter and joyous voices filled the air.
Although news of the southwestern unrest had reached the capital, it did not dampen the capital's liveliness and splendor on the day of the Spring Banquet. The streets and alleys buzzed with voices as the authorities organized wealthy merchants to set off fireworks in Ziwei Square. The laughter of children pierced through layers of walls and gates, carried by the gentle breeze into this solemn, towering mansion.
Three days prior, Zhuge Yue had ordered the mansion to undergo a fresh round of decorations. Bright red lanterns were hung high along the corridors and gateways, and vibrant paper-cuttings adorned the windows. Meticulous and skillful maids had crafted a variety of patterns: the East Sea God of Longevity, the Western Hills Deer of Longevity, the Eight Immortals Crossing the Sea, the Child-Giving Guanyin, and even the intricate Thousand Blessings Diagram. Pots of blooming flowers were displayed everywhere, a riot of colors and extravagant fragrances. The servants had all donned new clothes in shades of red and pink, creating an atmosphere of joyous celebration.
Zhuge Yue had also resumed the lifestyle he had followed years ago at Green Mountain Courtyard. He had always been a disciplined man, free from the frivolous habits typical of wealthy young men. Now, with more leisure time, his days grew even more tranquil. He focused earnestly on nurturing his health, spending his free time reading and gardening. Under Chu Qiao’s insistence, he also began morning exercises. The two would spar with each other, testing their skills with blades, spears, and staffs, often drawing the covert attention of the mansion’s servants. Over time, seeing that Zhuge Yue paid no mind, they grew bolder, occasionally even applauding and cheering during particularly thrilling exchanges.
Life grew increasingly serene and smooth, like the eye of a storm—so calm it was unsettling.
The New Year arrived quietly amid this atmosphere. She changed into her new clothes, a brilliant shade of red that illuminated her complexion like the rosy clouds of early spring, as if boundless joy and hope were seeping out. Zhuge Yue stood behind her, dressed in a misty blue robe, strikingly handsome. Casually picking up a pearl-adorned golden hairpin, he deftly gathered her dark tresses and secured them at her temples.
Chu Qiao gazed at her reflection in the mirror, momentarily lost in a daze. This version of herself seemed entirely unfamiliar. From a very young age, she had stubbornly believed that women dressing in bright reds and greens were utterly vulgar. Later, years of constant wandering and hardship left her with no energy for adornment. Yet today, wearing these vibrant colors, she felt waves of warmth washing over her. Her cheeks flushed like spring peaches, her eyes shimmered like autumn waters, and even the corners of her brows and lips betrayed irrepressible joy and warmth.
It turned out that what she had once deemed vulgar was merely a reflection of her state of mind at the time.
Mei Xiang stood nearby, beaming at her with delight. Zhuge Yue lazily stepped forward, smiled at the mirror, and said, "Truly, a beauty to overthrow cities and kingdoms."
Chu Qiao, embarrassed, pushed him lightly, her ears turning red. "Don’t exaggerate like that. Stop talking nonsense."
But Zhuge Yue grinned at her and said, "I was talking about myself. You’re overthinking it, aren’t you?"
Chu Qiao flared up in mock anger and reached out to pinch him. Zhuge Yue sidestepped her and remarked to Mei Xiang, "Look at your young lady. She gets all flustered just because I didn’t compliment her."
Mei Xiang simply smiled without retorting. Outside, the sunlight was exceptionally warm, and in the far distance, the crackling sounds of firecrackers had already begun to echo.This was the most joyful New Year Chu Qiao had experienced in many years. She even personally entered the kitchen to teach the servants how to make dumplings. When she tried to pull Zhuge Yue into joining them, the deeply chauvinistic man looked down on her efforts and sauntered away unhurriedly.
They ate the New Year's Eve dinner, set off firecrackers, and hung festive lanterns. When Zhuge Yue bit into a dumpling stuffed with a red date, all the servants came to congratulate him on his auspicious fortune in the coming year. In high spirits, he bestowed lavish rewards one after another, filling the entire residence with excited voices of gratitude. The gates of the Zhuge residence remained tightly shut, turning away all visitors. Only at midnight did Zhao Che send over two jars of fine wine. Chu Qiao and Zhuge Yue drank together until she grew dizzy and slumped drunkenly into his arms.
Outside, the servants set off firecrackers, their crackling sounds drifting indoors, brimming with joyous atmosphere. In her dazed state, Chu Qiao seemed to see Li Ce's fox-like smiling eyes. She reached out to touch them but grasped only empty air.
She was truly drunk, yet her mind remained unusually clear. Hazily, she recalled all these years—remembering Xiao Shi, Mao'er, Min Rui, Li Yang, her colleagues from the Military Intelligence Department, her white-haired grandfather, the hardships and struggles she had endured, the numerous life-and-death crises she had narrowly escaped, Mr. Wu, Miss Yu, Jing Zisu, so many who had died or still lived, and also Li Ce, Yan Xun...
Happiness had come so swiftly that she couldn't help worrying it was all just a dream.
Burying her face in Zhuge Yue's chest, she breathed in the soothing fragrance of pollia from his clothes. Her eyes grew slightly moist as she lifted her head to gaze at his handsome profile. Suddenly, her eyes brightened as she declared, "Zhuge Yue, I love you."
Zhuge Yue froze, looking down at her. Surrounded by servants, her voice rang out so clearly it even drowned out the crackling firecrackers. Everyone turned to stare at her in astonishment, but she paid them no mind, shouting even louder, "Zhuge Yue, I've fallen in love with you!"
A warm breeze swept through the hall, accompanied by soft chuckles. Jingjing and Mo'er's playful laughter echoed from afar. Her cheeks flushed crimson, her eyes shimmering like pooled water, she stared directly at him with an unwavering gaze. In just over half a year, she seemed to have regained the radiant beauty of her late teens. She simply gazed at him, smiling, her face practically emblazoned with the words "blissful happiness."
Whoosh—a gust of wind brushed past her ears as someone suddenly scooped her up horizontally. Then, to everyone's stunned disbelief, Zhuge Yue abandoned the half-eaten feast on the table and carried her straight back to the bedchamber.
The brocade quilts on the bed were brand new, all in festive bright red, embroidered with intricate patterns: mandarin ducks playing in water, the Cowherd and Weaver Girl, magpies forming a bridge, Guanyin presenting a son—every motif exuding warm, tender sweetness.
His dark eyes burned with intense desire as he tore open his collar, staring down at her fiercely. In a hoarse voice, he growled, "You little enchantress, I'm never giving you alcohol again."
With that, he lowered his head and captured her lips in a fierce kiss. His breathing was rapid and scorching, like a raging flame, leaving trails of tingling numbness wherever it touched.
A smile danced at the corners of her eyes as she wrapped her arms around his waist, responding to his passion with equal fervor.The room was dimly lit, draped in brocade, the long night filled with clamor. Outside, waves of lively laughter rose once more.
Life holds too many unpredictable variables. You never know when the storm will come, how fierce the waves will be, or whether they might easily overturn everything you currently possess. Those long-suppressed emotions, those words buried for years, those feelings held back with restraint—they had finally found an outlet. Everything in this world is unfathomable; all one can do is cherish what they have in the present.
Amidst the lavish silks and fluttering curtains, she lay enveloped in layers of luxury, clinging to his body. Fine beads of sweat emerged, her body and mind brimming with a satisfied weariness. Nestled in his embrace, she gazed over his shoulder toward the window. Through the paper pane, distant fireworks bloomed in brilliant splendor, roaming wantonly across the entire sky.
No matter what the future held, she would never be afraid again.
————Divider————
Next update tomorrow at 8 PM sharp.
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