For a moment, Chu Qiao even thought she had seen Yan Xun again.
There wasn’t a trace of moonlight outside, only the howling wind and swirling snow that lashed against one’s face like icy blades. The figure stood there, wrapped in a cloak that revealed only a pair of deep-set eyes, piercing through the layers of wind and snow, fixed intently on her. The candles in the room had been extinguished the moment the door opened, leaving only the faint, pale gleam of snow shimmering in the pitch-black night, making the hazy silhouette appear all the more heavy and oppressive.
It felt like a long time, yet also like just an instant. The figure slowly stepped forward, lowering his head slightly, his steps betraying a hint of weariness. A gaunt hand rose to his mouth as he let out a soft cough.
The door closed, and the three of them stood in the cramped memorial hall, making the space feel even more confined. The hunchbacked servant in blue swiftly relit the white candles. The dim light gradually illuminated the surroundings, revealing the graying hair beneath the figure’s cloak and the wrinkled hands hidden beneath his sleeves.
The low stool Chu Qiao had used to bar the door was wiped clean by the servant. The figure sat down, coughing intermittently, his back hunched, faintly revealing how frail his body was beneath his robes.
Chu Qiao remained standing where she was, silent from the moment they entered. She even felt a flicker of confusion—why had this sickly, emaciated man startled her so much at first, making her think it was Yan Xun himself?
The servant retreated to stand by the door, his entire body concealed in the shadows of the lamplight, head bowed like a silent stone.
The hazy light fell softly around them. Wind poured in through the exposed gaps in the roof, howling loudly, causing the candle flames to flicker unsteadily, as if they might go out at any moment. Suddenly, the figure lifted his head, his deep eyes fixed on her, and said abruptly, "The wind and snow tonight are truly fierce."
Chu Qiao was taken aback, but for some reason, she felt an inexplicable tension in this man’s presence. It was as if a low, oppressive aura emanated from him, gradually filling the entire room, making even her breathing feel heavy.
"Yes, they are indeed fierce," she nodded, speaking quietly.
"It’s been many years since we’ve had such heavy snow," the man said, his voice betraying undeniable age and weariness. "It seems it was the winter fifteen years ago when we last had a storm like this—so fierce it even broke the old locust tree in front of the Capital Magistrate’s residence."
Fifteen years ago...
That was the year Yan Xun’s family fell from grace. In that bitterly cold winter, they had huddled in the dilapidated post station south of the city, burning everything they could find in the room, yet still ending up covered in frostbite.
"Was the Lantern Festival lively this year?"
The man asked as though it were the most natural thing in the world, as if they were old friends catching up.
Chu Qiao tilted her head slightly and replied, "The weather was unkind—it ruined what should have been a splendid celebration. Were you, sir, also here for the lanterns and stranded by the storm?"
The man chuckled softly. "With a body like mine, what would I be doing at a lantern festival?"
Chu Qiao raised an eyebrow slightly and asked in a measured tone, "Then, sir, have you come specifically to pay respects to the old Prince Yan?"
Though she couldn’t see his face, Chu Qiao could imagine his silent smile.From the far distance came the lingering sound of bells and drums—the eighteen night-watch beats of the Lantern Festival, originating from the Celestial Tower within the Holy Gold Palace. Presided over by the Imperial Astronomer, esteemed monks burned incense, paid homage to the Buddha, and chanted the Scripture of Peace, praying for favorable weather and national prosperity in the coming year.
Hearing the sound, Chu Qiao turned her head slightly toward the direction it came from, her gaze distant and lost in thought.
"This funeral parlor is so desolate. Aren't you afraid, a young woman like you, staying alone in this mourning chamber?"
Chu Qiao turned to look at the old man, aware that anyone who could enter the funeral parlor so easily without being detected by Yue Shisan and his men was certainly no ordinary person. She mentally reviewed the few individuals who might come here at this hour but could not place this figure, growing increasingly puzzled. Yet she showed no sign of it on her face, merely smiling faintly and saying, "With a clear conscience, there is nothing to fear. Compared to the human heart, so-called wandering spirits and wild ghosts are far more benevolent."
"A clear conscience?" The old man's tone lifted slightly as he chuckled softly. "In this world, how many can truly live up to those words?"
"As long as one believes they do, that is enough." Chu Qiao stood where she was, her snow-white fur robe appearing especially elegant under the lamplight, her cheeks smooth and haloed in a soft white glow. She spoke calmly, "Some serve as incorruptible officials their entire lives, loyal to the state, taking nothing from the people, remaining upright and clear-hearted. Others may lead ordinary lives, toiling to support their families, yet never committing crimes or wrongdoings, so they carry no guilt or regret—they, too, can claim a clear conscience. Peace of mind depends on oneself, not on one's achievements."
The old man raised his eyebrows slightly. A gust of wind swept up the ashes of paper offerings from the ground, lightly settling them on the hem of his robe. After a moment of contemplation, he smiled and said, "You speak wisely."
"The wind and snow outside are so fierce. For you to come here in the dead of night, sir, you must be burdened by something."
"When one grows old, it's hard not to dwell on the fleeting memories of life."
A sudden gale blew the door open, extinguishing all the candles in the room in an instant. The old servant, though advanced in years, moved with agility, swiftly closing the door and preparing to relight the lamps. The old man lifted his eyes, gazing into the dark, shadowy rows of coffins, his smile fading bit by bit. He waved a hand and said, "Leave it as it is."
The room fell into silence, broken only by the howling wind overhead. As their eyes adjusted to the darkness, the faint light from the snow outside allowed them to vaguely discern each other's silhouettes.
The old man removed his cloak and said, "Perhaps he does not wish to see me."
"I've brought wine. Will you share a drink with me?"
Before Chu Qiao could respond, the old servant stepped forward, spreading a silk cloth on the floor and placing two cups and a translucent white jade flask that glowed faintly in the dark. The cups were filled, and the aroma of wine filled the air. The old servant respectfully offered a cup to Chu Qiao with both hands. She sniffed it and said, "This is Qing Nü Jiao from Qingqiu."
The old man chuckled approvingly. "A keen nose."
Chu Qiao smiled. "I may not hold my liquor well, but I have a talent for identifying scents."
With that, she took a silver hairpin from her hair, dipped it into the cup, and after a moment, withdrew it and sniffed it. Satisfied, she raised the cup and drank, praising, "Truly, an excellent wine."The old man wasn't annoyed when she openly tested for poison right before him. Instead, he showed great interest and said, "Lend me your hairpin as well."
Chu Qiao was slightly taken aback and asked, "You don't even trust the wine you brought yourself?"
"It never hurts to be cautious."
Imitating Chu Qiao's method, the old man dipped the silver hairpin into the wine cup. Then he pulled out a fire starter from his robe, lit it, and examined the hairpin under the flame for a long time before finally drinking the wine.
Chu Qiao chuckled, "Actually, doing it this way makes it even less reliable."
The old man looked surprised and asked, "Why?"
"Not all poisons corrode silver. Moreover, just in the process of me handing you the hairpin, there were many ways to poison it. Even without poison, aren't you afraid I might be an assassin since you're so close to me?"
The old man looked at her without a trace of panic and instead asked very seriously, "Are you?"
"If I said no, would you believe me?"
The old man frowned, seemingly deep in thought. After a long while, he said, "I'm not quite convinced."
Chu Qiao laughed softly and said, "Exactly. A farmer might want to eat chicken today, so he doesn't slaughter the pig, but that doesn't mean he won't slaughter it tomorrow."
"You're comparing me to a pig?"
"No, no," Chu Qiao shook her head. "Someone like you is three parts wolf, three parts snake, and the remaining four parts I can't quite figure out. But in any case, you're not an easy one to deal with."
The old man laughed and said to the elderly servant at the door, "Look at this girl's tongue—it rivals the hundreds of venomous pens and iron teeth in the Censorate."
The old man seemed quite pleased and casually invited Chu Qiao to sit and drink with him. The wind and snow outside grew heavier. Chu Qiao pulled over a chair, wiped it clean, and sat down, drinking cup after cup with him.
The surroundings were pitch black, with only a few beams of light filtering through the roof.
The wine had an enticing aroma; once you took the first sip, it lured you into wanting a second. Even if the wine wasn't poisoned, drinking too much would still make one dizzy. After who knows how long, Chu Qiao's head gradually grew heavy. She leaned over the chair, resting her head on her hand, and slowly closed her eyes. She chatted intermittently with the old man, and it seemed they talked about a great many things, but she gradually couldn't remember them anymore. Her heart was very calm, as if vast stretches of snow-white waves were gently washing over her, softly brushing against her pale fingers and cheeks.
It was as if she had returned to her childhood, when her grandfather held her and meticulously taught her the Emperor's Long Fist, battlefield grappling techniques, acupoint recognition and attacks, and how to use various weapons and daggers. He even made her recite the Chairman's quotations over and over. Every morning, she had to stand beneath the Party emblem and take an oath. She was only a few years old at the time, but she still felt the solemnity and reverence. Standing behind her elderly yet still robust grandfather, she loudly repeated, "Loyal to the Chairman, loyal to the Party, loyal to the people. I voluntarily offer my life when the nation and the people need it..."Then the scene shifted to a cold, deep palace, with a large moon hanging overhead. A boy stood stubbornly before her, biting his lips in anger as he stared at the new hairpin in her hair, refusing to speak. Frightened, she quickly removed the hairpin and nervously tried to soothe him, explaining that Zhao Shisan had forced it on her and she didn’t like it at all. After a long while, he hesitantly produced an ugly hairpin from his palm, seemingly handcrafted from a polished copper strip—plain and unadorned. His fingers were chapped and bleeding in several places, hastily wrapped in a silk cloth.
Then, a pair of fox-like eyes emerged from the rippling water. A man in resplendent crimson robes sat atop a waterside pavilion, playing a long flute with flair. A crowd of lavishly dressed girls surrounded him, their eyes intoxicated as if they had drunk two jars of Nü’er Hong wine. Spotting her from afar, he suddenly stood up, waving vigorously and shouting, "Qiaoqiao! Qiaoqiao! Come here quickly—"
Abruptly, the scene shifted again, the shimmering reflections fading away as wisps of mist drifted along an ancient road. Light and shadows cascaded, drifting as if through a long lifetime, transforming into that aloof and handsome man. It was the Lantern Festival three years ago; he was sulking because she refused to accompany him to Qinghai. He stomped ahead angrily, ignoring her entirely, and before leaving, he furiously called her a stubborn fool. Enraged, she picked up a clod of dirt and threw it from behind, hitting him squarely on the head. His face turned ashen with fury, and he glared back at her viciously.
Then, the boat swayed gently as they embraced in a fine, drizzling rain. He murmured softly in her ear, "I’m so happy, I’ve never been this happy before…"
Just then, a childlike voice echoed in her ears: "In the end, he died, and he died too. She was left heartbroken and departed, eventually dying as well, leaving only him alone."
Yes, yes—she was dreaming. Li Ce was already dead, killed by his own mother, right in her arms. She saw the large, crimson blossoms of blood spreading across his chest, felt his cold body and closed eyelids. He had died leaning on her shoulder, never again to laughingly call her name, never again to pinch her cheeks, never again to climb through her window at night into her bedchamber, never again to secretly read the letters Zhuge Yue sent her, never again to gaze at her tenderly when she was sad, holding her in his arms and saying, "Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid. You still have me, and you have Zhuge Yue. Even Yan Xun wouldn’t truly harm you."The world was filled with the vast northern winds, and crimson snow fell from the sky. She saw Zhuge Yue and Yan Xun confronting each other on the battlefield. She saw the souls of thousands floating in the heavens, heard the mournful cries of the earth, and the piercing howl of the wind. She saw a crack in the sky, from which thick, dark red blood slowly seeped, dripping onto the blood-soaked land. She saw Zhuge Yue fall, his back split open—still the wound she had inflicted many years ago—and a cold, sharp sword piercing through his body. She saw Yan Xun standing atop a mountain of bloody corpses, holding a three-foot bloodstained sword. Thousands of arrows rained down, plunging the world into darkness. He stood at the pinnacle of the heavens and earth, crimson liquid continuously seeping from beneath his feet, his body riddled with arrows, yet he refused to fall.
A tidal wave of soldiers surged forth, and all the scenes shattered. The Quanrong’s wolf blades shattered the territory of Ximeng. She knelt on the icy plains of Thousand Zhang Lake, watching the world collapse in an instant. In her ears echoed his low, repeated plea:
"Live on, live on, live on—"
Tears streamed down her face, one after another, spilling over her sharp chin and dripping into her snow-white fur coat.
The old man stood before her, his face no longer bearing the earlier smile, now detached and distant. He turned to the old servant and asked, "Is it her?"
The servant, forever humble and bent at the waist, replied softly, "It is her."
The old man smiled faintly, but there was no trace of warmth in his eyes. "I never thought we would meet here."
The servant bowed slightly but did not respond. After a moment of contemplation, the old man suddenly reached out and brushed his fingertip across Chu Qiao’s cheek, touching a drop of cold, wet moisture. Startled, he placed his fingertip to his mouth, his tongue slowly tasting the salty bitterness.
"Anfu, has anyone ever cried after drinking the Yellow Millet Wine?"
The room was dim, and the old servant seemed not to have noticed the woman sitting silently in the chair, quietly weeping. He quickly lit a candle and brought it close to Chu Qiao, examining her carefully. For a moment, he too was stunned.
Tears fell in streams, silent and unbroken, like scattered pearls from a broken string.
Anfu’s voice carried a hint of astonishment. After a long pause, he finally said slowly, "I have never heard of anyone crying after drinking the Yellow Millet Wine. This woman must harbor immense sorrow in her heart."
After saying this, Anfu frowned slightly, as if puzzled.
"With such a noble status, could she still have sorrow?"
The old man smiled faintly and said calmly, "The more one believes they have grasped happiness, the more they fear the day it might slip away. In this child’s heart, there is likely a fear even she cannot control."
"Your Majesty, it is getting late. We should return."
The old man nodded, donned his cloak, and walked to the door. Suddenly, he turned back and fixed his gaze on a coffin placed in the center of the room.
"Shicheng, how many more years of fate do you think Daxia has left?"
A cold wind blew, making his figure appear frail and thin. He coughed lightly a few times, then chuckled softly as he opened the door and walked out.
A lone lamp flickered, casting a pale, ghastly light. It swayed in the wind several times but did not go out.
The woman, dressed in white, leaned back in her chair, her head tilted slightly. Tears streamed down her face, silent and serene, like the tranquil surface of a peaceful lake.She didn't know how much time had passed when she seemed to hear voices nearby. Frowning slightly, the bright lamplight felt somewhat harsh to her eyes. Mei Xiang's cheerful voice sounded by her ear: "She's awake, she's awake! Wonderful!"
Chu Qiao frowned and saw only Mei Xiang standing beside her, while Huan'er stood on the other side holding a lantern, both watching her with great concern.
"Young mistress, are you alright?"
Chu Qiao glanced around but could no longer see any trace of the old man. Somewhat distracted, she said lightly: "It's nothing, I just accidentally fell asleep."
Mei Xiang immediately complained: "It's so cold here, how could you sleep here, young mistress?"
"I think Madam is too tired. The wind and snow have eased considerably outside, we should hurry back to the residence."
The group boarded the carriage, with Rong'er still sound asleep and Mo'er curled up in Jingjing's arms, barely able to keep his eyes open.
The lively Lantern Festival had been scattered by the snowstorm. Along their return journey, they saw broken lantern fragments everywhere, the streets empty and desolate. She lifted the carriage curtain and looked into the distance - everywhere appeared cold and bleak without a single light, except for a solitary white lantern hanging intact before the funeral parlor's entrance, somehow having survived the recent storm.
It was already late at night when they returned to the residence. Yue Liu was waiting at the gate and breathed a long sigh of relief upon seeing them. He came forward to say that Zhuge Yue had returned long ago and had already gone out searching for her several times.
Chu Qiao hurried back to her room. Entering the main hall, she removed her heavy fur coat and handed it to a servant, then tiptoed quietly into the bedchamber.
Returning from such a cold place to her home, warm air greeted her face. Premium agarwood incense burned in the censer, its slender smoke coiling upward in spirals. The room was very quiet, without any sound. She walked over quietly and saw him lying on the bed fully clothed, already asleep, his face slightly flushed. His brows were tightly knit as if something angered him even in his dreams.
His breathing was somewhat heavy, carrying the strong scent of alcohol. His alcohol tolerance had never been particularly good - he must have drunk quite a lot tonight to fall asleep like this.
Hanging from the red sandalwood bedpost was an exquisitely crafted small lantern, with red eyes and long ears - a remarkably lifelike rabbit shape.
She removed her shoes and lay down beside him, breathing in his scent, listening to his deep breathing. Her cold heart gradually warmed.
She reached out and wrapped her arms around his waist, dispelling that desperate dream.
No, absolutely not.
They would be together, they would live well. They would have children. They would leave this place together and begin their lives in a new place.
It must be like this. It must be.
After the Spring Banquet, the Great Xia Dynasty's weakness became increasingly apparent. Refugees were everywhere in the Longxi region - walking along the post roads, one could commonly see commoners selling their wives and children or exchanging children to eat. Although the court had issued disaster relief proclamations, and Emperor Xia had exhausted efforts to mobilize treasury funds, Daxia simply lacked sufficient national strength. War was like a ravenous beast, opening its bloody maw - within just a few short years, it had reduced what was once a flourishing empire to skin and bones.However, life in Yanbei was not easy either. Although they had managed to survive the harsh winter with the provisions seized from Biantang, they were now struggling to get by day by day. Under such circumstances, there were no large-scale military conflicts at the border at the beginning of the year. Both Yanbei's eastward expansion and Daxia's northern campaign were slowed down by this natural disaster.
On the first day of the third month, Emperor Xia granted the Northern Hu region to Zhao Che as his fiefdom. Although everyone knew Zhao Che was the lord of the northern territories, there had never been an official imperial decree. Now that Emperor Xia had placed the Hu people—who had not suffered from the disaster—under Zhao Che's command at this critical moment, intense speculation erupted throughout the court and the public.
On the seventh day of the third month, Grand Marshal Zhuge Yue finally ended his period of seclusion at home and returned to the Elder Council. The seventeenth prince, Zhao Qi, also extended goodwill toward Zhao Che. For a time, the seventh prince Zhao Che's influence in the court rose significantly, and his power grew day by day. Zhao Yang remained secluded in his residence all day, claiming illness to the emperor, and had not attended court or handled state affairs for two consecutive months.
However, on the thirteenth day of the third month, a dispatch from Yanbei that reached the capital made Chu Qiao deeply concerned.
The main content was nothing substantial—Yan Xun merely wished to establish trade relations with Daxia at the border, exchanging horses and iron ore for Daxia's grain, tea, salt, and silk.
This naturally provoked widespread ridicule in the Daxia court. The officials mocked Yanbei for being so destitute and desperate as to consider doing business with Daxia. Although Daxia also lacked warhorses and iron ore, they could still trade with Biantang and Huai Song. Unlike Yanbei, which had only one route—through Daxia—once Biantang sealed its passes.
Unsurprisingly, Daxia paid no heed to Yanbei. Instead, the Censorate and the Secretariat joined forces for the first time, composing a lengthy, scathing memorial that derided Yan Xun for his wild fantasies and ignorance of his own limitations.
For both nations, this matter was hardly significant, yet it starkly revealed Yanbei’s decline and desperation. Although Daxia was not faring much better, seeing their enemy in an even sorrier state emboldened the Daxia officials. A group of arrogant scholars clamored day and night for Yanbei’s annihilation, acting as though a mere wave of their hands could make Yanbei vanish. Even distant imperial relatives and nobles wrote to Zhuge Yue, urging him to lead troops into Yanbei and eradicate its "beggars" once and for all.
Watching the court’s frenzied antics with a cold eye, Zhuge Yue could not help but sneer. In private, he mocked, "Yan Xun’s methods aren’t particularly clever, but they hit the mark perfectly. With just a few words, he’s driven the entire Zhenhuang court mad."
When he said this, Chu Qiao felt a chill run down her spine. Zhuge Yue had already seen one step further than most, recognizing that Yan Xun was deliberately feigning weakness to lure the Daxia Army beyond the passes. Yet having lived with Yan Xun for years, Chu Qiao knew his character intimately—even in death, he would never show weakness to his enemies. Was it truly worth such a great sacrifice merely to deceive the enemy and plan for a single battle?
Winter passed, and spring arrived once more with blooming flowers, yet a sinister chill lingered. Opening the window, one could still see unmelted icicles.
This winter seemed especially long. —————Division—————
Grabbing a meal first. The second update will be around 10 tonight. If the word count isn’t met, there’ll be a third update after midnight.
OpenNovel