The Double

Chapter 232: The Past

That arrow was the one Yin Zhili shot when Ji Heng was taking Jiang Li away. He had originally aimed at Jiang Li, believing that killing her would make Ji Heng suffer unbearably. But perhaps at the last moment, a trace of reluctance surfaced, and he redirected the arrow toward Ji Heng instead.

The scene from twenty-three years ago at Red Mountain Temple was replaying—the same lone warrior charging deep into enemy territory, the same ambush on all sides. The only difference was that when Ji Mínghán went, Yu Hongye was already dead, whereas when Ji Heng went, Jiang Li was still alive. Perhaps it was precisely because the one he loved was still living that he managed to hold on for so long, driven by his desire to protect her.

Jiang Li could care about nothing else. Though slender and frail, her frantic desperation now unleashed a surge of energy, allowing her to drag Ji Heng into the cave. She also tethered the horse to a rock inside the cave and, in the darkness, searched for water and firewood. She needed to build a fire and boil water to tend to Ji Heng’s wounds. She was unfamiliar with this forest, but her past experiences in the woods of Tongxiang came to her aid. Still, finding dry branches in the snow was no easy task, and Jiang Li had to walk a long way before gathering a few. Carrying the firewood and a water flask she had filled, she hurried back to the cave.

Fortunately, Ji Heng’s horse still had tinder in its saddlebag. Jiang Li also found some medicinal powder on Ji Heng’s person, likely prepared by Situ Jiuyue before their departure. Using the tinder, Jiang Li started a fire and found a stone bowl to boil water. She took off her outer robe and spread it on the ground, laying Ji Heng on it. His eyes were tightly shut, and he showed no signs of consciousness. Tears instantly streamed down Jiang Li’s face.

She had always thought that Ji Heng was someone nothing could defeat—he appeared so powerful that it naturally gave others the illusion that he could not be injured, would not bleed, and would never fall. But in truth, Ji Heng was just an ordinary person. He was about the same age as Yin Zhili, and when wounded, he was just as vulnerable, possibly even on the brink of death forever.

Her hands trembling, Jiang Li forced herself to calm down. She could only mimic what she had seen physicians do in the past. She cleaned Ji Heng’s sword, removed his armor, and used the blade to cut away the clothing stuck to his flesh and blood, revealing the countless scars covering his body.

That day, he had dashed through a hail of arrows, using a shield to block most of them, yet some had still struck him. There were also cuts from blades and swords—his body was a mass of wounds. His skin was actually quite fair, and his physique was elegant, like a leopard brimming with strength. But now, these wounds and bloodstains resembled cracks covering a pristine porcelain vase, a sight that made one’s eyes well up with tears.

Jiang Li had to pull out the arrow.

She gripped the shaft.

Suddenly, words Wenren Yao had once spoken flashed through her mind. He said that when Ji Heng was fourteen, he had divined a fortune for him. The prediction stated that ten years later, Ji Heng would eventually meet disaster because of a woman, dying in the wilderness, his corpse devoured by eagles and dogs. Looking at it now, she truly was Ji Heng’s calamity. If not for saving her, Ji Heng would not have ventured into danger, nor would he be covered in wounds, his life hanging by a thread.

She pulled out the arrow.The body beneath her hands suddenly trembled violently, and she seemed to hear Ji Heng let out a muffled groan of pain. Jiang Li quickly turned to look at his expression—he was frowning, appearing deeply distressed. She called his name softly, but he remained unresponsive and gave no answer.

Suppressing her tears, Jiang Li used the torn piece of her skirt soaked in hot water to carefully clean his wounds. The medicinal powder proved useful now, and it was only then that she noticed the many old scars covering Ji Heng's body. They weren't arrow wounds and appeared to be from years past—a mix of fresh and old injuries, leaving his skin a horrifying tapestry of scars.

He had walked the line between life and death countless times. Just looking at those shocking wounds, one could imagine how perilous his past had been. Surviving until now truly spoke of his resilience, but behind that toughness lay sacrifices unimaginable to ordinary people. He was only twenty-four now—how many years had he been accustomed to this life of licking blood from blades? Twenty? Fourteen? Or even earlier?

Jiang Li couldn't bear to think further. Her heart felt stuffed with cotton, making it hard to breathe. Tears fell drop by drop onto the ground, unseen by anyone. Her mind drifted back to the daytime outside the tent, amid the wind and snow on the plains, watching that figure in red rushing toward her. He was usually someone who cared deeply about his appearance, preferring to do everything unhurriedly with elegance and grace. Yet, just to see her, he hadn't allowed himself a moment's delay.

What had she done to deserve this? Jiang Li thought sorrowfully. She hadn't given much to Ji Heng; her strength was too meager, making her a burden in these confrontations. Yet Ji Heng had given his most precious possession—his sincere heart.

Jiang Li realized that in this lifetime, her eyes would likely never hold space for anyone else, nor could she ever love another. Sometimes, a single moment becomes eternity. No matter what happened in the future, she would never forget everything about today.

She meticulously tended to Ji Heng's wounds, carefully bandaging each scar. Still, there was no news from Wen Ji. Afraid the firewood would run out during the night and attract wild beasts, Jiang Li ventured out again with tinder to gather more branches. She also set a few traps, hoping to catch one or two stray rabbits. Ji Heng was severely injured; if Wen Ji didn't arrive soon, he would need food upon waking, or his weakened body would recover even slower.

In this moment, she summoned all her former courage and resilience, understanding that sitting by Ji Heng's side weeping would accomplish nothing. She had to salvage what she could. She had once set traps with Xue Zhao in the jungle years ago, and now, doing it again wasn't difficult.

She made several trips back and forth, not daring to venture too far. Seeing that the cave now had enough firewood to last the entire night—and having actually caught a gray-furred wild rabbit—she was overjoyed. Using Ji Heng's treasured sword, she cleaned the rabbit and preserved it in snow, waiting for whenever Ji Heng woke to roast it for him.After completing everything, she still wanted to do more, as if keeping busy would bring her peace of mind. When there was truly nothing left to do, she draped all her own garments over Ji Heng, clad only in thin inner robes herself, and held him while keeping vigil. The fire burned quietly nearby, and Jiang Li suddenly felt an illusion—as if such tranquil days had already lasted a lifetime. Even with nothing, without luxurious food or fine clothing, as long as this person remained by her side, she would ask for nothing more in this life.

She continued holding Ji Heng like this, unaware of how much time had passed. When the fire in the cave gradually dimmed, she rose to add more firewood. Just then, Ji Heng stirred. She hurried to his side, anxiously calling his name: "Ji Heng!"

His eyes opened. He seemed to try moving, but his body was covered in wounds, and the attempt made him frown in pain. Jiang Li said, "Don't move. If you want water, I'll bring it to you." She fetched the water pouch filled with warm water, sat on the ground, rested his head on her lap, and carefully fed him sips.

His lips, moistened by the water, regained some color. He only asked, "Where is this?"

"We've entered the jungle. I'm not sure exactly where. You fainted, so I brought you to this cave. All the medicine you carried has been used up, and your wounds are bandaged. Are you hungry? I caught a rabbit—I can roast it for you," she chattered on.

Jiang Li wasn't usually talkative, but now she kept speaking, as if it could dispel the fear in her heart. Ji Heng smiled faintly, grasped her hand, and said, "Well done, little girl."

Tears instantly fell from Jiang Li's eyes.

Her tears were scalding, almost burning one's heart. Ji Heng said, "Don't cry. When I first saw you, you rarely shed tears and smiled most often. Why do you prefer crying now? Your father would blame me for making you cry."

When he first met Jiang Li, she indeed always smiled—a calm, gentle smile that never reached her eyes. Even when laughing, it felt as if she was hiding something deep inside. At that time, he had a wicked desire to see her lose composure, whether in panic or fear, to strip away her mask. Now that she stood before him completely unguarded, revealing her most vulnerable side, he couldn't bear to see her hurt and wished she would never feel sorrow again.

He reached out and gently wiped away her tears, saying, "Don't cry, Ali."

"You... you shouldn't have done this," Jiang Li choked out. "No matter what, your own life is the most important."

"You are the most important," he replied softly.

Jiang Li shook her head. "After I learned about Young Master Wenren's divination for you, I've always been terrified that I would cause your death. Ji Heng, if I were to cause your death, I could never be happy in this lifetime. That would mean nothing to me."

"Silly girl," he stroked her head and laughed. Jiang Li had never seen him smile so serenely, as if a great burden had been lifted. He said, "How could you cause my death? You saved me."

Jiang Li frowned."Last time when I was unhappy, you sang me a tune. This time you're crying, so let me sing an opera for you, alright?" He spoke as if a man coaxing his beloved little girl—infinitely doting, gentle, and indulgent.

Jiang Li looked at him, but before she could speak, he rested his head on her lap and slowly, ever so slowly, began to sing.

"In an instant, all past sentiments are obscured,

Understanding the bitterness, tears soak my sleeves."

His voice was soft, echoing through the mountain cave, unlike that of stage performers. He wasn't particularly emotional but narrated gently and in a flowing manner, as if telling a story. Yet he seemed like an audience member who had fallen deepest into the drama's spell. Joy and sorrow scattered into the night.

Jiang Li wanted to see Ji Heng's expression, but he had closed his eyes, making it impossible to glimpse his inner thoughts. The corners of his lips curved slightly, and his voice carried nostalgia. In the deep mountains and wild forests, he resembled a seductive demon luring travelers astray with his song, singing until romance filled the sky.

"I thought iron wealth was destined for life,

Who knew fate could change in a blink.

In younger days I too was willful and spoiled,

Now how dare I disbelieve past karma."

Jiang Li's gaze grew heavy. Why did this opera sound so familiar, as if she'd heard it somewhere before? In her memory, there seemed to be another person who had sung it—a clear, laughter-tinged female voice on some spring-intoxicated night, by the wall, in the courtyard, on the swing. That female voice gradually overlapped with Ji Heng's.

"This too is Heaven's lesson:

It teaches me to relinquish regrets, avoid willfulness,

Renew myself, change my nature,

Cease longing for vanished streams,

Turn back from the sea of bitterness,

And early comprehend orchid causes."

Jiang Li's lips gradually moved along, her voice blending with Ji Heng's—gentle and sorrowful.

"It teaches me to relinquish regrets, avoid willfulness,

Renew myself, change my nature,

Cease longing for vanished streams,

Turn back from the sea of bitterness,

And early comprehend orchid causes." The lyrics of The Locked Linang Pouch were bitter and self-mocking, lingering on the tongue like the character's anguish. Ji Heng rested his head on her lap, eyes slightly closed as if he had fallen asleep. Meanwhile, a long-buried memory—a night of vibrant flowers and willows, moonlit spring breeze in the city—unfolded before Jiang Li like a dusty painting suddenly cleaned, revealing its details.

...

Spring days, with blooming flowers and verdant willows, where even the night breeze carried lingering tenderness, brushing against faces with flirtatious lightness. The Duke's residence was cold and silent at night, not a voice heard in the courtyard. In a secluded room, a pale figure lay on the couch, eyes tightly shut. His once handsome face was now gaunt and skeletal, features sunken and terrifying.

Situ Jiuyue stood by the bed, whispering, "I'm sorry, I can't save him. The refined poison... was useless."

Hearing this, Old General Ji staggered and nearly fell. Situ Jiuyue caught him, preventing his collapse. Pointing at the man on the couch, the old general's eyes brimmed with grief, yet he forced a smile and said, "This... is for the best. For Minghan, he's finally free. A-Heng," he patted the young man beside him, "don't blame yourself. This isn't your fault."Lying on the bed was the Golden Crow General, Ji Mínghán. Ever since Wen Ji's father risked his life to bring Ji Mínghán back over twenty years ago, Old General Ji had been searching everywhere for a miracle doctor to cure the poison. Later, when Ji Heng rescued the Mo Lan Princess from Mo Lan, the Poisonous Consort Situ Jiuyue scoured the world for rare poisons from all corners. Situ Jiuyue used poison to counteract poison, restraining the toxin's spread, but it had reached the final moment—either wait for death or fight desperately.

Ji Heng chose to gamble. Unfortunately, heaven did not favor the Ji family. Even the poison Situ Jiuyue painstakingly developed could not save Ji Mínghán, and so he passed away. From the moment Ji Heng was born until now, from the first time he laid eyes on him, Ji Mínghán had always been in this dying state. Now, he could indeed be considered liberated, but until his death, he never opened his eyes to look at his son, nor did he exchange a single word with Ji Heng.

He left just so heartlessly.

The young man in red stood before the bed. He lowered his head, revealing his beautiful profile, yet no one could see the light in his eyes. He had been coming here for many years—from an ignorant child, gradually growing into a handsome youth, and now into this striking young man. He grew older and taller day by day, but Ji Mínghán on the bed never once opened his eyes to look at him. The young Ji Heng once felt wronged, thinking he had done something wrong that made his father unwilling to open his eyes and see him. But as he grew older and wandered through the darkness himself, he learned the terrifying, ugly truth. He no longer clung to futile hopes but plunged into hell personally, making deals with demons to secure a sliver of hope for the Duke's residence.

And now, he had personally extinguished that sliver of hope. Old General Ji worried that Ji Heng would blame himself, and though his own heart was shattered with grief, he forced himself to put on a brave face.

Ji Heng raised his head. In such a desolate atmosphere, his face even took on a tragically beautiful quality. Yet, he merely curled the corner of his lips, his expression calm and detached, his tone devoid of emotion, using the same dispassionate, forgettable tone he employed when watching operas: "Then let it be as he wished—scatter his ashes in my mother's tomb."

When Ji Mínghán was taken away by Wen Ji's father all those years ago, he was still conscious. His final instruction to his subordinates was that if he died, his body should be cremated, and his ashes buried with Yu Hongye, without anyone knowing. Ji Mínghán himself understood that his opponents were the Empress Dowager and Yin Zhan, and now, the Duke's residence only had his young son and elderly father. If the Empress Dowager wanted to eliminate witnesses, she might not spare this grandfather and grandson either. Without absolute preparedness, they could not act rashly and could only feign ignorance.The act of playing dumb was originally Old General Ji's own decision. In the matter of Yu Hongye, he had feigned ignorance, but it ended up causing his own son to end up in such a state. Later, playing dumb became something Old General Ji had no choice but to do. At first, he had wanted to keep it from Ji Heng, intending to tell him when he was a little older. But at some point, the grown-up Ji Heng had become capricious and unpredictable, leaving even his grandfather sometimes unable to fathom his thoughts. It wasn't until the young Ji Heng brought Situ Jiuyue back from Molan and, in the study, asked Old General Ji if he knew who had killed Yu Hongye and Ji Mínghán all those years ago, that Old General Ji realized this grandson had long since grown up at an astonishing speed, unbeknownst to him. He had already uncovered the truth on his own and was preparing for revenge.

Old General Ji could no longer influence Ji Heng's decisions. He didn't even know what Ji Heng intended to do. Ji Heng refused to have heart-to-heart talks with him; whenever Old General Ji inquired, he would smile and brush it off with an absent-mindedness that even the gardeners in the estate could see.

But tonight, Old General Ji felt that although Ji Heng wore a smile on his face, his heart was weeping. Though he spoke and laughed as if nothing weighed on his mind, Old General Ji was suddenly reminded of the young Ji Heng, crying and shaking Ji Mínghán on the bed, plaintively asking why his father wouldn't wake up to see him. After all these years, that little Ji Heng seemed to overlap with the one before him now, leaving Old General Ji momentarily dazed.

Ji Heng didn't linger any longer on the person lying on the bed. He turned and walked out. Old General Ji called after him, asking, "Where are you going?"

"Just going for a walk."

As Old General Ji was about to say more, Situ Jiuyue tugged at his sleeve, shook her head, and whispered, "Let him be alone for a while."

By the time Old General Ji looked toward the door again, Ji Heng was already gone.

It was the day of the Spring Welcoming Festival, and by evening, the temple fair grew even livelier. The city's lake was densely dotted with floating lanterns, while young ladies and matrons, dressed in carefully chosen attire, released lantern boats by the shore. On the streets, crowds watching acrobatic performances erupted in cheers from time to time. There were artisans molding clay figures and blowing sugar sculptures, and children, their hands full of trinkets, tugged at their parents' sleeves. In the taverns, talented scholars engaged in poetry contests, showcasing their skills one after another—everywhere was a scene of prosperity.

Ji Heng strolled slowly along the lakeside. He held an ornate golden-fan, his crimson robe sweeping the ground. His appearance could truly be described as "captivating all who beheld him." As he walked, everyone couldn't help but cast glances his way, both admiring and fearful, worried that the unpredictable Duke Su might suddenly fly into a rage and unleash carnage. Only the young ladies venturing out for the first time dared to stare directly at Ji Heng, yet they would soon grow dazed by his unparalleled beauty and lower their heads in self-conscious inadequacy.From the boat on the lake came faint sounds of song and dance, while not far away stood an opera stage where performers sang, their audience crowding below. The indistinct melodies drifted through the air as he strolled unhurriedly through the bustling scene. He appeared more resplendent than the splendor surrounding him, yet stood apart from the revelry like a fox-spirit transformed into a beauty walking through a mortal market—unmoved by the worldly pleasures, his gaze passing over them with disdain.

A smile played upon Ji Heng’s lips, his amber eyes brimming with boundless frivolity and charm. Yet in his heart, amid the warmth of spring, everything had frozen to ice.

His father was dead. Had he not urged Situ Jiuyue to attempt saving Ji Mínghán, his father might have lived another year—a year that could have held other possibilities. But because he chose to gamble, Ji Mínghán was forced to bear the risk, and so he died on this lively spring night. And Ji Heng had not shed a single tear.

Perhaps he truly was heartless, as cold and unfeeling as the rumors claimed, able to remain unmoved by his own father’s death. Yet Ji Heng also felt as if a great chasm had been torn open in his heart, through which fierce winds howled, leaving him hollowed out and empty.

The Duke’s residence was opulent and wielded immense power, yet from his earliest memories, it had felt as desolate as a magnificent tomb. Growing up there, he seemed to have never known a time of innocent naivety—his maturity was unnervingly premature. Reflecting now, it seemed he had begun preparing for revenge from a time long, long ago.

The targets of his revenge were one, the lofty Empress who had now become the Empress Dowager, and the other, a distant Prince in the clouds whose troops were fierce and formidable. But what did he have? Only an empty shell of a Duke's residence and the Imperial Guards who did not heed his commands.

Building from nothing was a long process. Throughout this lengthy journey, Ji Heng held no expectations. Revenge was different from other desires. Some who wished to become officials studied relentlessly, aiming to pass the imperial examinations in one go. Those who sought wealth engaged in business, diligent and resourceful. Some aspired to marry into noble families, while others yearned to wander the world freely. Everyone had their own dreams, and through their efforts, they would naturally attain what they sought once their wishes were fulfilled.

But what could he gain?

He had known from the start that this revenge was merely about settling a life debt owed many years ago. Yet, even this debt could not be claimed through ordinary means. What were justice and righteousness? Fleeting illusions—such things did not truly exist in this world. It was better to carve a path out of the darkness, from within the darkness itself. And at the end of that path, he would gain nothing. Ji Mínghán and Yu Hongye would not return to life, and the carefree days of his youth, which should have been like those of any noble scion, would never come back.

The end of darkness was still darkness. It seemed he would never find the light he ought to chase. When Ji Mínghán was still alive, Ji Heng had clung to a naive hope—that one day, Ji Mínghán would awaken, look at him, and proudly praise how tall and powerful his son had grown.

But in the end, there was nothing. It seemed Heaven was punishing him for daring to harbor such a naive fantasy, severing even that slender thread of hope. He was utterly plunged into darkness, with no possibility of emerging again.

So be it. There was nothing wrong with that. After all, life itself was but a journey through a sea of suffering—sooner or later, it would come to an end.

He lifted his head, his smile growing even more captivating.

Following the bustle and the cheers of the crowd, he slowly walked on. Gradually, the lanterns faded behind him, the prosperity receded, and he drifted into the streets. It seemed like a place where the poor resided, with few people moving through the alleys at night. He walked slowly, merging with the night, stepping into the darkness.

A gentle breeze stirred in the distance. On a spring night, even the wind was intoxicating. Ji Heng looked up at the sky, where the Milky Way sparkled brilliantly, like tender gazes from above. Leaning against the wall, he slowly, slowly slid down to sit.

He was truly exhausted.

Just walking on and on, not knowing when it would all end. In all the years past, Ji Heng had never once felt he couldn't persevere. He was young, cunning, sinister, ruthless—there was no extreme he wouldn't employ, and nothing he couldn't accomplish. He did not hesitate to sacrifice or exploit anyone or anything to achieve his goals.

But that resolve crumbled abruptly tonight. Ji Mínghán's death had genuinely wearied his heart. He wasn't afraid, only lost, wondering how much longer such days would last and whether anything he did held any meaning at all. Yu Hongye had been dead for many years, and now Ji Mínghán was gone too. None of his efforts would be witnessed by either of them. His enemies lived in luxury and comfort—what could he possibly do?He was so desperate he wished he could die.

Just then, from the other side of the wall, came the sound of a woman speaking. Someone said, "Madam, they've all gone out. Aren't you sad, staying alone in the mansion?"

Immediately after, he heard a clear voice, tinged with laughter: "Why should I be sad?"

(End of Chapter)