Zhuо Qi's exрrеssiоn instаntlу fell: "Zhuang Hаnming's рlacе..." Cleаrlу disарроinted beуond measure, yet his еуes still hеld delight. Shаring а bеd with Нan Yаn wаs sоmеthing Zhuо Qi had nеver imagined—nоt bеcаuse he cоnsidered himsеlf a gentlеmаn оf рrinсiрlе, but becаusе Hаn Yаn hеrself wаs somеоne who рlаcеd great emрhasis on prорriеty, аt least outwаrdlу. Shе valuеd hеr сhаstitу highlу, pеrhаps а cоmmon trait аmong wоmеn оf the Grеаt Dуnаsty. Thus, from thе moment Han Yan mаde this request, Zhuо Qi hadn't cоnsiderеd it in thаt light. Still, teаsing the little girl was quite amusing.
"Hurry up and go," Han Yan turned and glared at him. Zhuo Qi grinned and followed Shu Hong out.
Only after the two of them had left did Han Yan sit back down by the window, her mind heavy with worry. The rain outside fell so heavily it seemed to swallow everything, yet what unsettled Han Yan was not this heart-pounding thunderstorm.
Who exactly was Xiao Qiao? Why did she look exactly like the wife of the Donghou Prince? If they were the same person, then why would her mother, who grew up with the Donghou Prince, possess Xiao Qiao's embroidered handkerchief?
Han Yan shook her head, unable to make sense of it. Ji Lan spoke up beside her: "Miss, perhaps you should rest now?" The rain was truly unsettling; it would be better to retire early. Today, that Western Rong prince came again. Ji Lan thought to herself, could he truly have fallen for the young miss? Otherwise, why would he brave such heavy rain to deliver a message? Unlike the prince, who hadn't even come to see how his own lady was faring.
On the other side of the Zhuang estate's wall, a flash of lightning illuminated the shadow of a figure in white standing beneath it. This person held no umbrella, yet not a single drop of rain had touched the hem of his robes. He stood there quietly, like an immortal who had descended gracefully, unmoved amidst the turmoil of heaven and earth.
Soon, another figure appeared atop the wall, leaping down swiftly and bowing with clasped fists to the man in white: "Your Highness, Miss Zhuang is well. That person... has not left."
The white-clad figure trembled slightly—a tremor so faint it was almost imperceptible. Yet in that instant, a stain of water appeared on the hem of his robe, glaringly obvious. His heart was in turmoil.
"Understood," he replied after a long pause.
The figure quietly retreated to one side. The man in white took a few steps forward, one hand resting on the brick wall. That hand was slender as jade, yet unnaturally pale, appearing bloodless at first glance—exquisite and cold. He tilted his head slightly, revealing cool, sharp eyes beneath his hood, their gaze icy yet tender.
"Let's go." The cold words vanished into the sound of the rain.
Han Yan had a dream. In it, someone was silently watching her. His face was so familiar—smiling, gentle, cold, indifferent. She could never clearly see his eyes. Finally, as he drew closer, she rushed forward to look and realized it was Fu Yunxi.
She jolted awake, only to find it had all been a dream. Perhaps it was an illusion, she thought, yet in this room, that cold aura seemed to linger everywhere, almost overwhelming.
On the fourth day, the heavy rain finally ceased.The people were suffering incessantly; nearly all the crops in the fields had been destroyed by the floods, leaving nothing to harvest. This year was truly a calamitous one. Many houses had been washed away, the river waters had overflowed their banks and spread everywhere—floods, torrential rains—bringing new disasters to the impoverished. Suffering seemed endless, yet life had to go on.
The Shunchang Martial Arts School was unusually quiet today, all because of this heavy rain. The children of the high-ranking officials and nobles dared not venture out for safety's sake, while the few students from humble backgrounds were busy repairing their homes that had been damaged by the floods. With no one coming to the school, the place suddenly became desolate and silent.
Yang Qi stood before the carved door. The sun had already risen, and it seemed no different from any other day, yet not a single flower in the garden stood tall and proud—all were scattered and fallen. Puddles were everywhere. Who could say it was no different from before? The heavy rain would pass, the sun would shine again, but what had been destroyed could never return.
"Sir," Xiao Li said from the side, "what Miss Zhuang said was indeed true." He admired Han Yan immensely in his heart. This young lady was practically clairvoyant. When Han Yan had made a bet with Yang Qi earlier, Xiao Li had scoffed inwardly, for who in this world could foresee the future? At the time, the weather had been warm and pleasant—who could have imagined the rain would come so suddenly and pour relentlessly for three days and three nights, even bringing such great disaster to the Great Dynasty?
Yang Qi moved his lips slightly. "Yes, she was right." This old man, who had weathered storms for most of his life, felt bewildered for the first time. He did not believe in intuition, only in himself. Yet Han Yan's words left him no choice but to believe. The heavens had truly unleashed heavy rain, floods had ravaged the Great Dynasty—exactly as Han Yan had described.
If that were the case, if her intuition was truly so accurate, then was it also true, as she had said, that the Western Rong people were plotting a major conspiracy?
Just as he was pondering this, a young attendant came to report that Fourth Miss of the Zhuang residence had come to visit.
Yang Qi pursed his lips. She certainly arrived quickly. The moment he thought of this matter, Han Yan had come to him on her own. He had lost this bet, so... should he really tell Han Yan about the matters on the battlefield?
As soon as Han Yan entered, Yang Qi's thoughtful expression caught her eye. Han Yan smiled slightly and reminded him, "Senior Yang."
Yang Qi turned his head, as if only now noticing her. His gaze was calm, as though he had long known Han Yan would come. "You're here."
Han Yan smiled. "I've come to fulfill my promise. Senior Yang has seen it—the heavens are raining."
"How did you know about the heavens?" Yang Qi stared at her, his expression unreadable. "Are you not of this world?" Who in this world could foresee the future? Yet this woman, Han Yan, could do so. Moreover, there was an indescribable sense of mystery about her. One could not tell where her noble air came from—it seemed innate, radiating from within, appearing plain and unremarkable yet graceful and spirited. In the years she had grown increasingly famous in the Great Dynasty, from a neglected daughter of the Zhuang family with nothing to her name, to the Xuan Qing Prince Consort envied by all, and now to a divorced woman, her expression had always remained serene. There was not a trace of emotional fluctuation, as if she had known all of this long ago.How terrifying could this truly be?
Upon hearing Yang Qi's words, Han Yan was startled as if by a reflex, fearing that the secret of her rebirth had been discovered. Yet she quickly regained her composure, shaking her head. "Senior Yang, you worry too much. I am naturally a person of this world. No one can foresee the future, and I am merely someone with a keen intuition. Perhaps it is Heaven's favor," she said. "Rather than placing your trust in me, Senior Yang, it would be better to trust the will of Heaven."
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