The moon shone over Yiling, and all was silent.

After the great battle, Lizhu and the others rested in the government office. The soldiers acting under her command were still searching the city for members of Zhao’s faction. The entire city was under lockdown, and over at the Pei residence, it was also deathly quiet.

Under the silvery frost of the moonlight, Jie Yun quietly pushed open a door, avoiding others as he stealthily moved toward another room.

The guards outside had already been sent away by him. Jie Yun’s hand fell onto the latch.

Behind him, footsteps suddenly sounded.

“—Jie Yun, what are you doing?”

Jie Yun turned around abruptly, and sure enough, beneath the shadow of the bamboo under the moon, stood a tall and elegant figure.

That person’s brows and eyes, as light as ink, furrowed slightly, and his gaze toward him carried displeasure.

“Master!”

Jie Yun immediately knelt down, a thin layer of sweat forming on his back.

“I… I…”

In this courtyard were detained the Pei brothers, Pei Conglu and Pei Congxun.

Jie Yun had been ordered to eradicate them completely. He had waited patiently for many days, only to seize this chance when Princess Qinghe and those mountain bandits were away. Yet he hadn’t expected to be caught red-handed by his master!

The Minister of State had already instructed that this matter must never be known to the young master.

Lowering his head, Jie Yun’s mind spun rapidly, and within a single breath he had already thought of an excuse.

“Your subordinate only saw that the bandit chief relied on the Princess’s trust and acted disrespectfully toward the young master, so I devised this plan, intending to make the Princess despise him. I never thought she trusted him to such an extent. Your subordinate feared the Princess might blame this matter on the young master, so I had no choice but to take his life… I beg your pardon, my lord.”

Tan Xun stepped forward, slowly walking to stand before Jie Yun.

“The one you wish to kill, is it that dancing girl?”

Jie Yun replied, “It is.”

He waited for a long time without hearing his master speak, unease rising in his chest. After a while, the young master finally said:

“…That dancing girl is but a weak woman, used by others for her own survival. How could I possibly imprison her together with the Pei brothers? You’ve come to the wrong place.”

“The young master is kind-hearted. Your subordinate feels deeply ashamed.”

Jie Yun spoke those words sincerely.

“You truly should feel ashamed.”

Tan Xun was rarely this furious.

“I wondered why the Princess looked at me like that when she left, so it turns out she thought I had ordered that dancing girl to frame Pei Zhaoye! What’s even more laughable is that it truly was done by someone at my side. Jie Yun, you are truly a loyal servant.”

Jie Yun knelt, bowing his head deeply.

“Jie Yun knows his crime and awaits whatever punishment the young master decrees.”

If Tan Xun had not been Jie Yun’s personal guard since childhood, he would have already ordered him dragged out and beaten fifty strokes.

To use such despicable means—

It wasn’t Pei Zhaoye he had disgraced; it was the Tan family’s own face!

Just as Tan Xun’s anger burned at its peak, a strange calm thought passed through his mind.

—Was Jie Yun really here to kill the dancing girl?

He lifted his eyes and glanced toward the courtyard gate.

Pei Conglu and Pei Congxun had merely acted as intermediaries for the Tan family, helping His Majesty win over the southern noble clans. Other than that, there was no deeper connection.

Neither his father nor his second uncle had any reason to kill the Pei brothers.

Tan Xun pondered for a long while.

Perhaps he was overthinking.

When the city lockdown was lifted the next day, he would take Jie Yun and confess everything to Lizhu.

—–٠✤٠—–

In the dream, it was as if he were being burned alive.

Pei Zhaoye opened his eyes and saw the maple leaves of Hongye Stronghold soaked in water.

Water.

So deep of blood.

“—Gu Bing’an! Gu Bing’an! Qiu Er!”

He slowly turned his head and saw Danzhu, her whole body covered in blood, staggering and shouting those familiar names over and over.

Those who should have answered her now lay sprawled in the mud, their faces ashen, their eyes wide open, as though even in death they could not understand from where this disaster had come.

Danzhu knelt before the burning ruins of the stronghold, her hair in wild disarray, tears streaming down her upturned face.

“It’s my fault! All my fault! I brought this upon everyone! I shouldn’t have—I—ahhhh!”

...A nightmare?

But the stench of blood at the tip of his nose was far too real. Rage threatened to tear open his chest. His heart pounded like a drum, as though it wanted the heavens and earth to hear.

The red leaves of Yushan had all fallen. Deep within the forest, snow covered bow and blade alike.

“Mountain Lord, hurry and go!”

The whistling of arrows filled the air, dense and unending, piercing through the woods. He and Danzhu ran through the black rain, fleeing like hunted prey.

At least he had to keep Danzhu alive.

At least leave one survivor for Hongye Stronghold.

Accompanied by the sudden, sharp twang of a heavy crossbow, Pei Zhaoye stopped abruptly and turned around.

The hem of his robe slashed through the splattered bloodied water. His whole body was drenched in sweat, yet his eyes were dark and clear as if washed by water.

“Mountain Lord!”

A thunderous cry burst from Danzhu’s chest.

With all her strength, in that instant between life and death, she shoved Pei Zhaoye down the slope.

Thud!

A dull sound—flesh pierced through, nailed against a maple tree.

The world turned upside down, the ground quaked, there was no time to look back.

He ran, stumbling through the mountain stained scarlet, unable to tell whether it was red leaves or blood beneath his feet—only running forward—

Forward.

Where was the path ahead?

The snow fell heavier and heavier. The pursuing soldiers were left behind in the tangled trails of Yushan. Pei Zhaoye trudged through the snow, one deep step, one shallow, unable to tell if he was dreaming or awake.

The riverbank was already a vast sheet of white.

When the northern wind blew, he collapsed into the snow, unable to rise again.

He thought—if he froze to death here today, so be it. But if Heaven did not let him die, then he would, he would…

The snow cleared, dawn broke.

Someone discovered him lying in the thawing snow.

“Eh? How could someone be lying here? Are you all right? Can you still walk… hey!”

He lifted his sword.

The passerby did not know where he came from, nor where he was going. But Pei Zhaoye knew where he must go.

“…Did it work?”

Pei Conglu asked.

“Even if that brat’s life is tough, with such a snare of heaven and earth, how many lives could he have to escape it?”

Pei Congxun replied.

“I was wondering why you wanted to call him back yesterday to hold the coming-of-age ceremony. So Second Brother meant to lure the tiger from the mountain… But that boy Pei Zhaoye—though he struck Shao’er, he still remembers the Pei family’s kindness in raising him. Normally, we keep to our own, never crossing paths. Why did Second Brother suddenly strike with such cruelty?”

“Blame his ill fate.”

From within the study came Pei Congxun’s faint voice:

“If, at fourteen, he hadn’t gone to Luoyang, no one would’ve even known such a person existed. But once they did, he just had to fight his way out for a future. Did he never think—a life as lowly as his, does it deserve to rise above others? A great tree draws the wind; the thousand lives of Hongye Stronghold were all broken by the storm he brought upon them. He has no one else to blame…”

The doors of the study were kicked open with a crash.

First to fall was Pei Congxun’s head. Then came his wife—screaming, hurling herself forward in a desperate attempt to kill him.

Last was Pei Congxun’s vile and foolish son.

Corpses of the household servants lay scattered across the courtyard.

Innocent or guilty, it no longer mattered. All their heads had rolled to the ground, blood splattering over the fine flowers and trees of the Pei residence, seeping into the soil to nourish it.

Pei Conglu stood with his back to him, shielding his wife and daughter in his arms, trembling violently.

“Uncle.”

Blood flowed across the floor of the study, pooling beneath the bodies. He lifted his head, watching the first rays of dawn slowly rise over the horizon. His voice was faint, like something drifting up from the depths of hell.

“Don’t worry. I won’t kill you. Not only will I spare you, I’ll help you uphold the Pei family’s name. But remember to tell that person—Pei Zhaoye and the couple Pei Conglu and his wife died together, and only one son survived the calamity.”

Pei Conglu stared at him as though seeing a ghost.

He rose to his feet and picked up Pei Congxun’s fallen hair crown from the floor.

With his fingers, he combed back his hair—short, barely reaching his collarbone. Then he untied the mountain bandit’s headband from his brow and placed the scholar’s bloodstained crown upon his head.

A dark black crown. A bright red tassel.

Yet his sleeves were still those of a warrior, soaked in blood, the air of the bandit not yet gone. The sight was grotesque—neither man nor ghost, neither noble nor outlaw.

He sat beneath the eaves, smiling faintly as he said to Pei Conglu:

“From this day on, I am Pei Shao—Pei Yinzhi, your nephew.”

—–٠✤٠—–

Like one drowning, Lizhu jolted awake from her dream, gasping for breath.

Cold sweat covered her forehead, her heartbeat thundering as though it would leap from her throat. She sat up abruptly, reaching out in panic for something—until she realized that her hand was already tightly held by another’s. Only then did her breathing begin to steady.

She had just… had a terrible dream.

At that same moment, the one she was looking at also opened his eyes.

Those eyes were dark, so dark they held no trace of light. He stared fixedly at the canopy above, as if confirming where he was.

After a long time, his gaze shifted and fell upon Lizhu.

“…What’s wrong?” he asked.

Lizhu’s breathing slowly calmed. “It’s nothing. Just a nightmare.”

But as she recalled the vivid scenes from her dream, a lump formed in her throat, dull pain pressing against her chest.

Was it truly only a nightmare?

Why did she feel as if those things had truly happened once before?

“I think… I also had a nightmare.”

Lizhu’s long lashes trembled slightly. “What did you dream of?”

His gaze fixed on her face.

It had been a terrible dream.

In the dream, it seemed he had never found her in the maple forest. They had never gone to Xiangcheng together.

No one went to save Danzhu. Hongye Stronghold had not been defended. There was only endless blood, death, and slaughter—

He lost everything, even his own name.

“…What is my name?” he suddenly asked.

Lizhu’s eyes widened. For a moment she forgot all about the dream and immediately reached to touch his forehead.

“Pei Zhaoye, don’t tell me your brain’s burned out!”

She hadn’t slept that deeply last night!

Under her palm, Pei Zhaoye slowly exhaled.

“My brain’s fine,” he said softly.

“Hold me.”

Completely bewildered, Lizhu found herself pulled into his arms.

His hand slid behind her back, resting gently on her shoulder—not with desire, but with a quiet, childlike need for reassurance. His palm moved slowly, soothingly, holding her tighter.

Early winter was approaching. The cold wind squeezed through the cracks in the window, yet his embrace was hot—always hot, in every season, at all hours.

Though Lizhu didn’t understand why he suddenly wanted to hold her, seeing his unsettled mood, she let him. She remained silent, thinking to herself:

If one could be reborn and live another life, then dreaming of things from a past life was not so hard to believe.

If that dream had truly happened, everything made sense.

Only… who was the one behind the Pei brothers in that dream?

It seemed that Pei Zhaoye in the dream had known that person’s identity, that was why he had taken on Pei Shao’s name.

Then, had he gone to Luoyang for revenge?

Lizhu was still wondering how she could uncover that person to prevent future danger, when suddenly, footsteps sounded outside the door.

Pei Zhaoye was abruptly pushed away by her.

“It must be Xuan Ying!”

Lizhu hurriedly pulled the blanket over him and said sternly,

“Close your eyes and pretend to be unconscious! If Xuan Ying finds out you were awake and sleeping on the same bed as me, you’re dead for sure!”

“…Is Xuan Ying your mother?”

“Don’t ask! She’s not my mother, but she might as well be!”

Pei Zhaoye obediently closed his eyes, and just as he did, a knock sounded from outside.

“Princess, are you awake?”

Lizhu froze. “Tan Xun? Why are you—”

The moment she spoke, she shut her mouth and immediately tried to get out of bed.

But before she could move, the maidservants outside pushed open the door. Tan Xun followed behind them, stepping inside with a polite smile.

“When I came today, I noticed there were no vendors in the streets. It seems the city is still under lockdown, so I brought breakfast from the Pei residence for you—”

The smile on Tan Xun’s face froze the instant he saw the man lying on the bed.

His fingers tightened around the food container.

“Princess?”

His expression stiffened. “Why are you… sharing a bed with this man?”