I never imagined I would have the chance to see this man again.
Five years had not left many marks upon him. Aside from being a bit leaner, the noble air between his brows had only grown more composed.
I remember when we first met in the Central Capital; I felt then that the men of the Qing clan were all like sharp, precious blades, radiating a cold brilliance. But now, this blade had clearly been tucked into a magnificent yet understated scabbard. Its sharp edge was quietly concealed beneath a graceful and dignified bearing.
I still didn't like him.
I must admit, my initial dislike for him was because of Xixia.
For such a fiercely independent woman to turn into a tamed hound in his presence—it made me incredibly uncomfortable. Though I didn't care for her arrogance either, in my heart, I felt that only such a haughty spirit truly suited her. Yet, for this man, she had become meek and subservient.
Looking back, my feelings then were less like jealousy and more like a sense of injustice. It was as if I couldn't bear to see a rare flower blooming in the wild being dug up and confined within a private garden.
My thoughts seemed to have wandered too far.
I reached up to rub my aching temples, wondering with some annoyance if I should simply send him away without ceremony.
I wanted to. But regardless of everything, he had saved us—even if I hadn't needed his help at the time. Facts, however, cannot be changed by my will alone. Being indebted to someone is truly a headache.
The man before me elegantly set down his teacup and looked up at me. I could see a clear hesitation in his gaze.
That wavering expression made me feel stifled. I could roughly guess what he was about to say.
It made me restless. He would likely ask to see the little fellow—that boy who grew more handsome by the day, who loved sitting on my shoulders and gloating to his little sister about his special status as the eldest son.
Before this man appeared, he had always been *my* son.
The tea was a bit hot. I set the cup down in frustration, trying my best to act the part of a hospitable host. "This is the Anli Kingdom’s most famous 'Falling Cloud Light,' this year's new tea..." even though the tea tasted like nothing at all today.
Prince Ming Shao—or rather, Prince Rong, as he should be called now—merely nodded absently. His slender fingers lightly brushed the thin lid of the cup, a strange trance-like quality in his expression.
Suddenly, I felt that the pale coldness of his fingers outshone even the faint, ethereal luster of the fine porcelain. A small pang of pity rose in my heart. This man must not have had an easy time these past few years, despite being granted the title of Prince at such a young age.
My heart softened, and my tone followed suit. "I wonder how long Your Highness intends to stay in Qi'an Town?"
Perhaps sensing the change in my voice, Ming Shao looked up, a warm, gentle smile touching his lips. "The matter of the marriage alliance has been approved by your Emperor. Your country's Princess Qionglin will set out on the sixteenth of next month, an auspicious day. I must naturally hurry back to report the good news to His Majesty. I will likely leave tomorrow."
I breathed a sigh of relief.
Then, I felt a wave of guilt for that internal relief. After all...
"I was thinking..." Ming Shao coughed twice, his face flushing a suspicious shade of red. "I was wondering..."
I sighed silently. Regardless of the past, I owed this man a debt of gratitude.
"I would like to invite Your Highness to my humble home for a visit," I said with a long sigh. "I wonder what the Prince thinks of the idea?"
Ming Shao’s hand jerked, splashing a few drops of tea. When he looked up, his face was filled with a sudden mix of joy and disbelief.
My heart softened again.
"My wife enjoys peace and quiet, so we live year-round in a mountain villa." I smiled faintly; thinking of my home always made my mood turn tender. "If we enter the mountains from behind the town, we can reach it in about an hour."
Ming Shao stood up, both surprised and delighted, looking almost at a loss for words.
Seeing him like this, the turmoil of apprehension in my heart finally began to settle.
After all, I owed him.
"In the distance is the Xian Snow Mountains," I said, pointing my riding crop toward the undulating range. "The closest to us is Goddess Peak. Every winter, we go hunting on the snow peaks. During last year's hunt, Jingchi even used his little bow to bag a snow quail."
Recalling the scene, I couldn't help but smile. It was the first time he had caught prey on his own, and he had certainly made quite a show of it among the other children.
Ming Shao gazed at the snow peaks, a touch of melancholy tenderness appearing in his eyes.
"The boy is very clever, and his calligraphy is excellent. We hired a tutor for him to start martial arts last year. He’s naturally mischievous, though, always leading the neighborhood children into trouble." Thinking of their "military exercise" last month that resulted in the stable being burned down, I suppressed a smile, deciding it was best not to tell Ming Shao.
When boys are young, they always love playing games of generals and bandits. I remembered being the same way... the only difference was that I only played with other children, while Jingchi also had a pack of dogs—two large hounds and six half-grown ones.
A group of boys plus a pack of dogs made for a lively, chaotic mountain life.
"Is she... well?" Ming Shao asked softly, still staring at the distant mountains.
My heart skipped a beat. He had finally asked.
To say I didn't mind would be a lie, but on second thought, so many years had passed. What was there to mind? I gave him a candid smile. "She is very well."
She was indeed very well, though she had put on some weight recently and was busy trying to lose it. At dinner yesterday, she had watched us eat while swallowing her saliva, pitifully munching on an apple. Finally, our three-year-old daughter couldn't take it anymore and came to plead with me: "Mother knows she was wrong, Daddy, please forgive her."
Xixia had jumped up immediately. "What did I do wrong?!"
Little Jingchi had given her a disdainful side-eye. "Mother never admits it when she does something wrong."
Our daughter, Feicui, had also widened her eyes in agreement. "That's right! If Mother didn't do anything wrong, why would Daddy punish you by not letting you eat dinner?"
Thinking of the way Xixia’s mouth had twitched while holding that half-eaten apple, I still wanted to laugh. I quickly turned away and pointed my crop toward a thick grove of fir trees up the mountain path. "Once we pass that forest, we'll be there."
Ming Shao didn't speak, but his expression became very complex. It was as if he were afraid, yet also harboring a faint hope. Was he afraid to see Xixia? Afraid that she had never forgiven him?
Even after all this time, did he still care so much about her attitude?
I started to feel uncomfortable again. Actually, this was exactly what I disliked about him—if he cared this much, why had he let go so readily back then?
Emerging from the lush fir forest, the view suddenly opened up. The sun-drenched slope was covered in emerald grass, with dozens of households scattered across the picturesque hillside.
Green peaks rolled out in layers in the distance, like a landscape painting in bold colors. Further off were the white Xian Snow Mountains, their peaks shrouded in mist and eternal snow. Such a vista unfolding so abruptly was so beautiful it left one feeling quite small.
Ming Shao quietly took in the scenery. In that moment, what rose in his heart was not joy, but a feeling he couldn't quite identify—something akin to sorrow.
Feng Tong pointed toward a courtyard on higher ground, a faint smile appearing on his face again. "That is our mountain villa. Isn't it peaceful?"
Ming Shao followed his finger and saw only a stretch of white wall hidden in deep shade. The courtyard was silent, appearing as if it were asleep in the afternoon sun.
Ming Shao unconsciously began to imagine her living here: looking up every day to see the distant snow mountains, the crisp air mixed with the scent of green grass, the sunlight falling unreservedly upon her vibrant face...
The image was so vivid he felt as if he could actually see the light dancing in her eyes.
Perhaps noticing his daze, Feng Tong turned back in surprise.
Ming Shao was looking at him too. Compared to five years ago, this man’s appearance had hardly changed, but the volatile coldness was gone, replaced by a serene and unruffled brightness.
For a split second, Ming Shao envied him. But what exactly did he envy? Was it his stubbornness in never giving up until his goal was met? Or his free-spirited way of life?
"Your Highness?" Feng Tong clearly didn't understand why his expression was shifting so much.
Ming Shao gave a self-deprecating shake of his head. "I have never truly understood you. I suddenly wonder why you agreed to bring me here."
Feng Tong cast his gaze toward the distant snow peaks and said placidly, "Does Your Highness always think so much about everything you do?"
Ming Shao was momentarily stunned.
Feng Tong smiled slightly. "I am a merchant; I am born with sharp intuition. Call me reckless or call me decisive, but I never second-guess myself. As for inviting Your Highness to my home, perhaps it is because I consider you a friend, or perhaps... simply because I, too, am a father."
That mention of "second-guessing" struck Ming Shao’s heart like a hammer.
From childhood, the education he received taught him to place himself in a detached position when considering problems and then choose the path of greatest benefit... He remembered Chu De saying when he was very young: only fight battles you are sure to win; never trust intuition...
Ming Shao’s inner resolve began to waver. He asked himself silently, *I didn't trust my intuition, so I didn't dare to trust it... Family honor was above all else... and so, I never fought for anything for myself...*
"Your Highness, this way please," Feng Tong interrupted his thoughts, gesturing politely.
But Ming Shao gave a dazed smile from atop his horse and shook his head. "My mind is in a mess—I think it’s better if I don't go in."
Feng Tong raised an eyebrow in surprise.
Ming Shao looked at the distant snow mountains, a faint sorrow in his eyes. "The scenery here is beautiful and peaceful. I believe she must be doing very well living here, with you and your children..."
"Knowing she is well, and the child is well, is enough to set my mind at ease."
Feng Tong gripped his riding crop. These words were the last thing he expected...
He stopped Ming Shao, who was about to turn away, and said earnestly, "Since Your Highness is unwilling to go in, why not wait a moment? I will go and bring Chi'er to meet you." Without waiting for an answer, he galloped away.
Ming Shao dismounted and sat on a mountain rock.
The early summer sun felt warm on his body, but the breeze was cool. White clouds drifted low over his head, and the faint sound of gurgling water came from somewhere unseen—the world before him was as tranquil as a dreamland.
A burst of children's cheers erupted from the bushes behind him. A group of children of various sizes, holding wooden sticks and the like, swarmed past him, only to stop on the gentle slope nearby. They all stared at him with wide, curious eyes.
Perhaps it was because outsiders rarely came to the mountain village. Ming Shao couldn't help but smile.
A boy wearing a moon-white short shirt approached, dragging a long piece of green bamboo. He tilted his head and asked, "Mister, are you waiting for someone?"
Ming Shao smiled and was about to answer when a commanding shout came from the group of children: "Xiao Liu! Back in line, now!"
Ming Shao looked up. A boy of six or seven, holding a wooden stick, was bossing the first boy around with great flair. The boy's face was tanned dark by the sun, his features were handsome and bold, and the corners of his beautiful eyes tilted slightly upward. At a glance, he seemed strangely familiar.
His heart stirred. He asked, "What is your name? How old are you?"
The boy gave a disdainful pout. "Why should I tell you?"
Ming Shao chuckled. "I am a traveler who has lost his way. Didn't your parents tell you to help others?"
The boy thought seriously for a moment, then knit his brows solemnly. "Then what help do you need?"
Ming Shao smiled again. "Tell me your name first."
The boy waved his hand grandly. "All of you, go wait for me behind the trenches!" Once the other boys had scattered, he turned back and said seriously, "I'm almost seven. My name is Feng Jingchi. I know all the paths in these mountains. Where exactly are you trying to go?"
Ming Shao’s heart shook. He grabbed the boy's small hand, his voice trembling. "Your name is... Jingchi?"
*Jingchi, Mengchi*—he had never understood the meaning behind those two names, yet they had been branded into his heart, never forgotten for a single day.
He was already this big... and he truly looked just like him...
His heart was a storm of joy and sorrow; Ming Shao’s eyes grew warm and moist without him realizing it.
"If you're not feeling well, I can take you to my house. My mother knows medicine," Jingchi said, misinterpreting his expression. A hint of worry appeared in his eyes. "Last time I found an injured wild rabbit on the mountain, my mother fixed it up."
Ming Shao shook his head with a smile. "I've just traveled a long way and I'm tired. You know this place well; could you sit down and tell this outsider a bit about it?"
Jingchi sat down across from him quite readily. When he looked up, his gaze was direct and honest—just like hers.
"You live nearby?" Ming Shao asked softly. "Who else is in your family?"
Jingchi pointed behind him. "There, that's my house. There's my father and mother, and a little sister. My sister is only three, and her eyes are green!"
"Oh?" The boy's tone made him laugh. "Green?"
Jingchi nodded vigorously. "My eyes are like my mother's, but my sister is more like Father—my father has green eyes."
"Does your father... love you?" Ming Shao knew he shouldn't ask such a question, but he couldn't help himself.
Jingchi laughed proudly. "Of course! I'm the eldest son of the family. But my mother is very fierce. Every time I get into trouble, she makes me recite books and won't let me have dinner..."
Ming Shao smiled, but pressed on with the previous topic. "How is your father good to you?"
Jingchi thought for a bit. "Every day when he comes back, he lets me sit on his shoulders... When Mother punishes me by skipping dinner, he secretly brings me chicken legs... Also, he wasn't even mad when I led my soldiers to burn down the back stable; he told Mother we could just build a new one... He also takes me hunting..." He started laughing as he spoke, his little face radiant. "Every time we go to town, Father lets me ride the big horse with him."
Ming Shao wanted to smile, but his heart felt heavy and aching.
Jingchi tilted his head. "Mister, do you have children?"
"I do," Ming Shao said, gazing at him deeply with a melancholy smile. "But my son is very far away. I can't see him, and he doesn't know I'm his father."
Jingchi frowned again, confused. "How could he not know? Don't you miss him?"
Ming Shao’s heart was full of bitterness, but a tender smile bloomed on his lips. "I do—I miss him so much I can't sleep at night."
Pity immediately filled Jingchi’s small face. His gaze remained puzzled; he couldn't understand how a child wouldn't know his own father.
Ming Shao squeezed his hand, but let go almost immediately. He took a black wooden box from his saddle and handed it to Jingchi. "I have to go now. Take this." He stroked the boy's hair and whispered, "Grow up to be a true man, and protect your mother well..."
Jingchi straightened his small back and said proudly, "My father said I have to protect Mother and my sister."
Ming Shao watched him with a gentle smile. Though he was loath to leave, he took his horse’s reins and turned away.
It wasn't until the man and horse had disappeared behind the fir forest that Jingchi remembered the wooden box in his hand. He opened it carefully, and his eyes lit up. Inside was a pair of exquisitely carved dark walnut wood swords, less than two feet long, with silver guards. The scabbards were wrapped in fine silver wire and inlaid with several beautiful gemstones.
Jingchi stroked the delicate wooden swords, feeling a sense of vague emptiness in his heart.
Perhaps he was still too young to identify the faint melancholy drifting through his mind. It wasn't until his father’s hand rested on his head that he suddenly remembered something very important.
"I forgot to say thank you..."
***
**Glossary**
