The hem of her skirt brushed against the now-cold remnants of a lost hope, stained by a deep, vivid crimson. Yin Zhuli walked slowly toward Qu Tianji. He had been on guard, expecting her to strike, but she merely stopped before the steps. Her hands were tucked into her sleeves, and her smile was as fleeting and fragile as a night-blooming cereus.
The head had been severed, and blood gurgled from the neck, still carrying a faint warmth. Around them, the cheers of the crowd shook the very sky: "Victory! Victory!"
Shen Tingjiao entered the courtyard just in time to witness this scene. On that day, the autumn sun shone brightly, sycamore leaves drifted sporadically, and the world was a vision of blood. Yin Zhuli stood in the center of the courtyard with her head bowed, her face as pale as snow. His own heart felt as though it were being filled with that same viscous blood, leaving a taste beyond description. He hurried forward, took Yin Zhuli’s hand, and called her name softly: "Zhuli?"
"Hmm?" Yin Zhuli’s voice was thin and detached. Though the September heat had not yet dissipated, her hand was ice-cold. Shen Tingjiao felt an inexplicable pang of heartache. "Don't be sad. The Master, he..."
Yin Zhuli shook her head gently, cutting him off. Her voice was extremely low, and a deep, self-deprecating mockery seeped through her bleak smile. "Distant is the spirit phoenix, on a long and endless flight. Deep and lingering are my thoughts, forever contrary to my wishes... forever contrary to my wishes." She turned her head, her voice like a spring frozen in ice. "General, everything is settled. I shall await your good news."
With those words, she turned and left the Qu Manor. She stepped through the pool of blood as she departed; where the eyes of the crowd converged, only bloody footprints remained, growing fainter and fainter as she walked away.
Shen Tingjiao followed her out of the manor, his fingers still interlaced with hers. Yin Zhuli’s expression held a weariness he had never seen before. Her voice was neither angry nor joyful: "Your Highness, let me walk alone for a while, alright?"
Shen Tingjiao didn't know how to answer. He was different from Yin Zhuli; though he had endured hardships since childhood, he had never wholeheartedly relied on another person. He didn't understand what kind of pain could cause one's heart and soul to shatter; he could not feel what she felt. But he had heard those words clearly: *Forever contrary to my wishes.*
He stood in place, watching Yin Zhuli walk on alone. She did not walk fast, and the morning sun stretched her shadow long and thin. At that time, the morning dew had not yet evaporated, yet some people had already been lost forever in this dawn.
Shen Tingjiao couldn't help but look back at General Qu’s manor. Zhang Qing stood behind him, looking confused by his displeased expression. "Congratulations, Your Highness, on the removal of a hidden threat."
It was a long time before Shen Tingjiao looked back, and even longer before he spoke resentfully. "I only wanted him to leave; I didn't want him to die... There is no man more cruel and heartless than him." He couldn't quite explain what he was angry about, then he smiled again. "But it’s just as well that he’s dead."
Yin Zhuli walked for a while. When she looked back, she found the young Prince Shen following at a distance. When she moved, he followed; when she stopped, he stopped. After walking a long way like this, she finally turned around. "What are you doing?"
Shen Tingjiao answered tentatively, "I... I want to stay with you."
The corners of Yin Zhuli’s lips curved slightly into a smile, but her eyes remained cold. "Does Your Highness wish to make me happy?"
Shen Tingjiao nodded. The sun was growing stronger, and the golden light hitting him was dazzling. Yin Zhuli reached out both hands toward him. "Come here, Your Highness."
Shen Tingjiao walked up to her, only to be suddenly hoisted onto her shoulder. He let out a muffled groan, and she was already sprinting forward.
Only the sound of the wind remained in his ears. She ran with all her might. Shen Tingjiao could never handle such jolting; he endured the nausea in his stomach, gritting his teeth and remaining silent. The signs of human habitation grew sparse, replaced by deep, overgrown weeds. He even suspected that Yin Zhuli had discovered the truth behind Tang Yin’s death and intended to kill him to vent her hatred. Instead, she found a mountain hollow and tossed him into the thick, tangled dry grass.
Before he could speak, Yin Zhuli was already over him. Her voice was dark and low. "Come, Your Highness. Didn't you say you wanted to make me happy?"
His collar was roughly torn open, the sound of rending silk continuous. The coarse grass scratched his delicate skin, and the stones and stalks on the ground pressed painfully against him. He lay back in the grass, somewhat dazed—the recent jolting had left his stomach churning, but fortunately, he had been in such a rush this morning that he hadn't eaten breakfast. With his stomach empty, there was nothing to throw up.
Yin Zhuli also shed her robes, teasing him with a sense of urgency. "Your Highness seems to lack his usual vigor today."
The sunlight filtered through the dense trees and wild grass, shining directly down. Shen Tingjiao squinted slightly as his blood began to stir. He reached out to rouse himself, his voice carrying a light pant. "As long as you want it, this Prince can do it anytime, anywhere."
Yin Zhuli murmured something blurred that he didn't catch, but then her cool lips covered his. Her tongue was like a nimble serpent, and he tangled with her almost obsessively. The long-dormant "rogue general" finally rose in a fit of fury.
There was no technique involved; Yin Zhuli forced the enemy to penetrate deep. Shen Tingjiao let out a low cry as that tight heat gripped him firmly. He gritted his teeth, and blood welled on Yin Zhuli’s lip. The metallic taste of blood spread between their teeth, and Yin Zhuli’s gaze was so bright it almost seemed to drip with moisture.
Shen Tingjiao didn't know why she was so much more passionate than usual, but he didn't have the chance to ask. The withered grass bore the marks of their chaos. Yin Zhuli’s long hair was loose, her dark tresses draping over her shoulders. Shen Tingjiao lay on his back; the sky was vast and blue, the sunlight soaked the earth, and her forehead was covered in beads of sweat, her gaze misty as if intoxicated.
"Yin Zhuli..." he called her name unconsciously, hearing nothing else. He could no longer sense the cries of the autumn geese or the dry wood and wild grass. He gripped Yin Zhuli’s arms tightly, heedless of his own strength.
Yin Zhuli’s gaze was frenzied. Heavy breathing and moans intertwined as sweat fell like rain.
In the midst of their desperate entanglement, a voice called out from afar: "Your Highness? Princess Consort?"
It was Zhang Qing.
Shen Tingjiao was at a critical moment, on the verge of losing control, but Yin Zhuli gripped the "rogue general." "You are not allowed."
Shen Tingjiao bit his lip hard. He didn't want to spoil Yin Zhuli’s mood, yet he was worried Zhang Qing would come looking for them. That man had little brains and didn't know when to retreat. Yin Zhuli, however, didn't care at all. Acting as if she hadn't heard, she forced the rogue general to advance further into her territory.
Shen Tingjiao let out a shallow moan, no longer able to worry about Zhang Qing. The autumn scenery before his eyes melted into a single blur. He could hear Zhang Qing getting closer and closer, and his heart seemed to throb in sync with the footsteps. The tide was about to breach the dam; every minute friction felt like a form of torture. He gritted his teeth and held on.
The person above him had features that were slightly rugged, and her skin was not as soft as that of an ordinary woman. He had wondered many times in his dreams—if such a person were pressed beneath him, what wonderful flavor would that be?
At that thought, he could no longer hold back and collapsed instantly. How could Yin Zhuli let him off so easily? She leaned down to clean the rogue general with her hem, then began to provoke him again in a hundred different ways. Hearing that Zhang Qing was now only ten paces away, Shen Tingjiao suppressed his state and forced himself to speak: "Zhang Qing, don't come over."
Hearing his voice, Zhang Qing grew even more anxious to approach. Shen Tingjiao was pinned firmly beneath Yin Zhuli, and the "enemy general" was once again ready for battle. He let out a low grunt and shouted loudly, "Stay back!"
Zhang Qing was startled by the shout and didn't dare advance further. Hearing that the voice sounded wrong—and being a coarse man who didn't think too deeply—he asked, "Princess Consort? Princess Consort, are you there?"
Yin Zhuli acted as if she hadn't heard, merely leaning down to continue "sharpening the spear" before engaging in battle once more. Shen Tingjiao’s clothes were soaked with sweat, and terrifyingly bright spots appeared in his vision. He tried his best to steady his breathing to make his voice sound normal: "It’s nothing. You go back first."
Zhang Qing was still hesitating, fearing that something had happened to the two of them. Shen Tingjiao could barely save himself, let alone worry about him. Zhang Qing stood there for a moment, then gritted his teeth, preparing to go and see for himself. Fortunately, another person arrived behind him: "Zhang Qing! What happened to my Master Tang?"
It was Hao Jian. Zhang Qing felt as if he had found a savior and hurried over, pointing toward the suspicious patch of deep grass. "Manager Hao, His Highness and the Princess Consort have been in there for a long time. I don't know what’s happened, and His Highness won't let me go over!"
Hao Jian took one look, and a flush crept onto his face. "They are husband and wife; what business is it of yours! Hurry up and leave! Where is my Master now?"
As the voices faded, Shen Tingjiao breathed a sigh of relief. Looking down, he discovered his clothes were stained with blood. Where did the blood come from? Startled, he scrambled up and saw that Yin Zhuli’s right wrist had been cut by something. The violent movements had accelerated the blood flow, staining a patch of autumn grass.
He grabbed her hand, shouting in anger for the first time: "Yin Zhuli! Do you want to die?"
Yin Zhuli seemed to only just notice the wound. She stared at the blood for a long time, then suddenly broke into a radiant smile. Shen Tingjiao finally heard that blurred sentence clearly: "Those who abandon me cannot be kept."
She tore a piece of her clothing and wrapped the wound with great efficiency. *Tang Yin, pedantic scholars like you are all over the streets of Chang'an. What part of you is worth me, Yin Zhuli, looking at you differently? If you want to die, then go ahead and die. What part of you is worth my grief? Is admitting you love me so shameful? Twenty years of companionship couldn't withstand a single memory.*
*Tang Yin, I will never shed a single tear for you. I will never waste a shred of my spirit on you. I will never forgive you.*
She finished tying the wound, yet she didn't feel any pain at all. The morning sun grew intense, the blood began to congeal, and her clothes felt cold to the bone.
*Actually... if you don't love me, you don't love me. Why did you have to die...*
In the desolate expanse of the deep grass, Yin Zhuli slowly closed her eyes.
*Fine, Master. Let’s make peace. I’m not angry. Just... come back, alright?*
***
