February in Jiaosong County rarely saw a day of calm and stillness.
Yet on this particular morning, there was not even the slightest whisper of wind.
The gates of the traveling palace faced the flowing Yue River. Early-rising boatmen, wrapped in padded cotton clothes, punted their vessels across the water. The sharp prows sliced through the mirror-like surface as if cutting through a sheet of silk.
A layer of black soot now floated upon the once-clear river—the remains of the sky lanterns that had burned out and fallen. Like the atmosphere along the riverbanks, it was a scene of desolation following a peak of revelry, as if the strange and magnificent ceremony of the previous night had been nothing more than a grand dream.
A single lamp hung at the head of the ancient bridge. Its candle had not yet flickered out, but it had already lost its luster to the rising sun, appearing weak and pale.
No other carriages could be seen on the broad official road. Only a single person and a horse stood solitary at the head of the Huangshi Ancient Bridge, seemingly gazing at the westward-flowing waters.
Only the man himself knew that he was not looking at the river, but at the high platform built upon it.
In a mere ten days, thousands of beams and pillars had been transported onto the river to erect that exquisite stage, all for a single night of fleeting glory.
The fishy scent of the river drifted into his nostrils, pulling Xiao Zhun’s thoughts back to the high platform of the previous night.
Before the ceremony began, when the lights were not yet fully lit and the surroundings were dim, the officials had been whispering and socializing. He had stood alone at the bridgehead, never imagining that the Emperor would suddenly appear before him.
The sovereign wore light-colored ceremonial robes. The color softened the oppressive weight of his presence, yet in the moonlight, it lent him a strangely hazy and ambiguous glow.
"Marquis of Qinghuai, it has been a long time."
The other man’s expression was indifferent. In Xiao Zhun’s memory, that face had looked exactly the same many years ago.
He had always been somewhat wary of this monarch of Tiancheng.
Ascending the throne at a young age, the Emperor had seemed neither exceptionally meritorious nor flawed. He appeared conservative, yet no one could sway him. During his years on the throne, he had caused countless deeply rooted and powerful officials to fall one after another, showing an unusual degree of leniency only toward military generals.
And all of this was merely the prelude to the reclamation of Bijiang.
The first time Xiao Zhun had met him was after his entire clan had been slaughtered.
As the sole surviving bloodline of the Xiao family, he had been summoned to Yuanhe Hall. The other man was a young Emperor who had just ascended the throne, also conducting his first private audience with a subject.
An attendant had lowered a long gauze curtain to separate him from the Emperor. After performing the grand salutations, Xiao Zhun rose and looked toward the curtain.
He was significantly older than the Emperor, yet the boy-king’s frame seemed far too frail. The deep-colored robes hung loosely on him, giving the impression of someone too delicate to bear the weight of his own clothes.
The Emperor sat upright behind the gauze. The wind blowing through the hall made his silhouette blur, like a ghostly apparition.
That first glance had left a complex and profound impression in the depths of Xiao Zhun’s heart.
It was an aura of feminine coldness—a chill that would cling to one’s body upon approach, slowly seeping into the bones and refusing to dissipate for a long time.
He did not like this new Emperor.
As the son of a military family, Xiao Zhun was fierce by nature. Possessing the temperament of a youth and having just suffered a catastrophic family tragedy, he was desperate to know the truth. Within a few short exchanges, he had contradicted the Emperor several times.
The palace attendants and ritual officials on either side gasped repeatedly; eventually, they were all kneeling in a row, trembling with fear.
Yet no one howled or rebuked him. No matter how he provoked or questioned, the person behind the gauze remained unchanged in posture, and even the tone of his voice never wavered.
Finally, Xiao Zhun grew tired. His indignation and resentment subsided slightly, and he fell into a sullen silence.
"Does Master Xiao know the parable of 'Asking the Bridge'?"
Xiao Zhun was stunned.
Though the Xiao family was a military house, they were not unversed in literature. He had read many books as a child, but he had no recollection of a story called "Asking the Bridge."
He did not know it, but he was unwilling to admit it, so he gritted his teeth and remained silent.
The young Emperor saw through his embarrassment at once, though there was no mockery in his voice. "'Asking the Bridge' is a parable from the scriptures; it is only natural that you have not heard it. Shall I tell it to you?"
Xiao Zhun remained silent, and the other man’s flat voice rose again.
"There was once a bhikku who was exceedingly poor. He wished to go to a Great Almsgiving Assembly. On his way, he was struck by various doubts regarding what he saw—such as who had built the bridge he crossed. He formulated seven thousand and eight hundred questions, and because of this, he delayed his arrival at the assembly. By the time he arrived, the items he needed were gone, and he returned with nothing. Master Xiao, what do you think of this man?"
Xiao Zhun did not know why the Emperor was telling such a story. He merely frowned. "All those questions... they were foolish."
The moment the words left his mouth, he realized the Emperor was using the story as a metaphor for him. His expression immediately became strained.
"The matter of the bridge had nothing to do with the man. How can it be compared to me?"
The voice remained peaceful. "I believe there is no difference. When things to be loved or hated occur, one experiences joy or resentment. One wishes to probe the causes and consequences, yet in the end, one cannot turn back the heavens or the earth, for the bridge has always been right there. All things in this world cycle in this manner. I advise Master Xiao to let go of the many questions in his heart as soon as possible; only then can you cross the bridge and reach the other shore."
Those few short sentences seemed like mere Zen proverbs, yet they pointed out a path for the then-helpless and bleak Xiao Estate.
The decline of the Prince of Shuo’s manor was a settled matter. He was still young; seeking vengeance for blood debts was not a task for the present. He needed to preserve his strength and wait for the right time to rise again.
Having finished speaking, the Emperor did not wait for a reaction. He rose and vanished behind the gauze.
A month later, an imperial edict was issued. His Majesty enfeoffed Xiao Zhun, the son of the Prince of Shuo, as the Marquis of Qinghuai, granting him a separate fief to establish his manor, along with countless rewards.
In the years that followed, he rarely met the Emperor in private again.
Yet with every glimpse in the imperial court, or in those countless moments of looking through a metaphorical veil, he could always sense that cold, heartless aura.
To serve a ruler is to live with a tiger.
Even if there had been the grace of guidance in the past, he never dared to lower his guard.
One is naturally alert when entering a room and seeing a fierce tiger, but when one only sees a human form—that is where the true terror lies.
After all, who could know what was hidden beneath that human skin? Was it merely a tiger, or something else entirely?
"This subject greets Your Majesty."
He bowed respectfully, but before his knees could touch the bluestone bricks of the bridge, he was interrupted.
"Dispense with the formalities. I have only a few words; I will leave once they are said."
The Emperor gave a slight wave of his hand, and the young attendant led the palace guards back into the ambiguous shadows.
The bridge surface emptied instantly, leaving only the two of them standing opposite each other.
"Why did the Marquis of Qinghuai not keep the appointment tonight?"
Xiao Zhun was startled, nearly unable to mask his expression.
"There is no need for alarm. I am well aware that the North is good at expanding borders and conquest, but not at this sort of thing." The Emperor did not look at him; his gaze was fixed on the high platform in the distance. "Three days before the ceremony began, every seat and every banquet invitation sold by the restaurants along both banks of the Yue River was thoroughly investigated. Since the Listening Wind Tower chose to hold a sea bass banquet on the second day of the second month, it naturally had to be checked. It was not difficult to learn that two invitations passed through the hands of Yao Yi of the Watching Dust Tower and ended up at the Xiao Estate."
If that was the case, why bring it up now?
After a moment of thought, he replied cautiously, "This subject had a prior engagement with Commander Ma to discuss the selection of new military officers for the coming year. It was inconvenient to make the trip to the Listening Wind Tower."
"Oh? Is that so?" The Emperor seemed noncommittal toward the answer. "Then I wonder if the General of the Right is aware of this?"
Xiao Zhun’s heart jolted again.
He had vaguely guessed why the Emperor had come, but he hadn't expected him to be so blunt.
"My foster daughter does not know of this, but there will be an opportunity to explain it during a meal later. It makes no difference."
As they spoke, a fleet of boats passed quietly under the ancient bridge. The rear decks of the vessels were lined with neatly arranged sky lanterns and fireworks. Though they had not yet been launched, one could already foresee the magnificence of the scale.
"I anticipated that you might not keep the appointment, so I prepared something else." The Emperor watched the fleet moor beside the high platform, his tone still flat. "Now that the first lunar month has passed, these fireworks are truly difficult to find; I had to have people make them on short notice. I wonder if the Marquis of Qinghuai understands my intention?"
If this question had been asked of anyone else, there might truly have been no answer.
But Xiao Zhun knew the Emperor was asking him specifically.
Among the people he knew, only one person loved fireworks.
And the person he had intended not to meet tonight was her.
The Emperor’s subtext was so clear, yet he almost could not believe it, let alone speak it aloud.
"This subject does not understand..."
"In my view, it is not that you do not understand." Sui Wei’s voice rang out coldly, completely out of place with the festive atmosphere around them.
"Your Majesty is not this subject; how can you know my heart?" Xiao Zhun’s expression did not change, but his words carried a hint of stubbornness.
The man chuckled softly upon hearing this. The slight rasp in his voice made the emotions within his words seem surreal.
"The human heart is difficult to fathom, but in the end, it is just a human heart. To me, there is no difference." At this point, the laughter abruptly stopped. "You lost your kin at a young age and felt desolate. You took her in merely as an anchor for your emotions. You bully her for loving you; you bully her for being young and foolish; you bully her for not daring to overstep or defy you by half a step. Thus, you can paint a picture of peace day after day, until the day comes when you can no longer play the part, and then you push her away entirely, regardless of whether she lives or dies."
He paused, and his voice returned to a peaceful state, yet it carried a heartless, cold condescension.
"Many years have passed, and the Marquis of Qinghuai has still not crossed the bridge. And now, whom do you intend to trap there with you?"
Those light, airy words pinned Xiao Zhun to the spot like a curse.
After so many years, the same situation was repeating itself.
He was still like that reckless youth from before—his defenses stripped away in a few strokes, a blade striking true to his vital point.
He knew he carried too much; his life was destined to be one of lonely hardship. In truth, he could give no promises. Yet, for the sake of that sliver of warmth his heart craved, he insisted on giving her protection in the name of family. But a bond that would crumble with a single gust of wind—how long could it truly protect someone?
A burst of rowdy laughter came from both sides of the high platform in the distance. There were several turquoise tents there; the candlelight cast the shadows of the actors changing their costumes onto the fabric—flickering and shifting, like a swarm of enchanting ghosts about to emerge.
The Emperor turned, his long robes trailing a shadow on the ground.
"Does the Marquis of Qinghuai enjoy watching plays? Today’s play is one that is not easily seen on ordinary days. Do not miss the final curtain call."
Xiao Zhun looked up. The Emperor’s figure had already vanished into the interlacing light and shadow.
At that moment, he had only a vague premonition, unable to be certain of what was about to happen.
It was only several hours later that he learned the cruel answer.
His thoughts were interrupted by a dull, echoing sound nearby. Xiao Zhun looked up to see the towering gates of the traveling palace slowly opening.
Ancient wood and bronze groaned heavily against the stone floor. The sun had not yet fully risen; the light only illuminated half of the great gate, while the rest remained submerged in shadow.
After a long while, a figure slowly emerged from behind the half-open gate.
She wore deep ochre-colored clothes, her hair half-loose.
She walked very slowly, each step unsteady. A distance of a mere hundred paces took her the time it takes for a cup of tea to cool.
Finally, she stepped out of the shadows. The morning light fell upon her face, making her complexion appear as white as a sheet of paper.
Xiao Zhun opened his mouth, but in the end, he did not call out her name. He simply took his cloak and went forward to meet her.
"Are you alright?"
Xiao Nanhui looked up blankly, seeing his anxious and haggard face.
The corners of her mouth twitched. "I'm alright."
He wrapped the cloak around her, his gaze falling on her hair.
Her bun was partially undone, and her hat was nowhere to be found. Further down, her outer robe—faintly stained with blood—was draped haphazardly over her, the ties knotted in a mess...
He abruptly jerked his gaze away. He wanted to reach out and touch her shoulder, but in the end, he hesitated.
"Did His Majesty... make things difficult for you?"
Xiao Nanhui looked at the hand hovering near her shoulder. The hollow corner of her heart suddenly gave off a heavy, echoing thud.
At this very moment, she suddenly wanted to tell him: Yes, the Emperor did make things difficult for her.
But then what? What would happen then?
She was silent for a moment. When she spoke, the words had changed.
"Father, why did you not come to the Listening Wind Tower yesterday?"
Xiao Zhun clearly hadn't expected her to ask this. He paused before answering.
"I... have never liked eating fish."
Xiao Nanhui stared blankly at the man before her. After a while, she suddenly gave a small laugh.
It wasn't really a laugh; it was more like a sigh.
He could have said the ceremony's procedures were complex, that he had to take his seat early as the representative of the Marquis Estate, or he could have said the military affairs of the Subei camp were urgent and he couldn't get away.
But he said none of those things. He simply said he didn't like fish.
They were truly alike.
Even the wretched way they looked when they lied was almost identical.
In the past, she had been obsessed with this sense of similarity, as if she were a part of him—an indirect confirmation of some unshakable bond between them. But now, she was stung by that very similarity.
The expression on her face made Xiao Zhun unable to look further. He could only turn away.
"Let us go home."
Just as that man had said, these three short days in Jiaosong County were nothing more than a grand play in the hands of the Imperial House. Now, he only hoped for the play to end quickly.
"Father."
She spoke suddenly. Her voice was low, but in the emptiness of the ancient bridgehead, it sounded abrupt and urgent.
Xiao Zhun’s figure stiffened. He did not turn around.
She stared at his back, suddenly feeling as if words were stuck in her throat, making it hard to breathe.
That one sentence had been stuck there for a long time—so long that it had almost grown into her flesh and blood.
But today, a surge of energy was roiling in her chest. She felt that if she did not use a knife to cut that question out of her flesh, she would suffocate and collapse.
She took a deep breath and asked the question she thought she would never voice.
"Father, have you ever loved Nanhui?"
The moment the words left her mouth, Xiao Zhun reacted as if pricked by a needle. A faint flush rose to his face—whether from shock or embarrassment, she did not know.
Seeing his reaction, Xiao Nanhui felt her heart sink even deeper into the abyss.
Her confession in the great hall was still vivid in her mind, and Sui Wei’s words in the side hall still rang in her ears.
In her countless past guesses and ruminations, she had also wondered: She had been by his side for so many years, and her feelings hadn't developed overnight—could he truly be entirely unaware? But if he was aware and did not respond, what was she to do?
When Xiao Nanhui spoke again, her voice was tinged with bitterness. "Did you... ever... love me?"
Xiao Zhun could no longer remain silent. After a long while, he spoke. "The year I found you, I was only nineteen, and you were a child of six or seven. I felt pity for your tragic background, so I kept you in the manor under the name of a foster daughter. I taught you skills in the hope that one day you would not be bullied and could stand on your own in this world. Beyond that, I had no other thoughts. Regarding your name, I did indeed have a selfish motive; if you do not like it, you may erase it when you are wed into another family. I have never married, nor do I have children. I do not know what the affection between a father and daughter should look like, but I have treated you with the heart of an elder. I have never been insincere..."
He said much, but only two words landed on Xiao Nanhui’s heart.
*Never.*
"Then you have never loved me."
Xiao Nanhui spoke up sharply, interrupting Xiao Zhun’s monologue.
For this long-overdue answer, she had waited many years, wasted much time, and delayed her own progress.
She remembered what Yao Yi had once said to her; looking back now, it was perfectly accurate.
She appeared strong, but in truth, she was a coward. Her adoration for Xiao Zhun had never made her strong; it had only drained her courage year after year. Bai Yun’s appearance was a giant boulder falling from the sky, forcing her to pull herself out of the vortex she had been wasting away in.
Can the differences between people be made up through effort?
She used to think so, but the moment she saw Bai Yun fire that arrow from the Listening Wind Tower, she knew it was impossible.
That arrow, fired in haste, had passed through the carved window lattice of the tower, through the smoky air above the Yue River, and finally through the crowded masses and the imperial canopies to reach its destination with unerring accuracy.
To shoot like that required talent.
But she had no talent. All she had was day after day of bitter practice. Yet even so, her archery could not compare to the other woman's. It was the same between her and Xiao Zhun. Even if she had over a decade of being together day and night, she could not compete with that single point of memory from his youth.
Biting her lip, the expression on her face gradually calmed, though her voice still trembled slightly.
"Father, do you know that when I was with His Majesty in Suyan, I once almost fell off a cliff and lost my life?"
Xiao Zhun was silent.
He knew many things had happened during her time in Lingxi, but he had never thought deeply about the twists and turns involved—let alone how those twists and turns would change the person before him.
"There is a swordsman of the Bai clan with superb skill. He once wounded me with sword-qi, and at the time, I was wearing the Radiant Armor. That armor blocked the fatal blow for me, but the next moment, when I was on the edge of the cliff, the weight of that iron armor dragged me down, nearly taking my life."
"Father, you taught me martial arts, taught me how to be a person and the principles of cultivation. You gave me a roof to shield me from the wind and rain, and provided me with warm meals. Like that iron armor, you gave me protection. But armor is not a part of me, after all. There will come a day when I must take it off, just as there will come a day when I..."
She paused, unable to continue for a moment.
But thinking of all the courage she had gathered for this moment, and the sleepless nights she had endured, she finally decided to bring it all to a close.
"Just as there will come a day when I will leave the Xiao Estate, and leave you."
The air seemed to freeze. The dull ache in her heart left her not knowing what expression to make.
When she looked up again, Xiao Zhun’s face seemed to be covered by a layer of mist, becoming blurred.
How she wished the man before her would say: *No, you don't have to leave. We will be together forever and ever.*
However, she knew he wouldn't.
Xiao Zhun would never say those words to her, because he never easily promised what he could not do.
She also knew that the moment she spoke those words, their relationship was destined to become infinitely distant, never to return to the intimacy of father and teacher they once shared.
She had once craved the warmth that intimacy brought and fantasized that it might one day transform into the kind of affection she desired. But the answer time gave her was cruel.
Now, she had finally heard that answer with her own ears.
It was incredibly clear, deafeningly loud, like the tolling of a bell echoing in the depths of her heart.
So be it.
It didn't matter.
These things never belonged to her anyway. She could return to that wild and barren world.
She belonged to such a world to begin with.
The moment she turned around, her tears fell, only to be shattered and lost in the cold wind.
***
