WNST - 144

Chapter 144: The Long Road Home

What Wanyan Puruo did was far crueler than her words suggested. 

She employed his own methods against him. When she visited Zhang Yuehui for the last time, she brought with her a man who bore an uncanny resemblance to him—perhaps even more like the “Zhang Yuehui” he once was. 

Ah, another human-skin mask—the very trick he excelled at using to deceive others. 

Wanyan Puruo informed him that this imposter would lead away his loyal servant, Luo Ci. From that moment on, no one in the world would know where the real Zhang Yuehui had vanished to. 

Just like that, she crushed his final escape route without effort. 

Yet Zhang Yuehui seemed strangely unperturbed. Luo Ci was indeed waiting for him outside the city, but Bianjing wasn’t their territory—they lacked the means to stir up trouble. Falling into Wanyan Puruo’s hands was akin to having half the guillotine already descend upon his neck. He had long since stopped resisting. 

Wanyan Puruo tossed him among the prisoners destined for exile to the northern desert. They were set to depart the next day. 

For now, all he wanted was to sleep. 

He had a peculiar aversion to filth, which tormented him more than physical pain. He began hallucinating that the muddy water and grime on the floor were seeping into his skin, that snakes, insects, and rats from the sewers were swarming over him. But given his current circumstances, indulging in such sensitivities was impossible. Closing his eyes, he pretended not to see or feel anything—a futile attempt at self-deception. 

Drifting in and out of consciousness, he eventually slipped into a restless slumber. His body felt unbearably cold, his thoughts tangled and chaotic. In his half-dream state, he saw himself standing alone in an endless snowy plain, clad only in thin clothing, barefoot, trudging through the snow. 

Through the haze, he heard someone softly calling his name. 

A figure emerged from the blizzard, approaching him. 

It was a female prisoner—but her face was unmistakably Nan Yi’s. 

Zhang Yuehui muttered inwardly, Am I hallucinating now? 

She said, “Let’s leave together.” 

And now I’m hearing things too. 

Zhang Yuehui gave her a vacant smile, a hollow ache swelling within him. 

He was a man who never looked back, each step he took irrevocable, proud to the core. 

But was he truly without regret? 

No. He was drowning in it. He longed to grasp the fleeting moments of genuine connection he once had, the sincerity of the person who had stood by his side. He had made a mistake so profound it haunted him for life, and though he had tried to make amends, he had still lost her bit by bit in his relentless pursuit. 

All his bravado masked his fear. He insisted loudly that he was a bad person, terrified that even if he became good, she wouldn’t look back at him. 

Enough. He accepted his utter defeat. 

“Don’t come. Leave quickly,” he murmured to her through the storm. 

He could no longer reach the Peach Blossom Spring. 

Nan Yi watched as Zhang Yuehui briefly roused from his delirium, muttered some incoherent words, and then sank back into unconsciousness. She touched his forehead—he was burning with fever. 

The sight of his broken body shook her. She had never seen Zhang Yuehui in such a pitiful state. After the Phoenix Rebirth Plan, they hadn’t met for a long time. Back then, he had quietly left without forcing her to fulfill her promise, and she had shamefully avoided confronting him. Deep down, she was grateful for his letting go, but she also carried a heavy sense of guilt. Whenever she thought of him, she prayed fervently that he would live freely and happily, hoping that might ease her remorse. She had assumed he was living contentedly in Shu, secluded from the world. Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine he would reappear before her like this. She wanted to ask him why. 

Since Xie Queshan’s death, she had stubbornly embarked on a path to restore his honor, receiving unexpected help along the way. Yet she never anticipated that Zhang Yuehui, who could have remained uninvolved, would show up at this critical moment and pay such a heavy price to assist her. 

Was it only for her? Or did he also believe in the cause she fought for? 

Everything about Zhang Yuehui finally came into focus for her. This man, neither wholly good nor evil, always blurred the lines, leaving others guessing. Even Nan Yi had once thought him devoid of principles. Now, she began to regret labeling him as someone on a different path. Perhaps his flamboyance and arrogance were all a facade—his stubborn insistence on being “bad” masking his fear of loyalty being betrayed again. In truth, they had been walking the same road all along. Beneath it all, he was a truly kind and admirable person. 

She vowed to get Zhang Yuehui out of this hellish place. 

Even in death, there was a glimmer of hope. 

Days earlier, she had been just one step away from leaving the city when the sudden lockdown trapped her inside. It was then she heard rumors of an assassin disguised as the Eighth Prince being captured at the princess’s estate. 

Thinking back to the Eighth Prince she had encountered that day, she felt a premonition stirring. She sought out Qiao Yinzhi, pressing her until she revealed the truth. 

Zhang Yuehui had been Qiao Yinzhi’s employer. Though she had been sold to Husa and served the Qi forces for a time, she remained a covert operative for Guīlái Hall. Zhang Yuehui had secretly followed Nan Yi northward, guessing she would act during Princess Wanyan Puruo’s birthday banquet. He had contacted Qiao Yinzhi beforehand, arranging for her assistance.

Qiao Yinzhi had long since lost any sense of loyalty while serving the Qi forces—her actions were driven solely by survival and necessity. Yet this mission was undeniably perilous. Zhang Yuehui, having lost much of Guīlái Hall’s support, couldn’t have compelled her if she refused. However, recalling the kindness the Xie family had once shown her, she agreed without hesitation. 

Zhang Yuehui had explicitly instructed her not to inform Nan Yi of his involvement, which was why she hadn’t mentioned it earlier. 

Only now did Nan Yi realize just how much Zhang Yuehui had done for her. She resolved that under no circumstances would she abandon him. They learned that Wanyan Puruo planned to exile Zhang Yuehui to the northern desert soon. 

An idea struck Nan Yi: she asked Qiao Yinzhi to help her disguise herself as a female prisoner and infiltrate the convoy. This way, she could rescue Zhang Yuehui while using the prisoner transport as cover to leave Bianjing under heavy guard. 

But Qiao Yinzhi immediately refused. 

“The criminals exiled to the northern desert are all deemed guilty of heinous crimes. To prevent rebellion or escape en route, each prisoner is pierced through the collarbone with an iron ring and chained inside a cage before departure.” 

Seeing Nan Yi’s lack of response, Qiao Yinzhi emphasized further: “Do you understand what this means? You’d endure the agony of having your bones drilled through and your flesh consumed by pain! How could you possibly bear it?” 

To Qiao Yinzhi’s surprise, Nan Yi calmly replied: “Precisely because of this, no one would suspect anyone in this convoy of trying to leave the city.” 

Qiao Yinzhi was momentarily speechless. 

She was right. No one would imagine someone insane enough to pay such a price to escape. 

Was it worth it? 

Suddenly, Qiao Yinzhi thought of Xie Heng. Was his sacrifice worth it? He could have lived longer, but instead, he chose to drink poison, feeling his organs slowly corroded until he collapsed. He didn’t blame her; he chose the cruelest path for himself. Was it worth it? 

Perhaps worldly matters shouldn’t be measured by worthiness—only willingness mattered. 

Qiao Yinzhi’s voice trembled involuntarily: “Even if you manage to leave the city, how do you plan to escape afterward?” 

“As long as I get out, I’ll find a way,” Nan Yi declared firmly. 

It was simply a matter of staking her life on the gamble. She had already come so far; only eighty miles remained between her and success. What she carried wasn’t merely a simple memorial—it was the culmination of countless lives’ efforts, passed down like a relay baton. Like moths drawn to a flame, they hurled themselves toward an elusive light, seeking no reward, only justice for one wronged soul. And she—she would crawl if she had to—would reach the finish line. 

She no longer feared the world’s sharp edges or its wounds. In the moment of his death, the part of her that hurt most deeply had vanished with him. What remained was numbness, fearlessness—a hollow shell willing to shatter but with an indomitable spirit unbroken. 

The executioner pinned her against the wall as a red-hot iron spike pierced through her fragile collarbone, carving a void within her body. She let out a beastly howl as the iron ring emerged from her back, soaking half her clothes in blood. 

Sweat poured down Nan Yi’s face as she gasped for breath, yet she laughed like a madwoman. The pain was excruciating, but in that moment, her body—sustained thus far by sheer willpower—felt suddenly tangible. 

No one knew that accepting his death had been an agonizingly empty process. Even pain felt hollow. Beneath her outward calm and determination lay a boiling despair, a futile collapse where she grasped at nothing. Those feelings of emptiness finally found release here. She had to walk the same path of fire and blades he had endured, taste the suffering he had faced, and leave real scars upon herself—as if only then could she prove he had truly existed. 

No one knew how much she missed him. 

--- 

When the convoy of exiles departed the city, Wanyan Puruo stood atop the wall, watching them disappear into the distance. Zhang Yuehui’s injuries were severe, and fearing he might die along the way, she temporarily spared him the piercing punishment, tossing him instead into a prison cart. 

From afar, the line of carts jolted forward slowly, their occupants faceless. She couldn’t identify which one was him. 

The proud had their wings clipped; the noble fell to dust. 

Those who betrayed her met only wretched ends. 

She never allowed herself to suffer indignity. 

Wanyan Puruo turned away decisively, convinced she remained victorious. Yet even the most meticulous plans had flaws. Right under her nose, the thief she had hunted across the city slipped away. 

When Zhang Yuehui saw Nan Yi, he thought he was still dreaming. 

But he knew he wouldn’t dream so awkwardly or miserably—how could a dream confine him in a cramped prison cart? 

This was real. 

The person chained beside him, her shoulder pierced by an iron lock, was Nan Yi. 

It took him a while to fully comprehend: this was her method of escaping Bianjing. 

The punishments inflicted on him hadn’t truly wounded him, but seeing the bloody hole drilled through her body made him feel a bone-deep agony that nearly tore him apart. 

He hated himself fiercely—for failing to buy her more time, for lacking the ability to ensure her safe departure, for not being an omnipotent avenger capable of overturning injustice. Instead, she repeatedly risked her life, enduring wounds and scars for every small victory. 

Perhaps the anguish in his eyes was too evident. Meeting his gaze, she could only silently comfort him with her own. Covered in grime, her figure dimmed, yet her eyes shone like stars. 

He saw in her gaze a resolve to persevere despite impossibility—and his fighting spirit reignited. 

Without a word, he nodded at her. 

That night, when exhaustion settled over the guards, Zhang Yuehui deliberately made noise to lure an officer closer. As the man approached, Zhang swiftly used his chains to choke him, silencing him completely. 

Nan Yi then efficiently ended the man’s life with a dagger—the weapon secretly returned to her by Qiao Yinzhi during the body search before departure. 

Taking the keys from the guard’s corpse, Nan Yi quietly unlocked the chains and opened the prison cart door. Before alerting others, she and Zhang Yuehui slipped away together.

Two near-helpless individuals, leaning on each other for support, trudged southward across a desolate, uninhabited wasteland. 

The road stretched far longer than they had imagined.