WNST - 109

Nan Yi kept her word. The next day, she came again to Huachao Pavilion to find Zhang Yuehui. She would keep her questions before him at all times, until he finally gave her an answer.

Zhang Yuehui was an incredibly strong person, and by the time he saw Nanyi again, he was already acting as if nothing had happened. Laughing and joking, with people surrounding him, he led Nanyi through the Huachao Pavilion, showing her the sights, dining, and enjoying performances.

Nanyi felt uneasy, but she kept a stern face and followed him closely, remaining unaffected by Zhang Yuehui’s antics.

On the third day, Nanyi came again.

They were in a battle of wills, seeing whose conscience would give out first.

However, on this day, a small incident occurred. A fisherman came to find Zhang Yuehui. As soon as Zhang Yuehui’s expression changed, he hurriedly had the man taken away.

Nanyi observed all of this.

On the fourth day, Nanyi did not come, but sent Zhang Yuehui a note.

The note, written in an unrefined hand, clearly conveyed her anger: “Zhang Yuehui! You can’t hide it anymore!! I already know where he is!”

Zhang Yuehui immediately tensed up, recalling the fisherman from the previous day. The man was one of the covert guards who regularly delivered meals to Xie Que Shan, also tasked with monitoring his well-being and ensuring he stayed on the boat. Every three days, he would report back to Zhang Yuehui. Yesterday, he had run into Nanyi.

Had Nanyi guessed Xie Que Shan’s location from his appearance? Zhang Yuehui hadn’t expected Nanyi to be so astute, picking up on such subtle details.

Given that he’d underestimated Nanyi several times before, this time, he didn’t doubt his own judgment.

Zhang Yuehui grew anxious; he hadn’t expected things to escalate so quickly. Over the past few days, his mind had been constantly on edge, not knowing how to handle the situation.

No one wanted to grant the wishes of someone they loved more than Zhang Yuehui, but her wish was to throw herself into the flames for another man.

He had thought he could delay things a little longer, but she had suddenly shattered his plans and was now heading straight into the trap.

Every time, he was just one step away from stopping her. This time, he didn’t want to make a single mistake.

He quickly sent people to intercept Nanyi.

...

In reality, Nanyi didn’t know anything about the fisherman. She only sensed that Zhang Yuehui was feeling guilty, and she had tricked him a little.

Now, by following the two covert guards he had sent, she would find out where Xie Que Shan was.

Nanyi concealed herself and trailed them to the riverbank. However, the direction of the bamboo raft wasn’t heading toward the Tiger Kneel Mountain, which made her uneasy. Was the person really on the river?

Could Zhang Yuehui be playing her?

But whether it was true or not, she had to see it with her own eyes.

Silently, Nanyi slipped into the water, following the small boat carrying the covert guards. When the two men on board weren’t paying attention, she suddenly emerged from the water and made her move. Nanyi dragged one of them into the water, leaving the other on the boat.

She quickly climbed onto the boat, placing a knife to the man’s throat: “Lead the way.”

For Xie Que Shan, waiting for death in the midst of the mountains and rivers felt somewhat surreal.

This isolated prison had a certain poetic quality to it. He wasn’t entirely sure whether this was Zhang Yuehui’s kindness, giving him some semblance of a peaceful final time instead of a miserable one.

The shackles on his wrists restrained his movements. He couldn’t leave the room, but he could see the outside world through the window.

He watched as the cycle of day and night continued, the spring gradually creeping up the cliffs, and the ten-mile peach orchard in the mountains blossomed. The spring wind carried flower petals, which fell into the river.

There were rare moments in his life when he wasn’t scheming or planning. He allowed his mind to wander, recalling many past events.

There was a time when he was also imprisoned. It had been when he first arrived at Great Qi. If he surrendered too easily, it would have raised suspicion. The Qi people liked the proud Han people, but not too proud. The balance was delicate. He had to play the role of a stubborn man for a while, enduring their many threats, flattery, and persuasion, until his true nature could emerge.

Han Xianwang had intentionally had him captured by the Yuchao army. The border soldiers hated him to the bone, subjecting him to cruel torture before locking him in a dark, windowless dungeon, waiting to be sent back to the capital. He stayed in that dungeon for more than ten days, never seeing the sun, living like a half-human, half-ghost, almost driven mad.

The ones torturing him were not enemies but his fellow countrymen, his comrades. He had to grit his teeth and keep silent, not revealing a single word.

This was the cruelty of the Qi people.

But he knew he had to endure this. He had to make the Qi people believe that he had been broken both physically and mentally, so they would trust that he would be loyal to Great Qi.

When he was on the brink of death, Han Xianwang finally showed up, rescuing him from his suffering, making a show of his imperial kindness. He had kneeled before Han Xianwang like a dog, speaking shameless words like, “Whoever saves my life is like a second parent to me. I will serve you like a dog or horse.”

So, when that day came, when Nanyi knelt before him, begging him to spare her life and said, “How much is pride worth when compared to life?” he probably started to feel some pity for her.

He knew Pang Yu must have said something to her, and she had pretended to be weak in order to survive. He felt sympathy for her courage in abandoning her dignity, as it reminded him of himself many years ago.

He had always been reluctant to think back on those days. He had once been a man full of pride. When his mentor, Shen Zhizhong, asked him to infiltrate Great Qi, he had naïvely held onto the idealistic passion of a lone hero, underestimating the difficulty of the task. But once the journey began, there was no turning back.

His connection with Great Qi had started and ended with a period of imprisonment. He supposed he had done the job well.

If there was something he couldn’t let go of...

No, there was nothing left to hold on to.

A crescent moon had already climbed up the cliff, its reflection in the water looking like a sickle cutting through the river.

Xie Que Shan stared at the river, absentmindedly reaching for a pebble from the flowerpot. He threw it at the water’s surface. With a soft splash, it blended with the wind, as though it was a hallucination. The moon shattered for a moment before quickly reassembling itself.

Stubbornly remaining in place.

It was as though Xie Que Shan had become fixated on that reflection, and just as he was about to flick another stone into the water, he suddenly saw a small boat drifting toward him on the river.

Clink — The stone slipped from her hand and rolled a few times before coming to a stop.

From a distance, Nan Yi saw the painted pleasure boat on the river. Under the cover of night, it looked like a black, abandoned giant.

A few scattered lights on the boat flickered in the river wind, struggling to stay lit.

In an instant, she had considered many possibilities: Was Xie Que Shan on that boat? How could she rescue him from such a solitary cage, floating in the river?

Although she hadn’t seen anyone on the boat yet, her heart began to race violently, as if drawn to him, like a resonance.

She pulled her anxious gaze back and coldly looked at the hidden guards on the boat. “Do you know what you’re going to say to your master when you get back?”

“We understand, we haven’t seen anything, just came to patrol.”

The small boat had already docked alongside the large ship. Nan Yi put away her knife, grabbed the rope along the ship’s edge, and climbed onto the deck.

She was drenched, water dripping down her clothes. The moonlight, bright and clear, seemed to pull the reflection of the moon from the water along with it.

A few bright peach blossoms floated in the wind, and across the deck, Xie Que Shan and she exchanged a long gaze.

For a moment, Xie Que Shan wondered if it was just an illusion. Had he struck some water spirit with a stone, and now the spirit had transformed into a human form to seduce him?

The water spirit, dripping with moisture, leapt into his arms, speaking with her voice.

“Great, you’re still alive.”

This was a long-delayed revenge.

The revenge began when he saved that dying young girl in the water, giving her a warm fur coat. She now wanted to drag him back into the mortal world, to drown him in emotions, and when he was ready to sink, she would give him a breath of life.

But he was just a dying shell.

He didn’t respond to her passion. In the end, he pushed her away, forcing out a few words: “Why did you come?”

“I came to help you,” her eyes were shockingly bright. “You’re a hero who saves the kingdom from peril. Just like you rescue others, I want to rescue you.”

In this vast world, she spoke these words shamelessly, with the steep cliffs and rushing river behind her.

He raised his shackled wrist, the chains rattling: “Tell me, how can I be saved?”

“I can’t do it alone. Then I’ll go to the Bingzhu Si (a government organization) to get reinforcements.”

“Do you want to get Song Muchuan killed?”

“Mr. Song asked about you. He’s begun to suspect your identity, but I haven’t told him yet. Have you considered that he might want you on his side? He may want to fight alongside you. The people of Qi are already suspicious of you. You can’t hide your identity any longer. It’s better to tell him, and we can all think of a way to resolve this. It’s better to stay alive than die with no plan.”

“Don’t say it,” Xie Que Shan immediately stopped Nan Yi, his eyes filled with intense emotions. “Never say it again.”

“Why?” Nan Yi truly didn’t understand and spoke more urgently. “Now, who else can save you except Bingzhu Si? Do you want to wait here and die?”

Yes, he was waiting to die.

But in the face of Nan Yi’s eyes, which cared so much for him, he couldn’t say such cruel words.

“This is the safest situation right now. Don’t act rashly. Go back the way you came. After everything is over, we will meet again.”

Nan Yi stared blankly at Xie Que Shan, a chaotic thought suddenly becoming clear in her mind.

She felt she was losing him, in this cold wind, beneath the broken moon.

She couldn’t accept it. She didn’t want it.

In a panic, she grabbed his hand. “Xie Que Shan, you can’t lie.”

Xie Que Shan instinctively tightened his grip around her cold hand, and this subtle movement betrayed him. He fell silent, trembling ever so slightly.

“You are the hero who saved the kingdom in its time of crisis. You should be praised, not quietly die. Don’t you want your struggles to be revealed? Don’t you want to be understood by everyone?”

These words, in the dangerous Lu Du Mansion, she had never dared to speak before.

Because it felt too fake.

But now, Nan Yi was desperate. She could only clumsily try to awaken his idealistic vision.

Xie Que Shan glanced at her indifferently, as if he had already detached from the situation. “And then? Will everyone forgive me?”

Nan Yi caught the oddness in his words. She had said “understand,” but he had said “forgive.” It seemed almost the same, yet it felt worlds apart.

How could there be someone without any selfish thoughts? She asked herself if she could be like that, and she felt it was impossible. She truly didn’t understand—what other hidden truths was he hiding?

“What’s wrong with that?”

He remained calm, though his expression seemed to be in great pain. “But Pang Yu is already dead. Who will forgive me for him?”

It was like thunder striking on a calm day, illuminating all the past.

It turned out that the sword that killed Pang Yu had always been stuck in Xie Que Shan’s chest, turning day and night, never stopping.

She had occasionally ignited his passion, but she couldn’t ease his guilt.

Even she, in her daily life, had overlooked what it felt like to witness a close friend die in front of you when you were young. But back then, he had merely sat on the blood-stained deadwood, staring vacantly.

He had disguised himself so well that people mistakenly believed he was born to be such a master of disguise.

He had forcefully killed part of himself in that snowstorm, the part that didn’t deserve to be buried with Pang Yu in the plum grove, so he knelt by Pang Yu’s lonely grave night after night.

No one saw, no one knew, no one said, “I forgive you.”

He couldn’t let Song Muchuan be in danger anymore.

This was his great righteousness, his selfishness.

That’s why he stayed on this ship sailing toward death, unwilling to leave. He had already planned out the meaning of his death.