WNST - 131

Chapter 131: Eternal Regret

The weather was still wavering between warm and cold. Overnight, fierce winds and sudden rain caused spring flowers to wither hastily. Wangxue Manor silently draped itself in white banners of mourning. 

A new tombstone was added, and the entire garden echoed with cries and tears. 

Xie Queshan was still in the government office discussing matters, while Nan Yi wandered aimlessly through the streets. Her steps faltered, taking her half a day just to cross a single street. She realized she simply didn’t have the courage to tell Xie Queshan about Xiao Liu’s death. 

Perhaps she was still holding onto some hope, thinking that if she delayed just a little longer, news might come that it was all a mistake. The vibrant and spirited Xiao Liu might return triumphantly at any moment. 

Or maybe… this was all just a nightmare? 

The clamor around her seemed distant and indistinct. Suddenly, a bright and clear voice emerged. 

“Sister-in-law!” 

Nan Yi turned abruptly, searching through the sea of people. Passersby hurried along, but the familiar face she sought was nowhere to be seen. 

The hallucination grew stronger. 

It felt as though a young girl was holding her hand, frowning earnestly and saying, “Sister-in-law, the tasks ahead will only get harder.” 

Then she appeared in front of her, exuding bold determination: “No one can bully my sister-in-law!” 

Her expression softened, shy yet hopeful: “Once the world is stabilized and the new emperor ascends the throne, we’ll get married.” 

Suddenly, Xiao Liu turned back, confused. 

“Sister-in-law, why are you crying?” 

Nan Yi touched her cheek and realized tears were streaming down her face. She reached out to the apparition of Xiao Liu, but the moment she exerted force, the vision vanished. She was abruptly thrust back into the noisy world, devoid of Xiao Liu’s laughter and presence. Her legs gave way, and she collapsed by the roadside, sobbing uncontrollably. 

Nan Yi couldn’t accept it. She hadn’t even thanked Xiao Liu. It was because of Xiao Liu’s kindness that her broken life had begun to rebuild. She also hadn’t confessed to Xiao Liu that, in the beginning, she had lied—she wasn’t Yan. Yan was the brother she had hated for so many years. 

She had always feared being exposed, so she never allowed herself to get too close to Xiao Liu. As a result, they lost countless opportunities for intimacy. They should have cried together, shut themselves indoors to whisper secrets like young girls do, speaking of love and hate under the warm glow of candlelight, smoothing over tears amidst laughter and quarrels. 

Xiao Liu was like the most bountiful ear of rice in the field, embodying sunshine and nourishment. People believed that when they saw her, a prosperous era of abundance would surely arrive. 

But how could that ear of rice disappear so soon in the wind? 

Nan Yi wept bitterly, drawing curious glances from passersby. Yet no one lingered—tears were the cheapest commodity in turbulent times, and such scenes played out on the streets countless times every day. 

Life and death had become commonplace. 

Suddenly, the sound of galloping hooves echoed, and startled cries rose from the crowd as people scrambled to move aside. 

Nan Yi looked up instinctively, tears still shimmering in her eyes, and saw what seemed to be He Ping rushing home in a panic. 

He Ping noticed Nan Yi and yanked hard on the reins to stop. 

“Lady Nan Yi—” 

“What happened?” Nan Yi wiped her tears, sensing something was wrong. 

He Ping’s face was fraught with anxiety. “Master Xie was in the government office earlier. After hearing the news that Miss Liu was ambushed by the Qi people and fell into the cliffs of Zhejiang Ridge, leaving no trace of her body, he didn’t say a word. He seized a horse and left without even returning to the family’s mourning hall, riding straight out of the city gates! No one could stop him!” 

Where was he going? Where else could he go? 

Nan Yi had a hunch. She raced through the night to Zhejiang Ridge and sure enough found Xie Queshan’s horse there. 

He wanted to bring Xiao Liu home. 

This was a perilous cliff where the river was blocked by towering peaks, forcing it to make a sharp turn—hence the name Zhejiang Ridge. 

If someone fell from the cliff into the roaring river below, their body would likely be shattered beyond recognition, leaving no trace behind. 

As dawn approached, faint footprints were visible in the shallow sand by the shore. Xie Queshan had already waded into the water from the narrow bank, inch by inch, searching alone. 

The withered trees on the shore, the rocks in the river, the caves carved out by crashing waves—he scoured everything frantically, unwilling to overlook the slightest clue.

Though she had mentally prepared herself, Nan Yi was still stunned. She rarely saw Xie Queshan in such a state of reckless obsession. After the death of their teacher, she had assumed he had already mastered the art of dealing with loss. 

But it seemed that no matter how much time passed, humans remained fragile in the face of life and death. They simply spent years preparing themselves, repeatedly imagining the worst-case scenarios, trying to rise from despair after being pushed to the brink. 

But what about the parts they hadn’t prepared for? 

Xie Queshan had never expected to receive news of Xiao Liu’s death. 

He could die, but those he had fought so hard to protect—how could they die? 

His sister had always been a fortunate and courageous woman. She possessed absolute kindness, believed in fairness and justice, had wronged no one, and made no mistakes. She was still in the prime of her youth, blossoming like a flower in the wind. It should never have been her. 

He even wondered if his change in status had placed her in an impossible position—if she had been torn between hating him or forgiving him, and had chosen to resolve it in a decisive, final way. She had always been someone who operated without middle ground. 

He had never been one to express himself, and many words he had never said aloud, nor did he ever intend to. But now, he regretted it deeply. That day, he should have gone to comfort her. 

He should have stubbornly reconciled with his sister, letting go of all past grievances. 

Then perhaps they wouldn’t be clinging to the cruel phrase “no body found.” 

If there was no body, could there still be hope for survival? 

Alive, you must see the person; dead, you must see the body. 

As Nan Yi watched Xie Queshan’s searching figure, a sharp pang of sorrow swelled in her chest, followed by a flicker of hope. Her heartbeat quickened. 

She rolled up her pant legs and waded into the river. 

Her sense of helplessness suddenly found a place to settle. Perhaps they didn’t have to face this cruel farewell. Call it an escape, or call it the desperate grasp of a drowning person clinging to driftwood—but what if? What if they could find something? 

Even though she was rational and knew the court must have already sent people to search, coming up empty-handed. She knew days had passed, making their efforts likely futile. But at this moment, all of that was pushed aside. They focused only on the river before them, drawing strength from the mechanical act of searching, enough to keep standing. 

In the past, they had experienced moments when fate had smiled upon them, turning danger into safety. 

Xie Queshan noticed Nan Yi. Between them, a silent understanding had formed—to seek miracles in every abandoned moment. He said nothing, simply walking alongside her, wordlessly searching. 

The river slowly receded, revealing more shallow banks, yet still, they found nothing. 

Xiao Liu, stop hiding. 

Come home. 

Xie Queshan felt as though his body was numbly going through the motions of searching, while his true self had drifted far away, looking down at them from above. Beneath the cliffs, beside the mountains and rivers, they were as insignificant as mayflies. No matter how loudly they cried out, there was no answer. 

Suddenly, an unexpected wave crashed over, nearly knocking Xie Queshan off balance. He instinctively turned back, but Nan Yi was nowhere to be seen. 

A sudden fear of loss gripped his heart. Without time to think, he frantically waded toward where Nan Yi had been. 

Splash—just as he approached, he heard the sound of water being displaced. Nan Yi staggered to her feet from the water, and Xie Queshan quickly grabbed her hand, terrified she might be swept away by the current. 

He wanted to say something, but when he saw the deep sadness in her eyes, he paused. 

“I think I saw something,” Nan Yi murmured blankly. 

As she spoke, the last wave quietly receded, revealing the exposed rocky shore. Xie Queshan looked toward the area she indicated. Among the scattered rocks, one section was shattered, with a shallow depression that appeared to have been smashed into the ground. Sticking out among the rocks was a broken arrow—only the shaft remained, the tip missing. 

Xie Queshan crouched down, carefully, almost trembling, and picked up the remnants of the arrow. It was a weapon used by the Qi people, engraved with the distinctive pattern of the Black Crow Hall. 

The arrow had been snapped cleanly in half, and traces of blood seeped into the wood at the break. 

The brutal, silent scene of that moment came faintly into view. 

Xie Queshan’s rationality began to return inch by inch, his mind gradually clearing. 

This might be where Xiao Liu had fallen. Her body had been carried away by the river, leaving behind only half of an enemy’s arrow by chance. 

The other half—the sharpest part—had remained lodged in her body forever. She had resolved to let her flesh rot it away, to erase its existence. 

That was her determination. 

Xie Queshan knelt on the shallow bank, cradling the broken arrow in his hands, bowing his head as tears streamed down his face. His sister had been so resolute, dissolving into the rushing river, lost to him forever. 

Nan Yi stepped forward to comfort him, wrapping her arms around him. He clung tightly to her, unmoving. The tide washed over his trembling back again and again, as if he sought some shred of certainty amidst the overwhelming emptiness and loss. 

The things he could hold onto were growing fewer and fewer. 

… 

On the way back, they had no strength left to ride. They simply walked slowly, leading their horses. 

Halfway through, a rider galloped toward them, his expression tense. 

It was Song Muchuan. He dismounted hastily and took a few quick steps toward them. 

Xie Queshan could already sense the urgency in his demeanor. 

“Chao’en, urgent news from the front lines. The Qi army, led by General Han Xianwang, has crossed Shangyang Pass with 50,000 troops, heading straight for Hukui Mountain. They’re here half a month earlier than we anticipated.” 

Xie Queshan and Song Muchuan had already guessed that the Qi forces’ next move would be a full-scale invasion, and they had begun preparations for the defense of the city. But based on their calculations, it would take at least twenty days for the Qi forces to march from Bianliang. They hadn’t expected them to arrive so quickly. 

Perhaps Wanyan Puruo had anticipated trouble in Lidu Prefecture after learning that Xie Queshan was still alive and had prepared a contingency plan. 

After the Candlelight Division dealt a crushing defeat to the Qi forces in Lidu Prefecture, Wanyan Puruo killed Shen Zhizhong and quietly slipped away from Jinling. From then on, her final battle to intercept the imperial family became a series of diversions and deceptions. Using various tactics, she kept the southern dynasty preoccupied, preventing them from assembling a large army quickly, while simultaneously sending her own forces southward.

Speed was of the essence, and she had swiftly found a way to break through despite being at a disadvantage. 

Xie Queshan slowly raised his head, all traces of grief in his eyes now transformed into icy hatred. For the first time, he radiated such raw killing intent. 

A blood-soaked sword, waiting only to be unsheathed. 

Old grudges and new vengeance would culminate in this battle. 

With deliberate precision, he declared his resolve: “The heavens share my hatred; to kill them will bring satisfaction.”