# 102: The Forest Dweller (II)

◎Without Defect◎

A torrential downpour began outside Linfeng Pavilion, the moon sinking and the sky darkening.

Before the rain intensified, Su Chaoci had smashed his wine cup and left without saying a word. Bai Shating hastily chased after him with the yellow oil-paper umbrella Su had left behind, only sighing deeply before departing.

“Must it really come to this?”

Zhou Tan shook his head lightly and chuckled, “If there were a better way...”

Bai Shating fell silent, raising his umbrella. “I plan to resign from my post and travel across these beautiful lands with Liuchun.”

Zhou Tan paused, replying, “Very well. The current political situation is unstable, and as part of my family, you would inevitably be implicated.”

“I don’t know how much longer Eleven can stay at the Imperial Hospital. If you need help, seek him out.”

“Alright.”

After both figures disappeared into the rain mist outside Linfeng Pavilion, Zhou Tan removed his outer robe and draped it over Qu You’s shoulders.

She sat beneath the corridor pillar, lost in thought. Rainwater poured from the eaves, mingling with the ripples on the lake surface and soaking her skirt. Zhou Tan’s fingers brushed against her cheek—cold, so cold.

He stiffened slightly, as if he’d done something wrong, and called her softly, “Alian...”

Qu You looked up at him.

Perhaps due to drinking too quickly earlier, her cheeks were slightly flushed, her eyes gentle and moist, like shadows of the rain or traces of unshed tears. Zhou Tan lowered his eyes, feeling his heart race.

He felt nervous.

After leaving the imperial prison years ago, he rarely felt nervous about anything anymore—neither the treacherous political machinations nor the unpredictable whims of those in power, nor even the countless battles and shifting tides during the siege of Licheng.

Since childhood, he had been calm and composed, yet when facing her, even with all his defenses up, he was powerless. Alone in this turbulent world, if he truly had no feelings, he might have mocked himself for aspiring to follow the solitary path of his predecessors. But alas, his heart was burdened with too many ties.

He couldn’t let go of his attachment to his family, his teacher’s final instructions, or the love he never thought he’d experience. It was intoxicating, unforgettable, until he could no longer extricate himself.

“Back then, when I was in the imperial prison...” Zhou Tan sat beside her, taking her hand. His voice was hoarse, each word seemingly difficult to utter. “Master San Shi Er, under the late emperor’s orders, personally interrogated me—I was his most prized disciple, favored beyond measure. To force him to speak, they used me as an example.”

Qu You stared at him, red-eyed, and said in disbelief, “When I once asked you about the origins of those scars, you put it off until night and eventually forgot.”

“I remember,” Zhou Tan’s lips curved faintly, but no smile appeared. “I simply didn’t want to talk about it. At that time, the jailers were ordered not to kill anyone outright. Many of my fellow disciples couldn’t bear the humiliation and took their own lives... After they died, their bodies were kept secret and piled up. Days later, they were wrapped in straw mats and carried out, labeled as suicides driven by fear. Master had many students from humble backgrounds with no noble connections. Some weren’t even claimed after death; their bodies lay naked at Xihua Gate, rotting and devoured by stray dogs. Back then, the atmosphere in Bianjing was tense—you must have heard some of it.”

Just hearing his brief recount made Qu You shudder, cold sweat breaking out on her back. “The torture you endured... surely wasn’t any lighter than theirs...”

“Naturally, it was worse,” Zhou Tan’s expression remained unchanged, speaking as if narrating something unrelated. “The torturer was a cruel official from the previous dynasty. Even the most upright scholars couldn’t withstand a single round under him—not without losing all dignity and begging for mercy or succumbing to madness, wanting only to die. I was young and arrogant back then, unable to comprehend compromise, thinking death was nothing to fear.”

His grip on her hand tightened suddenly. Even after all this time, the memories still brought unbearable pain.

Qu You turned away quickly to hide her emotions, but couldn’t wipe away the tears that escaped from the corners of her eyes.

“They took nails—long and thick black ones,” Zhou Tan gestured with his hands, recalling carefully. “They hammered them into vital parts of my body. Ingeniously, they avoided damaging bones but rendered me immobile. Even lifting a finger felt like agony coursing through every limb—it was truly terrifying. I’ve read countless books, but only through personal experience did I truly grasp the extent of human cruelty.”

Qu You tried to speak, but Zhou Tan didn’t give her the chance, continuing instead: “That day when you fell into Song Shiyu’s hands, my old illness flared up again. I was bedridden, barely lucid. Every night, I relived old nightmares, drenched in cold sweat, as if trapped in an icy abyss... When alone, I struggled to get out of bed but couldn’t even make it to the door. Crawling to the window, I heard clinking sounds... Later, Chaoci told me—they were building my coffin.”

At that time in Lin’an, he had fallen so ill.

The rain gradually slowed, but she felt colder than before, clutching his arm tightly for some semblance of warmth. “Fortunately, neither of us perished. We’re here now, safe and sound.”

Zhou Tan nodded with a faint smile but didn’t respond directly. “Those nails were meant to ensure I couldn’t commit suicide—even bending my joints was impossible, let alone doing anything else. In my agony, I couldn’t even hold a dagger to end it. All I could do was beg my senior disciple to kill me and spare me further suffering.”

“My senior disciple’s legs had been broken, and he crawled to my side but refused my request. Leaning against the wall, he recited a passage from Mencius : ‘Heaven is about to confer a great responsibility upon such a person…’ After finishing, he turned to me and said, though the torture I endured was horrific, removing the nails and recovering would restore me fully. Their actions were deliberate—if not, I would have ended up like our brothers and elders, either dead or permanently disabled, living a fate worse than death.”

He raised his hand, pulling her into his arms, his voice trembling: “Later, when Master came to see me, he wept bitterly, saying that despite exhausting all efforts, he could only save me. My senior disciple, hearing this, harbored no resentment or grudge but instead felt relief. Gripping my hand, he reminisced—from the days of youthful vigor to the present dimness of the moonlight. As I lay on the ground, blood from my fellow disciples, like him, flowed past me. I heard him say...”

“If there’s a chance to live, abandon thoughts of death. A true gentleman remains steadfast in adversity, yet few realize that maintaining integrity amidst trials is even harder... Though our blood may drain away, we still have unfinished tasks. The current emperor is tyrannical, the crown prince incapable of benevolent governance. The Tanghua Decree remains unabolished, border conflicts persist, and laws are riddled with flaws, failing public trust. Meanwhile, factional strife in the court brews endless storms.”

“Yes,” Qu You murmured, lost in his words. “From that moment on, you stopped living for yourself...”

“For a long time after leaving prison, I wandered aimlessly, unsure of the path ahead. Perhaps being stabbed before marriage was also because I harbored a desire for death, fearing life.” Zhou Tan gazed at the night sky where the rain was easing. Qu You felt warm liquid fall on her neck. “You... you’ll never know how grateful I am to have met you. Meeting you pieced me back together from shattered fragments, gave me life, and allowed me to complete what they couldn’t finish... For myself too, so that in midnight dreams, I can face my conscience guilt-free, fulfilling the vow I made the day I entered Master’s tutelage. Before the crown prince’s incident, I often wondered—what lies ahead is too perilous. If I walk into the storm alone, what will happen to you? Until in Lin’an, Physician Bai told me...”

“The horrors of your imprisonment—I understood them just from your words. Since childhood, you’ve been frail and ill, and after barely recovering, you suffered another assassination attempt. How could you endure such strain?” Qu You interjected, feeling a metallic tang in her mouth. “You knew early on that you wouldn’t live long. Exchanging your reputation for peace in the court before dying—it must have seemed worthwhile, right?”

Zhou Tan remained silent.

“And you simply couldn’t bear to tell me—or perhaps you knew that even if I learned of it, I’d have no reason to stop you. Resistance would be futile. Fate decrees, and all we can do is accept it.”

Fate loves to jest with mortals. Through countless lifetimes, they traverse time and space, striving endlessly, yet remain fruitless. Tales of lovers torn apart abound, unable to escape convention.

Had he not made that vow, she wouldn’t have lived to this age. Had she been healthy, he would have perished in Lin’an’s spring rain of apricot blossoms.

It’s unclear who owes whom more.

Suddenly, Qu You stood up, almost desperately biting her teeth as she whispered, “Do you remember? I once told you I belong to another place...”

Zhou Tan replied, “Of course I remember.”

“That’s not a world from my dreams. I know you think it’s just something I imagined after seeing Western contraptions... I feared you’d think me mad, but it’s real. That place—it’s here, a thousand years from now.”

“A thousand years from now... here?” Zhou Tan repeated softly. Almost instantly, he believed her, smiling faintly as he asked, “Then do you know what happens next? Zi Qian’s... future?”

“Extremely bright,” Qu You nearly bit her tongue, enunciating each word carefully. “Little Yan helped him win several world-renowned battles. Peace reigned in court, stability across the land. During his reign, it was the greatest era the Great Yan Dynasty had ever seen.”

Zhou Tan’s smile deepened. He closed his eyes, savoring Qu You’s words, clearly satisfied. “And... Chaoci?”

“The first name in the Biographies of Famous Ministers in our dynasty. Just as Little Yan became an eternal general, Scholar Shisan left his mark in history. A thousand years later, even schoolchildren could recite his poems.”

“When you first met Chaoci, you gasped aloud. When you encountered Little Yan, you recited The Ballad of War . And for Shisan... you were overwhelmed, as if meeting a kindred spirit.” Zhou Tan recalled. “No wonder—You should have told me sooner. You know, I’ve always believed you.”

“I’ve said so much...” Qu You interrupted, her voice trembling wildly. Zhou Tan’s faint smile blurred in her tear-filled eyes. “Don’t you want to ask about yourself?”

Zhou Tan fell silent, tilting his head to gaze at the murky, dark night sky. The rain had stopped, but the clouds lingered, obscuring the heavens, leaving emptiness.

After a long while, Qu You finally heard his soft voice.

“There’s no need to ask. Within my heart, there’s always been a radiant moon... forever whole, never flawed.”