#167: The Shattered Mirror (4)

She felt him wiping away her tears and heard him laugh softly. She looked up at him, seeing her reflection in his eyes—dressed in bridal attire, adorned with a phoenix crown and flowing red veil.

He gazed at her with an expression that was neither clearly joyful nor sorrowful, but tender, like the moonlight in the garden. With the familiar affection she had always known from him, he said, “You look very beautiful today.”

His words were heartfelt, and as he spoke, memories of countless past moments flooded his mind. Perhaps it was natural to reminisce about the past during times of parting—he couldn’t escape this either.

He also thought of things that had never come to pass, such as their unfulfilled marriage vow. If they had truly left everything behind back then, perhaps they would already be married by now. Would she have looked just as beautiful on their wedding day as she did today? Though she had always preferred simpler, lighter clothing, the vibrant colors of the bridal gown suited her well—whether plain or adorned, she was always lovely.

If they had married, she would have changed her hairstyle afterward. What would she have looked like then? Perhaps she would have been overjoyed, her bright eyes fixed on him every day, leaning against him without ever leaving his side. She…

At this point, he dared not continue thinking. At the same time, he felt a familiar metallic tang rising in his throat. He suppressed it forcefully, unwilling to let her notice.

She had already cried so much. If she saw, how deeply it would hurt her.

Shen Xiling heard his compliment and saw the faint light in his eyes, prompting her to recall those unfinished moments alongside him. She felt an even deeper sorrow and a more lingering love for him.

She looked up at him, her smile tinged with both sadness and joy, mirroring his own. She asked, “…Do you like it?”

Qi Ying smiled, though the taste of blood grew stronger in his throat. Still, his face betrayed nothing as he nodded.

In truth, Shen Xiling knew full well that she didn’t look her best at that moment. The months in prison had left her gaunt, and now her makeup was ruined from crying—she must have looked terrible.

She desperately hoped that the last image of her he carried would be more beautiful, so she wiped away her tears as best she could and gave him a small, strained smile, like a wilting lotus striving to hold onto its bloom.

“Then you must always remember me,” she said. “Don’t forget me.”

Even if we can never see each other again, even if we are separated forever, even if for the rest of our lives we have no connection.

You must remember me.

Remember how beautifully we once stayed together.

He nodded again, responding gently and inclusively to everything she said.

“I will always remember.”

He sighed.

“But I hope you forget me.”

I hope you forget me and learn to love someone else.

Hopeless love and separation are the most painful things—they torment you day and night, wearing you down.

So, Wenwen, forget me.

The years ahead are long, and you will meet many others. Those feelings won’t weigh as heavily as what exists between us. Love someone lightly, let them replace me, and don’t linger in these heavy memories.

Live a new life.

Shen Xiling understood his meaning, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak. She simply shook her head fiercely.

She knew his intentions were good, and she knew he was right—they should both forget each other. That would be best for both of them.

But she truly couldn’t stop loving him.

If she removed him from her life, she wouldn’t know what would remain. Loving him had become her instinct, even her very existence.

Her roots had grown intertwined with his, and now tearing them apart would surely leave her to wither. Even in withering, she wanted to hold onto her love and memories of him, so she could pretend—pretend that she was still alive, still with him.

These words didn’t need to be spoken. Saying them would only add unnecessary sorrow, so she simply shook her head and told him, “Puwēi rèn rú sī.”

I love you, soft yet resilient like puwēi grass, until I rot away into nothingness—only then will it end.

Her words were calm and resolute, not a vow, but a simple statement of fact.

He understood, his sigh deepened, but there was a faint glimmer of joy in his eyes—thin and fleeting, yet it seeped into his heart.

He responded, “Pánshí wú zhuǎnyí.”

You shall be the steadfast rock, and I the supple puwēi grass.

Puwēi rèn rú sī, pánshí wú zhuǎnyí.

Shen Xiling’s makeup was completely ruined from crying, but with the hour of Si approaching, she had no heart to call the maids to fix it. Instead, she washed it all off, leaving her in full bridal regalia without a trace of cosmetics.

They clung tightly to each other.

Time flew swiftly. Before Qi Ying arrived, Shen Xiling had fervently prayed for time to pass quickly, faster and faster. But now that he was here, she changed her wish, praying that the hour of Si would never come.

Let them stay frozen in this moment forever—she wouldn’t have to leave for a distant land, nor would she have to part from him. They could stay together for the rest of their lives.

They kissed, but even so, they remained deeply sorrowful, even more despairing. Intimacy brought no warmth or joy—it only made them more acutely aware that they were about to be forever separated.

Finally, the hour of Si arrived.

Outside the door, footsteps began to echo, followed by someone from the Wei household cautiously knocking and announcing that the auspicious time had come. They inquired whether the bridal procession should proceed as planned.

With that, they both knew everything had come to an end.

For five long years, they had believed their bond could endure forever, but in truth, it had all been nothing more than a fleeting illusion—mere reflections on water or flowers in a mirror, destined to vanish into thin air.

The Buddha taught that life is fraught with eight sufferings: birth, aging, sickness, death, unattainable desires, parting with loved ones, meeting with those you despise, and the burden of the five aggregates.

Of all these, parting from him was the most agonizing.

As she pulled herself away from his embrace, Shen Xiling truly felt as though her roots were being brutally torn apart, bloodied and raw. The pain was so intense that it numbed her, leaving her devoid of all joy, sorrow, fear, or hope. She became an empty shell, a walking corpse without a soul.

But she couldn’t cry anymore. Outside the door, many people awaited—watching, whispering, speculating. The more they talked, the more trouble it would bring him. Though she could escape Jiankang through this marriage, he would still remain here, entangled with the duplicitous and shameless devils of this world. She couldn’t burden him any further.

Nor did she want him to worry about her anymore.

She had to leave with a smile, to show him that she had grown strong again, to assure him that she could take care of herself, so he wouldn’t spend another moment fretting over her.

She could do it. She could manage alone.

She repeated these words to herself over and over, silently reinforcing these lies until, eventually, she almost convinced herself. Her tears dried up, and she even seemed radiant, like a flicker of light before the end.

She smiled at him, bidding him a dignified farewell with a nod.

He seemed to understand her intentions, and thus showed no lingering reluctance. His resolution had always been cleaner than hers.

He personally took the bridal veil and gently placed it over her head, once again becoming her elder rather than her lover. He was sending her off to marry another; he would no longer be the one to lift her veil.

Shen Xiling’s vision was engulfed by the vibrant red of the veil. Then she heard the sound of him turning away. Her heart hollowed out instantly. Despite all her preparation, at the moment of separation, she instinctively reached out and grasped him, asking one final question: “…Will we ever see each other again?”

Will we ever see each other again?

Deep down, she already knew the answer. But she couldn’t let go of him, not even at the very end. And so, she asked him anyway.

She couldn’t see him, which made her even more frantic. After a moment, she heard his soft voice asking, “Wenwen, how long have we known each other?”

His voice was gentle, pulling her into a dreamlike state. From beneath the veil, she replied, “Five years.”

He seemed to smile faintly at her answer, then sighed, murmuring something about how swiftly time flies.

How swiftly time flies?

Indeed.

The memory of their first meeting felt as vivid as if it had happened just yesterday. Those five years together had been so sweet and wondrous, perhaps that was why they now seemed so fleeting.

“Isn’t it true?” she softly echoed. “It went by so fast…”

He sighed deeply, as if contemplating something. She thought he might not speak again, but then he suddenly opened his mouth.

“Five years,” he said. “When that time comes… I will come to see you.”

At that moment, his words nearly brought tears to Shen Xiling’s eyes once more.

She knew he was consoling her. After today, thousands of miles would separate them, and they were destined to become strangers for the rest of their lives. Fearing she might lose all hope, he offered her one last comforting promise.

He wanted her to cling to this illusory promise for five years, while also telling her that five years would pass quickly—just as quickly as the five years they had walked hand in hand.

She understood his meaning, but deep down, she felt he was wrong. The five years spent with him had indeed been short, but what about the five years of separation?

Those would surely feel endless and unbearable.

Yet, even though it was a lie, a false comfort, Shen Xiling found solace in it. Beneath the veil, she silently wept, yet forced herself to adopt a cheerful tone as she responded with a simple “Alright” and bid him farewell.

Their parting words were brief—only two characters: “Take care.” Then she heard his footsteps gradually recede, the sound of him opening the door and stepping outside.

She could no longer see him, but his image remained vivid in her mind—the way he raised his hand, the way he walked, the way he pushed open the door, and finally, the way he disappeared into the snowstorm.

Every detail lingered.

Then the maids rushed in, and the suona horns and gongs outside resumed their clamor. She was surrounded by countless people, led out of her chamber through elaborate rituals, and finally placed in a carriage, setting off on the northern journey.

The carriage swayed back and forth, the cold wind howling outside the window. She curled up in the corner, silently sobbing in anguish. Later, she faintly heard the neighing of a horse—it sounded like his steed, Zhuri. In a frenzy, she tore off her veil and recklessly pushed open the carriage window, braving the biting cold to peer outside.

Through the snowy landscape, she saw a lone figure on horseback standing motionless on the distant road, enveloped by the storm.

She knew it was him, even though they were too far apart to make out each other’s features.

But she knew. It was him, seeing her off.

He stood solitary amidst the blizzard, just as he had five years ago when he sent her off in the dark forest outside Jiankang. The scene was almost identical. And just like then, she was powerless to stop the carriage from moving farther and farther away. No matter how hard she strained her eyes or prayed fervently to the gods, she could only watch helplessly as he vanished from sight.

She understood.

He had used everything he had to pave a path of survival for her, while he remained trapped in the snowstorm. He would return to Jiankang, that gilded prison, where he would be torn apart by vengeful spirits and consumed by the flames of hellish retribution.

She knew.

This was likely… their final ending.

<End of Volume 3>