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By mid-July, the Qi family had begun preparations for Qi Yin and Shen Xiling’s wedding.
Lady Yao specially consulted a master fortune-teller, who declared that the 23rd of July was an auspicious day for marriage. With this in mind, she finalized the date and began organizing everything with great enthusiasm. From the banquet invitations to the couple’s ceremonial attire and various ritual objects, Lady Yao meticulously oversaw every detail, reviving the bustling energy of the Qi household during its peak years.
As for the two individuals directly involved—Shen Xiling and Qi Yin—they contributed little to these preparations, each preoccupied with their own affairs. Shen Xiling, in particular, was deeply engrossed in discussions with Li Wei from the Ministry of Civil Affairs regarding trade matters between the north and south. Her schedule was packed.
In contrast, Qi Yin, who had always been incredibly busy, now found himself unusually idle.
This wasn’t by choice. Shen Xiling had taken it upon herself to strictly monitor his health, enlisting several doctors to examine him regularly. He was required to take medicine daily, undergo acupuncture, and refrain from overworking. Even his meals and sleep schedule were carefully planned. This level of micromanagement left the most powerful man in the realm both amused and exasperated.
When she was younger, Shen Xiling had obediently followed his every word. Now, their roles had reversed. Whenever Qi Yin attempted to defy her instructions, she would resort to crying—a tactic he recognized as manipulative but one that nonetheless tugged at his heartstrings. Her tears were convincing, and he couldn’t bear to see her upset. As a result, he invariably gave in to her demands without resistance.
To be fair, Shen Xiling brought considerable insight to the table when it came to trade matters. Having spent years in commerce and possessing extensive knowledge of both northern and southern geography and customs, she demonstrated foresight and attention to detail far beyond what the officials at the Ministry of Civil Affairs could offer. Even Li Wei, recently promoted to Vice Minister, had long known that his teacher’s fiancée was highly skilled in business. However, he hadn’t anticipated the breadth of her vision or the depth of her strategic thinking. During discussions, her calm demeanor and mannerisms bore a striking resemblance to Qi Yin, earning her immense respect from Li Wei.
Shen Xiling could sense Li Wei’s admiration and took pride in it. Yet, she found his overly formal address—”Madam Teacher”—somewhat awkward. After all, Li Wei was roughly the same age as Qi Yin and older than her. Every time he called her “Madam Teacher,” she felt as though she might lose years off her life. Despite her hints and outright requests for him to stop, he insisted on adhering to propriety, claiming tradition must not be abandoned. To Shen Xiling, this became both a source of joy and a minor burden.
With Shen Xiling and the Ministry of Civil Affairs occupied, Qi Yin grew even more idle. For a time, he truly embraced a leisurely lifestyle—napping during the day, fishing, reading books, and tending to flowers. If only Shen Xiling weren’t constantly busy and absent, everything would have been perfect.
However, Qi Yin wasn’t entirely free from responsibilities. There were still matters requiring his attention—such as the incident on July 19th, when the former emperor committed suicide in the Huayuan Garden.
The Huayuan Garden was a royal retreat built by previous dynasties and underwent several renovations after the Southern Migration of Great Liang. Known for its magnificent architecture and intricate gardens, it was a favored venue for imperial banquets.
Now, it served as the confinement site for the former emperor and empress.
Within the garden stood several tall pavilions: the Sunrise Pavilion to the east and the Moon Pavilion to the west. To reach the upper levels, one had to ascend winding stairs that circled the structures nine times. The pavilions were adorned with pearl curtains inside and precious silk drapes outside, considered marvels of craftsmanship.
The former emperor and empress resided separately in the two pavilions, divided by distance. Since abdicating, the former emperor had refused to see anyone, living alone in the Sunrise Pavilion. Even Empress Fu Rong hadn’t seen him in a long time. His body was discovered the next day by palace attendants bringing food, a discovery that evoked deep sorrow.
When Qi Yin arrived at the Huayuan Garden, Han Feichi was already there. The Ministry of Justice had sealed off the entire Sunrise Pavilion, forbidding any unauthorized entry. The once-luxurious royal garden now carried an air of solemnity, accentuated by mournful cries emanating from the Moon Pavilion, creating an eerie atmosphere.
Outside the Sunrise Pavilion, servants knelt in fear, having already been questioned by the Ministry of Justice. Upon seeing the Grand Tutor arrive, they trembled even more, prostrating themselves repeatedly in reverence akin to worship.
Qi Yin paid no heed to them, heading straight for the entrance of the Sunrise Pavilion. Han Feichi noticed his arrival and quickly approached.
It was the height of summer, and Han Feichi was drenched in sweat. Standing beside Qi Yin, he whispered, “He hanged himself. No letters or words were left behind, and he saw no one before his death.”
Qi Yin’s brows furrowed deeply. “Why would he suddenly do such a thing?”
Han Feichi shook his head, equally perplexed. Qi Yin’s expression darkened, causing Han Feichi to grow anxious. Bowing his head, he murmured, “I’m sorry, Second Brother… I’ve failed you.”
Qi Yin remained silent, gazing at the towering Sunrise Pavilion for a long while. Finally, he sighed.
“Have the Ministry of Justice withdraw,” he said. “I’ll go up alone.”
Han Feichi bowed and replied, “Yes.” He promptly ordered his men to leave, watching as Qi Yin ascended the pavilion. When no one else was looking, a strange gleam flickered in Han Feichi’s eyes.
Truthfully, the Sunrise Pavilion wasn’t the most comfortable residence. It was too high, and its rooms weren’t particularly spacious compared to the more livable Linchun, Jieqi, and Wangxian Pavilions. However, when Xiao Zitong moved to the Huayuan Garden, he insisted on staying in the Sunrise Pavilion. Perhaps it was precisely because of its height; from its summit, one could overlook the entire garden, instilling a sense of dominance and control—an obsession of his.
Qi Yin silently climbed the pavilion step by step. With each ascending step, the view expanded, but so did the feeling of isolation. Perhaps he would never fully understand why Xiao Zitong was so fixated on reaching the pinnacle.
Finally, he reached the top of the Sunrise Pavilion.
The scenery here was breathtaking. Outside the door lay a picturesque landscape—the golden, bustling city of Jiankang appeared tranquil and prosperous. Inside, however, there was only a cold corpse.
Qi Yin paused at the doorway before stepping cautiously inside.
The once-magnificent Sunrise Pavilion was now in disarray. Silk quilts were crumpled into messy heaps, remnants of stale food piled together, emitting a foul odor after days of neglect. The floor was dirty, clearly untouched for some time.
After abdicating, Xiao Zitong had shut himself away, forbidding servants from approaching. Rumors in the palace claimed that the former emperor had gone mad after the Xiaoshan Incident, living like a wretched animal in the Sunrise Pavilion. Seeing it now confirmed those rumors.
A long white silk sash hung from the beam, and the body had already been lowered by the Ministry of Justice officers, covered with a white cloth and lying amidst the leftover food scraps—a pitiful sight. Qi Yin approached, bending down to gently lift the cloth covering the former emperor’s face.
His eyes remained wide open, unblinking, as if refusing to close even in death. His hair was matted into clumps, and his clothes bore stains from spilled food. Fresh garments were available in the room, but perhaps he stubbornly refused to change out of his dragon robe, wearing it until his final moments.
…Already lost to madness.
Qi Yin studied him for a moment, momentarily transfixed by those unyielding eyes. In truth, his heart was blank—neither fearful nor sorrowful. He had long passed the age where every sight stirred emotions. Besides, he had witnessed countless deaths and had grown numb to them.
Yet, this person was different from others who had died because of him. He didn’t have to die. He could have lived a stable, wealthy, and peaceful life.
But in the end… it turned out like this.
Qi Yin sighed. Rising, he moved to the window and gazed outside. In midsummer, the Huayuan Garden was vibrant with blooming flowers, brimming with vitality. The lush greenery seemed capable of dispelling gloom, reminding Qi Yin of the beautiful flora in Fenghe Garden.
At that moment, he suddenly heard someone call his name from behind.
“Jingchen.”
He turned around and saw the young Xiao Zitong.
He was drinking wine.
The youthful Fourth Prince was known for his unrestrained ways, often appearing disheveled and drunk. His peach-shaped eyes exuded charm, and among their group of friends, he alone embodied the fabled elegance of Jiangzuo’s literati.
He raised his cup, seemingly inviting Qi Yin to join him. Qi Yin took a step closer, momentarily transported back to their youth.
They had yet to wield great power then, genuinely regarding each other as true friends.
Qi Yin approached Xiao Zitong, sitting nearby. “Your Highness, don’t drink excessively. His Majesty expects you to answer policy questions in the Imperial Study later—you can’t afford to be intoxicated.”
Xiao Zitong laughed loudly, his peach-shaped eyes sparkling. “I won’t go. Let whoever wants to answer do so. I’d rather be a celestial immortal in wine than concern myself with worldly matters.”
Qi Yin shook his head helplessly.
Xiao Zitong tilted his head back and drank deeply, exclaiming, “What bliss!” He winked mischievously at Qi Yin. “Did you see Zi Yu earlier? She was forced by Mother to learn the zither these past few days and hasn’t seen you. Today, she told me she wanted to bring you some cakes. What kind do you like? I said you dislike sweets, but she wouldn’t believe me. Sigh.”
He teased his sister mercilessly, laughing at his own jokes. Qi Yin frowned, saying, “Your Highness, please speak carefully. Princess Zi Yu’s reputation is important.”
Xiao Zitong snorted dismissively. “A woman’s reputation isn’t something others can protect—it depends on her. At least she shouldn’t wag her tail whenever she sees you.”
He continued mocking his sister without restraint. Knowing better than to comment on an unmarried princess, Qi Yin remained silent.
Xiao Zitong took another sip of wine. Once his jesting subsided, he grew serious, leaning closer to Qi Yin and lowering his voice. “Honestly, you should consider marrying her… You know Zi Yu has liked you since childhood. Fulfill her devotion—it’s harmless. Though she lacks composure, her nature is pure. Don’t you prefer people with gentle hearts? Wouldn’t she be perfect?”
Despite outward disdain, as a brother, he secretly hoped for her happiness and wished her a carefree life.
Qi Yin understood his sincerity and responded earnestly, “The princess is excellent, but I regard her as a sister—not romantically.”
Upon hearing this, the drinking youth’s expression abruptly changed—he transformed into the older Xiao Zitong, crowned and bearded, his once-bright peach-shaped eyes now dark and menacing. He glared at Qi Yin, sneering, “You think of her as a sister? Then how could you bear to kill her brother and turn her nephew into a pitiful puppet!”
His tone was harsh, his face twisted with rage. The fragrant wine vanished, replaced by the stench of leftovers.
Qi Yin’s heart skipped a beat. Suddenly, he too transformed—his appearance completely altered. He saw himself holding a knife, blood dripping from its blade. When he looked up again, the vibrant Huayuan Garden was gone, replaced by the nightmarish scene of torches blazing at Xiaoshan. Corpses and blood littered the ground, and he stood amidst the inferno, mere steps away from Xiao Zitong.
Tears of blood streamed down Xiao Zitong’s face. His dragon robe caught fire, but he refused to remove it, choosing instead to burn alive. Behind him stood a child whose face Qi Yin couldn’t quite make out—it seemed like Xiao Yizhao, or perhaps the young Xiao Zitong.
Together, they watched as flames consumed them, unwilling to retreat even in death. Qi Yin clenched his fists tightly, locking eyes with Xiao Zitong. “Your Majesty…”
I didn’t want to seize power, to kill you, or harm your child.
I only wanted to protect the innocent people around me and restore true peace to the world.
Just trust me this once, even if only for a fleeting moment.
But Xiao Zitong was already slipping further away.
He retreated entirely into the flames, his features burned beyond recognition. Yet, even then, his eyes remained fixed on Qi Yin, filled with boundless hatred and malice.
He cursed loudly, “Qi Jingchen, you will meet a terrible end! Your family will be wiped out, your wife and children tormented! For eternity, you will never find fulfillment!”
Finally, he was consumed by the fire, leaving no trace behind.
Only his voice echoed endlessly.
For eternity…
Never fulfilled…
Qi Yin snapped back to reality. The youth, the wine cup, Xiaoshan, the fire—all vanished. Before him lay only Xiao Zitong’s corpse, his accusing, unblinking eyes etched with curses.
Qi Yin’s face remained impassive, though his fingers trembled imperceptibly beneath his sleeves.
Suddenly, he felt unsteady and reached out to steady himself against the carved window frame. Just then, hurried footsteps approached from outside. Turning, he saw Han Feichi rush in, his expression panicked.
Qi Yin immediately sensed something ominous and sharply asked, “What happened?”
Sweat poured down Han Feichi’s face, and he struggled to catch his breath. Without pausing, he blurted, “Someone from Fenghe Garden came with a message… They said… they said…”
At the mention of “Fenghe Garden,” Qi Yin’s expression shifted dramatically. Grabbing Han Feichi’s arm, his gaze turned icy. “What did they say?”
Han Feichi swallowed hard, trembling as he replied, “They said… Miss Shen fainted and hasn’t woken up yet…”
Han Feichi had known Qi Yin for nearly twenty years, but he had never seen him look the way he did then.
Helpless, panicked, shattered.
A man who remained unfazed even when mountains crumbled before him, who viewed all things as dust and himself as grass—yet, upon hearing vague news about her, he lost all composure.
His departure was marked by visible distress. Watching his retreating figure, Han Feichi’s expression grew thoughtful.
Qi Yin couldn’t recall how he returned to Fenghe Garden that day.
He had witnessed countless storms in his life—births, deaths, rises, and falls—none of which surprised him anymore. Yet, never had he felt so utterly helpless.
When his brothers were imprisoned, he found ways to rescue them. When his family fell, he maneuvered tirelessly. When the nation faced peril, he risked his life…
But what if Wenwen was in trouble?
If she fell ill, if she…
He would have no recourse, no solution. He could only surrender and accept whatever fate awaited.
Meanwhile, Xiao Zitong’s curse in the illusion reverberated incessantly in his ears:
“Qi Jingchen, you will meet a terrible end! Your family will be wiped out, your wife and children tormented! For eternity, you will never find fulfillment!”
“Your wife and children will be tormented! For eternity, you will never find fulfillment!”
“For eternity, you will never find fulfillment!”
…
Qi Yin slowly closed his eyes.
I am aware of my sins, my hands stained with countless lives. I willingly endure the scorn of the world, accepting whatever punishment comes my way without complaint.
But my retribution should not fall upon that innocent girl.
Let me descend into hell alone… She must remain safe forever.
When Qi Yin returned to Fenghe Garden, Lady Yao was already there, along with his elder sister-in-law Han Ruohui, who brought Hui’er and Tai’er. Sister-in-law Ning was also present. Everyone gathered in Woyu Courtyard, where maids cried and laughed, and several doctors waited outside, smiling broadly.
Everyone congratulated him upon his arrival. Sitting inside, Lady Yao wept with joy upon seeing him, pulling him close and saying, “Wenwen is with child! You’re going to be a father!”
He heard the words, but initially, they seemed incomprehensible, as if his ears were ringing. It wasn’t until he pushed through the crowd to Shen Xiling’s bedside and saw her peacefully lying there that everything gradually became real.
She was asleep.
Still as beautiful as ever, breathtakingly so, her serene expression radiating warmth and tenderness. She was the image he knew and loved best.
She was alive, perfectly fine.
Moreover… she carried his child.
When Shen Xiling awoke, it was past noon. Summer weather was unpredictable; a rainstorm had just passed, and the sun shone brightly again.
She woke up groggy, unsure of what had happened. Seeing Lady Yao and the others gathered around her bed, she vaguely remembered fainting while drinking tea and chatting with her future mother-in-law and sisters-in-law.
That day, Lady Yao had come to discuss wedding arrangements. Coincidentally, Han Ruohui and Ning were free and brought their children along. Shen Xiling had indeed been feeling fatigued lately, likely due to drafting trade regulations with the Ministry of Civil Affairs, but she hadn’t thought much of it. She lamented how delicate she had become, unable to endure even slight exhaustion. Back in Shangjing, conditions were a hundred times worse, yet she had persevered.
She despised herself for being weak and useless. Fainting while speaking with her mother-in-law and sisters-in-law was truly inappropriate.
Confused, she sat up slowly, noticing everyone around her crying and laughing. Perplexed, she turned to Lady Yao and asked, “Madam… what’s going on?”
Lady Yao sat beside her, gripping her hand tightly, tears turning to laughter. “Silly girl, you’re pregnant!”
Shen Xiling froze.
Unbelieving, she asked, “Wh-what?”
The maids giggled, and her sister-in-law Han Ruohui gently told her, “Sister-in-law carries Jingchen’s child. You’re going to be a mother.”
This…
Shen Xiling felt as though she’d heard something surreal, momentarily dazed. Gradually, joy surged within her, making her acutely aware: she… carried his child.
They had once fantasized about it—together, forever, with a child… and now, piece by piece, it was becoming reality.
Unconsciously, Shen Xiling’s hand trembled as she gently rested it on her still-flat stomach. Though no signs of pregnancy were visible, a new life already existed within her… hers and his child.
Without realizing it, tears rolled down Shen Xiling’s cheeks.
Before she could process her emotions, she heard Lady Yao complaining to those around her, “Where’s Jingchen? Where has the father gone? He should be here with his wife… Hurry, go find him. Didn’t he just return?”
Hearing this, Shen Xiling realized Qi Yin had already returned. Earlier that day, he had left to attend to court matters, his expression grim, which had worried her.
Fortunately, he was back at Fenghe Garden and presumably knew about her pregnancy.
Shen Xiling felt a mix of happiness, embarrassment, and puzzlement. Why wasn’t he by her side, personally sharing this joyful news?
Where… had he gone?
Later, Shen Xiling found Qi Yin in Wangyuan Garden.
He sat alone in a pavilion by the lotus pond, his back facing the stone gate of Wangyuan. The lotuses were in full bloom, standing elegantly amidst fragrant air, brimming with vitality.
Shen Xiling approached quietly, intending to surprise him. Normally, he would have noticed her presence, but today he seemed lost in thought. Only when she hugged him from behind did he realize she was there. Turning to look at her, his expression was distant, lacking evident joy.
That look startled Shen Xiling.
But soon, he snapped out of it, his brows slightly furrowed as he rose and carefully helped her sit down. “Why did you come alone? Now that you’re pregnant, you must be cautious. What if you fall?”
His tone was stern.
Shen Xiling had just learned of her pregnancy and was already overwhelmed with mixed emotions—immense joy tinged with subtle melancholy and anxiety. She desperately needed his comfort, but he hadn’t been by her side when she woke. Coming to find him, she saw his lack of happiness, which inevitably dampened her spirits.
Biting her lip, she fell silent for a moment. Then, gently tugging his sleeve, she looked up at him, tears unconsciously welling in her eyes. “Are you unhappy?”
Qi Yin froze.
“Or…” Tears spilled down her cheeks. “…Do you not want this child?”
At that moment, a gentle breeze swept across the pond, creating ripples on its surface.
…Qi Yin’s heart mirrored the water.
He sighed, then carefully pulled his little girl into his arms, remaining silent as he simply held her. After a long while, Shen Xiling finally heard him say, “…I don’t dare to be happy.”
I don’t dare show any joy.
We’ve endured so much hardship. Several times, I thought we were nearing fulfillment, only for complications to arise.
It’s the same now.
If there truly are gods and Buddhas watching over us, I fear that showing too much happiness will cause them to snatch our happiness away again, leaving us with nothing.
These words seemed disjointed to anyone else, but Shen Xiling understood. Beneath his seemingly calm and subdued voice, she detected his deeply buried joy.
So profound, so cautious.
It brought tears to her eyes.
She cried harder, clinging to him tightly. For at that moment, she realized how lonely and broken the man before her truly was.
“It’ll be alright. Nothing bad will happen anymore.”
She consoled him through her tears, appearing fragile yet remarkably strong.
“Even if we’re unlucky and face trials again, there’s nothing to fear,” she said, tears mingling with a smile as radiant as the post-rain sunshine. “As long as we stay together, everything will be fine.”
In the bright midsummer, the lotus leaves still bore droplets from the earlier storm, glistening under the brilliant sun. A gentle breeze rippled the clear water, and the lotuses swayed gracefully, their movements almost lifelike—one by one, wind-kissed lotuses stood tall.
It wasn’t particularly breathtaking.
But it would endure—long and lasting, continuing like this forever.
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