CXD - 41

At the distance where their foreheads touched, Yuan Ce closed his eyes, unable to suppress the hot breath that gushed out.

The surroundings were quiet, but the voices in his heart grew louder.

He simply watched her incessantly moving lips and became extremely irritated before finally silencing them. He didn’t know how, but at that moment, it was as if he had an instinct for hunting. Without thinking about what to do, he had already done something that scared her.

If she hadn’t been frightened and moved back, he might have forgotten that his original intention was just to make her quiet.

... Perhaps now, her current silence meant she was scared stiff.

Thinking of this, Yuan Ce’s chaotic senses due to restlessness regained sharpness, and he suddenly sensed something amiss. He abruptly opened his eyes, raised his head, and saw a person who was too quiet leaning directly towards him.

Yuan Ce quickly reached out and caught her, startled as he looked down: “... Jiang Zhiyi?”

The person in his arms had rosy cheeks and tightly closed eyes, giving no response.

Reaching over to check her breathing, pulse, and forehead, Yuan Ce turned and called out: “Qingsong —”

“Here, here, here...”

“Call Li Dafeng, quickly!”

After a quarter of an hour, inside the western chamber, Yuan Ce sat on the edge of the bed, closely watching Li Dafeng’s expression: “What’s going on?”

Li Dafeng released his hand from taking her pulse and stepped forward to examine Jiang Zhiyi’s eyelids: “What happened before she fainted?”

Yuan Ce glanced at him.

Li Dafeng: “Do you think I’m some kind of god who can understand everything just by taking a pulse? How can I diagnose without knowing the context?”

“...We had an argument.”

“Fainted during the argument?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then—?”

Yuan Ce looked at Li Dafeng, opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. He averted his gaze, glancing quickly at Jiang Zhiyi’s unusually red lips.

Li Dafeng raised his hand: “I understand. A doctor saves lives with no distracting thoughts; next time, speak plainly.”

“...”

Yuan Ce frowned, urging: “So is there anything wrong or not?”

“Fainting itself isn’t a problem; the emotional fluctuations were too great, causing temporary insufficient blood flow. She will wake up naturally later.”

“What do you mean by something being wrong?”

“When I took her pulse just now, I found that her blood stasis condition hasn’t been completely resolved. Are you sure she didn’t hurt any other part of her body besides her ankle last time?”

“The female physician thoroughly checked her injuries, so there shouldn’t be any mistakes.”

Li Dafeng took Jiang Zhiyi’s pulse again: “Then there’s only one possibility: before last time, she must have had an unhealed old injury, which has become invisible on the surface.”

Yuan Ce furrowed his brow and looked at the person on the bed: “Is it serious? Can you determine where the blood stasis is located?”

“Compared to last time, the blood stasis condition has improved somewhat, likely because the medicinal soup she drank while treating her foot injury also had some effect. But pinpointing the location through pulse diagnosis alone is difficult. I need her medical records from the past year.”

Yuan Ce summoned Qingsong, instructing him to immediately retrieve them from the Marquis’s residence. Turning back, he asked: “So what can we do for now?”

“My suggestion is, if you plan to continue arguing after she wakes up, it would be better to light some calming incense first, allowing her to catch up on last night’s missed sleep. Otherwise, she may faint again due to physical exhaustion.”

“...”

Before he figured out the truth behind today’s events, further arguments would be futile. Not only Jiang Zhiyi but he himself might suffer from reversed blood flow.

Without hesitation, Yuan Ce lit the calming incense.

He sat by the bed for a while until Jiang Zhiyi fell into a deep sleep. Then he stood up, left the chamber, returned to his study, closed the door, picked up the jade pendant engraved with the character “clothes,” and began to review the situation from the beginning.

With the same jade pendant, there could only be one owner; one of the two must be lying.

If Pei Xueqing was lying, how to explain the other half of the jade pendant? How did Pei Xueqing know so clearly where the jade pendant was hidden in his elder brother’s study? It was a place even Qingsong didn’t know about, and even Jiang Zhiyi’s accidental discovery of the pendant was unexpected.

But if Jiang Zhiyi was lying... Having spent so much time with her daily, it would be impossible not to notice any flaws. He believed he could discern whether her feelings were genuine or fake.

Could it be possible that neither of them was lying—

Sitting in front of the desk, Yuan Ce pondered repeatedly, losing track of time until he suddenly heard a knock on the door.

Mu Xinhong entered the study and handed over a note: “Young General, Miss Pei sent this. She said if you can understand what’s written on it, she’ll wait for you at the Tinglan Water Pavilion until dark. You can come by whenever it’s convenient for you.”

As if sensing something, Yuan Ce stared at the note, rarely showing hesitation. After a moment of silence, he took it, slowly unfolding it. There was no salutation, just two simple lines of poetry—

“Your bones dissolve in the mud beneath the spring, while my hair is covered with snow as I remain in this world.”

Half an hour later, at Tinglan Pavilion.

Yuan Ce dismounted by the shore and looked toward the center of the water.

The octagonal pavilion was surrounded by water on all sides, connected to the shore by a single wooden bridge. All eight sides of the pavilion were fitted with floor-to-ceiling windows, their delicate lattice work making it an ideal place for private conversations.

Yuan Ce paused briefly by the shore before walking onto the wooden bridge, his steps deliberate as he approached the pavilion where one door stood slightly ajar.

Inside the pavilion, the young woman who had been sitting quietly by the railing turned her head upon hearing the sound of boots. Slowly rising from the ornate chair, she turned to face him.

Across the long wooden bridge, Yuan Ce faintly saw the instant dimming of her eyes.

She had waited here for him, yet she hoped he wouldn’t understand the two lines of poetry, hoped he wouldn’t come.

Yuan Ce crossed the bridge and entered the pavilion. He saw her staring fixedly at him, but it felt as though she wasn’t looking at him directly—rather, she was seeing someone else through him.

Pei Xueqing, lost in thought, stepped forward slowly until she stood before him. She tilted her head up, gazing at his features, and raised a hand, tracing the outline of his face in the air with gentle strokes. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she smiled softly: “You’re not him, are you?”

Yuan Ce remained silent for a long moment, struggling before finally nodding.

“He... is he already...” Pei Xueqing took a deep breath. “...gone?”

After a prolonged, heavy silence, Yuan Ce nodded again.

Pei Xueqing tightly shut her eyes, trembling as she suppressed a wave of heartache. Unable to bear it, she turned away.

She had thought that the restless nights over these past days had prepared her enough. She had believed her eagerness to uncover the truth outweighed her fear of what the answer might be. But now, as the moment truly arrived, all her efforts to brace herself seemed futile.

She had chased this answer for two whole months...

Ever since his return to the capital, when he hadn’t come to see her, she had gone from staying indoors to frequently attending banquets hosted by nobles—all in hopes of finding an opportunity to meet him.

But every time she saw him amidst the crowds, she realized his gaze never once sought her out, not even a fleeting exchange of looks. It was unlike before, when no matter how far away she hid, his eyes would always find her.

At first, she assumed he had some difficulty or burden. After all, he had always excelled at disguising himself—pretending to be carefree despite harboring great ambitions, acting as though he knew nothing while secretly studying late into the night.

Now, forced by circumstances to reveal his true self, how could a general with command over powerful troops marry the daughter of the chancellor? It was a taboo in the emperor’s eyes. His increased caution was understandable.

She resolved to wait patiently, believing that when the time was right, he would come to explain everything to her.

But as she waited quietly, she heard rumors of him meeting privately with Princess Yongying at an inn, witnessed him being intimate with her at the academy, and even stood before him only to receive a look of utter unfamiliarity—as if seeing her for the first time.

She could understand if he no longer had room in his heart for romantic feelings, but she couldn’t believe he would turn to another woman without resolving things with her.

She subtly probed her elder brother for information about the academy, about everything concerning him. Watching him from places where he either didn’t notice her or pretended not to see her, the more she observed, the more she felt he had changed.

Indeed, everyone said he had changed. A young man who had endured the loss of his father, shouldered immense responsibilities alone, and faced life-and-death trials throughout the year—it would be strange if his character hadn’t shifted. No one found fault with his transformation; even the most unruly young noble would mature after such experiences.

But only she knew—he had never been that kind of person. She understood his true nature, and something about him felt genuinely different now.

So when he handed her that package of poisoned candy, after feeling hurt, wronged, and even nurturing hatred, a sudden realization struck her—

The expression on his face as he handed her the candy suggested he truly didn’t know it would kill her.

Just like every glance he gave her during these days—it was as though he genuinely didn’t recognize her.

Didn’t recognize her...

Repeating those four words silently, she suddenly recalled the night before his departure, when he came to see her for the last time.

That night, he appeared unusually troubled, several times starting to speak but stopping himself. In the end, he left only this cryptic sentence: “If we ever meet again and you find I no longer recognize you, then consider us strangers. Do not seek me out, and do not wait for me.”

At the time, the frontlines were under intense pressure, and she assumed he feared dying in battle, which is why he spoke such nonsense.

But now, reflecting on his behavior since returning to the capital—if he feared death on the battlefield, shouldn’t that mean he couldn’t meet her again? Why did he say “not recognizing”?

What had he wanted to say but couldn’t that night?

Her mind began to wander, recalling more and more memories.

She remembered when they talked and laughed together at Tinglan Pavilion, he mentioned having a strange recurring dream—dreaming of being beaten in the mud and rain at the border. In the dream, his father trained him ruthlessly, forcing him to fight against the strongest warriors in the Xuan Ce Army. When he fell, he wasn’t allowed to cry out in pain but had to get up quickly and retaliate, or the blade above him would fall for real.

He said that sometimes he felt the boy in the dream was identical to him yet not him. He could sense the boy’s pain but also felt their personalities and thoughts were distinct.

And so, a terrifying, terrible thought occurred to her—

What if there really was someone in this world who looked exactly like him and had returned to the capital in his stead? If that person discovered the carefully hidden jade pendant engraved with the character “clothes,” wouldn’t they be more likely to associate it with Jiang Zhiyi’s “clothes” rather than Pei Xueqing’s “Pei”?

After agonizing over this thought for days, she anxiously knocked on Shen Mansion’s door, determined to see him.

She thought this idea was absurd, perhaps a one-in-a-million possibility, hoping he would outright reject her today like a faithless lover.

But he didn’t.

Everything that happened today at Shen Mansion confirmed her suspicion.

After a long pause, Pei Xueqing raised her tear-filled eyes and looked toward the northwest. Choking back sobs, she whispered softly: “When he... passed, did he suffer?”

Yuan Ce’s brows furrowed, his hand clenching into a fist at his side. He didn’t answer.

“Was it... when? Was it in May this year...”

Yuan Ce’s gaze flickered: “You... know?”

Pei Xueqing blinked, her back still turned, tears streaming down her cheeks.

She didn’t know then. That night, she woke suddenly with a racing heart, tears falling inexplicably. Later, news arrived from the border—the main force of the Xuan Ce Army had suffered a crushing defeat, nearly wiped out entirely. Fortunately, reinforcements arrived just in time to save the young general. She thought her tears that night were merely a reflection of his sorrow.

“Perhaps it was a premonition...” Pei Xueqing mused, turning back to him. “Like he said, he dreamed of you long ago. But did he actually learn of your existence the night before he set off?”

Yuan Ce nodded slightly.

Pei Xueqing fell silent, as if all her questions had been answered.

Yuan Ce’s clenched fist tightened further: “I’m sorry. I—I couldn’t save him.”

“And after returning to the capital, I didn’t know—”

Pei Xueqing, half-laughing, half-crying, shook her head: “It’s not your fault. If not for this, I might have remained ignorant for much longer. Knowing his fate sooner means there’s one more person in this world who remembers him, doesn’t it?”

Pei Xueqing lowered her head, wiping away her tears and exhaling deeply: “Rest assured. Not even my father or elder brother know of our connection. Everything said here will remain in this pavilion. Whatever you choose to do under his identity moving forward, you needn’t worry about me. I won’t tell anyone.”

Yuan Ce lifted his gaze.

“He lived as a hostage, unable to be himself. At least in death, he deserves peace. I couldn’t protect him, but I can at least protect his family now.”

Yuan Ce: “…Thank you.”

Pei Xueqing managed a strained smile: “It’s not without condition. I’d like to ask you for a favor.”

“Tell me.”

Pei Xueqing gestured toward the path he had taken: “When you leave, walk slowly across this wooden bridge. Let me imagine you as him one last time—as if he’s saying goodbye to me here today. Can you do that?”

Yuan Ce hesitated for a moment, then nodded: “Alright.”

Pei Xueqing wiped away the tears clouding her vision and watched him silently as he turned around. She followed him step by step as he walked onto the bridge—first step, second step, third step—each step taking him farther and farther away until he reached the very end of the bridge.

With a bittersweet smile, she raised her arm and waved vigorously at the figure about to disappear. Blinking away scalding tears, she let them fall.