Extra 3. The Protagonist’s Past Life · Final Part

Every day in the cold palace, Jiang Zhiyi dreamed of the scene when the army arrived at the city walls. She dreamed of Yuance gazing up at her from below the city tower, his eyes locked on hers for what felt like an eternity before he dismounted his horse and cast aside his spear.

From that moment onward, every single day felt like the day he died.

It was as if she were walking barefoot through a hell of blades and swords, enduring the cruelest punishments the world could offer.

It was her fault for not realizing sooner that he wasn’t Shen Yuance.

It was her fault for being held back by a past that didn’t belong to him, clinging to pride and vanity, refusing even to admit her feelings to herself.

It was her self-righteous decision, made with the best intentions, that had inadvertently pushed the person she loved into a fate of being pierced by countless arrows.

She would never forgive herself.

In that sunless cold palace, Jingzhe cared for Jiang Zhiyi day after day.

Later, Jingzhe learned that during those days when they lost track of time, the Northern Qie had taken advantage of Daye’s internal turmoil to invade Hexi. The entire region fell, and Daye teetered on the brink of collapse. The fourth prince had been leading troops in battle, which was why he hadn’t been able to rescue the princess immediately.

Fortunately, the fourth prince managed to send winter supplies just in time, telling the princess to hold on a little longer.

By the following spring, the fourth prince had ascended the throne and finally opened the gates of the cold palace.

The light of spring poured into the long-abandoned chambers, illuminating the entire prison. Overwhelmed with gratitude, Jingzhe woke the princess and said, “Your Highness—no, Your Majesty is here.”

The princess opened her eyes groggily and asked, “Why has His Majesty come in the dead of night?”

Jingzhe looked at the bright spring sunlight filling the room, and in that instant, her heart sank like it had fallen into an icy abyss.

The princess’s eyes had deteriorated day by day in the dim palace, and by that day, she had completely lost her sight.

On that day, there was no trace of joy on the emperor’s face as he ascended the throne. Instead, he repeatedly apologized, saying over and over, “I’m sorry, I came too late.”

But the princess seemed entirely unconcerned, shaking her head with a faint smile. “Your Majesty need not blame yourself. Whether these eyes can see or not doesn’t matter. The person I want to see—I can only see them when I close my eyes.”

The emperor said, “If I had known earlier that General Shen would make such a choice, perhaps I could have found a way to bring about a solution that benefited both General Shen, the princess, and Daye.”

Yes, if things had gone differently, General Shen wouldn’t have died, the princess wouldn’t be in this state, and Daye wouldn’t have suffered such devastation—its mountains and rivers shattered, its people enduring untold suffering. It would take years to rebuild prosperity.

But alas, some people are born without light, living lives filled with thorns. Perhaps even General Shen himself didn’t know how he would choose until the moment of decision. Who could have foreseen it?

The emperor released the princess from the palace. After spending half a year in the cold palace, she left without taking anything except for the sleeve arrow that General Shen had made for her—the one Princess Baojia had secretly sent to her as a keepsake after his death.

That day, outside the palace gates, she and the princess unexpectedly encountered a young woman: Pei Xueqing, the daughter of Chancellor Pei.

Pei Xueqing knelt before the palace gates, sobbing uncontrollably as she apologized to the princess.

It turned out that the character “衣” (yi) engraved on the jade pendant wasn’t a complete character—it was only half of the character “裴” (pei). The person who had secretly pledged their life to the young Master Shen all those years ago was Pei Xueqing.

The young Master Shen of those days wasn’t truly the frivolous troublemaker everyone believed him to be. To avoid drawing excessive suspicion from political rivals and the emperor, he had deliberately hidden his true nature behind a mask of incompetence.

On the eve of his departure for battle, Young Master Shen had told Pei Xueqing, “If we meet again someday and you find that I no longer recognize you, consider us strangers. Do not seek me out, and do not wait for me.”

After General Shen returned victorious under the guise of his elder brother, he naturally didn’t recognize Pei Xueqing.

Knowing that her beloved harbored great ambitions, Pei Xueqing interpreted his behavior as a sign that he was temporarily uninterested in romantic entanglements. She followed his instructions and stopped seeking him out, choosing instead to wait silently for him to finish whatever mission he had set for himself.

When she heard the news of General Shen’s rebellion, Pei Xueqing was consumed by fear and worry, soon falling ill. During her illness, she remained unaware that the princess had been summoned to the palace and taken as a hostage in her place.

Of course, even if Pei Xueqing had known and stepped forward, it’s unlikely the outcome would have changed.

No one would have dismissed the princess as a hostage simply because Pei Xueqing admitted to owning the pendant. Even if Pei Xueqing had come forward, the emperor wouldn’t have trusted her words alone. At best, they would have ended up with two hostages instead of one, both the princess and Pei Xueqing standing together atop the city walls.

Like the princess, it was only after General Shen’s death that Pei Xueqing sought out Dr. Li and learned the full truth—but by then, it was too late to change anything.

At the palace gates, the princess, supported by Jingzhe, slowly approached Pei Xueqing. She pulled the kneeling young woman to her feet and returned the jade pendant with the partial character “衣” (yi) that she had kept all this time.

Holding Pei Xueqing’s hand, the princess intended to comfort her, to tell her that none of this was her fault. But as soon as she opened her mouth, both women burst into uncontrollable sobs.

In this tragic web of misunderstandings, not a single person had received a happy ending.

The princess and General Shen had been separated by death without ever confessing their feelings to each other.

What Pei Xueqing had thought was a temporary parting had, in fact, already been a permanent farewell to Young Master Shen.

Dr. Li, branded as a traitor, believed he no longer had the right to reunite with Princess Baojia. He chose to leave, never seeing her again.

The dead had perished with wounds covering their bodies, while the living carried on with wounds covering their souls.

That day, she accompanied the princess back to the top of Chang’an’s city walls.

Standing atop the tower, the princess clutched the sleeve arrow General Shen had made for her. With eyes that were nearly blind, she gazed out toward the spot where General Shen had once stood, letting the strong winds whip her robes and the strands of hair that had begun to turn gray without her noticing.

For a fleeting moment, Jingzhe felt as though the princess resembled a butterfly on the verge of taking flight, ready to soar away.

When the princess shifted her weight forward, Jingzhe’s hands trembled with tension.

But the princess merely took a single step forward, not leaping off the wall as Jingzhe had feared.

Sensing Jingzhe’s anxiety, the princess smiled and asked, “Did you think I was going to jump from here?”

“The life I have now was bought with his life. How could I throw it away so carelessly?”

“Jingzhe, sinners have no right to seek liberation. Sinners—must live on, enduring endlessly.”

Sinners must endure endlessly. And so, the new emperor granted the princess her freedom, but she chose to imprison herself in the Taiqing Temple outside Chang’an, vowing never to return to the mortal world.

The princess said that Grandmaster Jianwei had once prophesied General Shen’s fate in that very place. She wanted to go there to pray for a different life for him in the next reincarnation.

After moving into the Taiqing Temple, the princess spent every day kneeling before the statues of the Three Pure Ones, her broken body trembling as she prayed fervently.

During their secluded days, they heard an interesting story.

After the new emperor ascended the throne, the old secrets gradually became less concealed. The legendary love story between the God of War of Hexi and the Princess of Yongying had been immortalized in romantic tales and widely circulated among the common folk.

Zhou Siqing, as a witness to this epic romance, seemed to have become the answerer to many mysteries—

Wasn’t the general a spoiled playboy? How could he have earned the princess’s favor, and how could he have fought so many legendary battles afterward?

Of course, the playboy act was all an act.

But why do the rumors say that the general and the princess were sworn enemies?

If their relationship was a secret unknown to others, their outward animosity was naturally a way to avoid drawing attention.

Why did they need to avoid drawing attention?

Marquis Yong’en regarded the princess as his own daughter and would never approve of a spoiled playboy as his son-in-law. Moreover, Lady Yong’en was a vicious woman—keeping their relationship hidden was the only way to ensure its longevity.

And so, the uninformed masses mistook Shen Yuance and Yuance for the same person, imagining a youthful romance between the young man and woman. The tale spread with vivid embellishments.

When the princess heard about this, her gaunt face showed a rare flicker of curiosity. She asked Jingzhe to buy the storybook and read it aloud to her.

Listening to those beautiful tales, the princess smiled for the first time since General Shen’s departure—a smile befitting a girl her age.

Someone once asked the princess, “Is this story true?” The princess shook her head and replied, “It’s just the world’s imagination.”

But wasn’t this also the princess’s own wishful thinking?

From that day on, the princess insisted on hearing the storybook every day, chapter by chapter. After finishing, they would start over from the beginning—but the princess only listened to the happy first half, not the tragic second half.

Day after day, year after year, nearly everyone in the Taiqing Temple could recite the storybook by heart. Occasionally, if Jingzhe misspoke a line, someone nearby would correct her.

As for the princess, it went without saying. Sometimes she would doze off while listening, and upon waking, momentarily disoriented, she would confuse reality with dreams, speaking words from the storybook and asking, “Has Brother Ce come?”

Jingzhe looked at the princess’s expectant face, unsure how to tell her that there was no Brother Ce left in this world.

But she didn’t need to say anything. After a brief moment of confusion, the princess always came back to her senses. Without a word, she would pick up her cane and continue praying before the statues of the Three Pure Ones.

Days turned into nights, seasons passed, and the princess lived in the Taiqing Temple for seven years.

In the depths of winter in the seventh year of Yongning, Grandmaster Jianwei reached the end of his days in the Taiqing Temple.

For seven years, the princess had harbored hatred for Grandmaster Jianwei but had never dared to reveal the secrets of the Shen family. Though the Shen family was no more, there were still people in the Xuan Ce Army who had helped keep their secrets, and the princess couldn’t risk implicating them.

Now, with Grandmaster Jianwei on the verge of death, he could no longer betray any secrets. The princess finally told him everything, revealing how laughable and foolish his prophecy had been.

That day, the princess sat by Grandmaster Jianwei’s bedside for half the day, recounting everything in detail.

On his deathbed, Grandmaster Jianwei was filled with regret, unable to close his eyes even in death.

Having completed her final task, the princess herself began to wither away like a spent flower, irreversibly fading in that winter.

At the age of twenty-five, her hair was half-white, and her body, frail as brittle wood, had begun to decay.

The princess lay on her sickbed for an entire month, barely lucid enough to listen to the storybook anymore.

One morning, however, the princess woke up clear-headed and found the strength to get out of bed. She said she wanted to visit the statues of the Three Pure Ones one last time.

Jingzhe knew what this meant—it was truly the end. The princess had held on for seven years; it was time for her to rest.

This was for the best. The princess no longer needed to carry the heavy burden of guilt, trudging alone through this lightless world.

Jingzhe accompanied the princess to the temple hall. The princess knelt on a prayer cushion, leaning against her, as Jingzhe read aloud the story of Yi Yi and Brother Ce one final time.

The princess listened with a smile until the end. She said, “If there is a next life, I want to be Yi Yi from the story—free of distractions, full of sincerity, and completely devoted to loving him. I won’t care about pride or appearances—I’ll love him wholeheartedly.”

“If there is a next life, I want to recognize him sooner and choose him without hesitation.”

“What about this life?” Jingzhe asked through tears. “Does Your Highness have any remaining wishes?”

“This life…” Jiang Zhiyi leaned against Jingzhe and whispered, “I really, really want to see him one more time.”

The gods above seemed to hear her wish.

Jiang Zhiyi slowly closed her eyes, and in the darkness, a long-absent light appeared.

She saw herself seated in a teahouse on the streets of Chang’an, listening to the bustling voices outside from a private room on the third floor.

Amid the clamor, the thunderous sound of hooves echoed. Suddenly, a startled cry and a frightened meow rang out.

She turned her head in alarm, seeing her cat fall out of the window. She quickly stood and leaned out to look down.

Below, the crowd parted as armored cavalry cleared the way. A plump golden cat fell from above, tumbling through the air with its fur fluffed out in panic, destined to land as a flattened mess.

Suddenly, a flash of silver streaked through the air. A young man on horseback swiftly drew a spear from a nearby soldier, flipping his wrist. The spear traced an arc through the air, angling upward to catch the falling cat.

Bathed in the brilliant morning sun, the spear’s tip gleamed with radiant light.

The cat landed on the spear’s shaft, sliding all the way to the end, its four paws clutching desperately onto the young man’s hand.

Amid a shower of flower petals and rain, the young man raised his head and looked toward her.

A gust of wind blew past, blurring her vision. She blinked gently and saw the young man’s face clearly. In that instant, tears welled up in her eyes.

[End of Past Life]