Chapter 49

The night was tranquil, the moonlight blazing bright. It was the perfect hour for admiring the moon and stars. Gu Wan was accustomed to solitude, her heart shielded by a recklessness that feared nothing, yet before she could muster her usual bravado, she was left utterly stunned by Xie Ci’s words.

If she had to describe her feeling, it was as if lightning had struck her from above.

Her heart thumped violently, her fingers instinctively curling, the nail of her little finger digging into her palm with a sharp sting. There was no joy, only a sensation of falling—from the cliff’s peak straight into the abyss, suspended for a fleeting moment as adrenaline surged, leaving her overwhelmed and at a loss.

In that instant, all the traces of the past surged up, intertwining with the look in his eyes, as if the cause and effect had finally aligned.

Gu Wan was frozen, unsure how to react, the smile half-formed on her face stalled. Though the rains of April had passed and the air was warming, she felt a sudden chill, cold rising from her tailbone to her heart and lungs, a mingling of heat and cold that left her unable to smile.

How could Xie Ci like her?

How could this be?

Where had things gone wrong?

One question after another crashed through her mind. Gu Wan stared wide-eyed at the man before her, the shock making it difficult to form words, a challenge she had never faced before.

Fortunately, urgent footsteps sounded from outside the courtyard, and under the night’s shadow appeared the face of Xie Feng, another vice commander of the Xie family’s guards. He and Xie Yun each oversaw different affairs—one internal, one external. The younger, resolute-faced man rushed in, “Master, Xun Dalang has taken the Yangrong Road!”

Xie Ci spun around, cursing under his breath. “Wan,” the young man’s poetic features softened in the moonlight as he turned back to her, “I must go out for a while. Wait for me…”

He smiled, lips pressed, lowering his gaze before raising it again, his beautiful eyes like meteors streaking the night. “When I return, there’s something I want to say to you.”

Xie Ci flashed her a radiant smile and departed in haste. Under the moon’s glow, the tall, vigorous young man in black armor strode out the gate, mounted his horse, and soon vanished down the gravel lane.

The sound of hooves faded quickly. Silence settled over the courtyard once more.

They had come and gone like the wind, leaving behind only the thunderous shock of news.

Gu Wan stood dazed beneath the eaves, barely having time to react or reply—she managed a strained smile, “...Alright, I’ll take care of things here…”

The night was as smooth as water, the moonlight gradually receding. Several minutes after Xie Ci’s departure, Gu Wan finally let out a breath, shook her head, and sat on the steps, her brow furrowed in disbelief.

How could Xie Ci like her?

The granite steps were cold beneath her late at night. She rubbed her face hard. “Heavens, how did this happen?”

Gu Wan was incredulous—she had always interacted with her friends this way. She searched her memory, certain she had never given any wrong signals.

She had never shied away in hardship, but she was sure their relationship was pure, especially after Xie Ci had lost his father and brother; he couldn’t possibly have had the heart for romance at such a time.

When had it started?

Gu Wan was so troubled she nearly tore out her hair. Her plan, always, had been to remain single for life.

She had never felt anything for Xie Ci beyond familial affection.

From the beginning, she had never intended to engage in any romantic entanglement.

In other words, she had never considered love.

But like a train that had always run on its designated track, today she suddenly discovered it had derailed!

Gu Wan sat on the steps for a long time, thinking deeply. The lamp’s oil ran out, flickering before finally extinguishing, plunging the room into darkness.

She didn’t know where the lamp oil was kept, so she sat a while longer, gazing at the drifting clouds, then rose and left the courtyard.

Moonlight draped the rooftops and forests in pale silver, undulating across the landscape, a vast, boundless darkness.

Gu Wan stood atop the terraced fields, gazing into the valley for a long time. She squatted to straighten a bent wheat sprout, tending to the whole patch before rising with a gentle sigh and walking along the gravel path under the moon.

“Can’t sleep?”

Gu Wan looked up. Dressed in gray-purple short robes, sword in hand, was Qin Ying, smiling at her. “Ying sister.” Gu Wan forced a smile and called out.

Qin Ying walked over, draping an arm around her shoulders. “If Si said anything unpleasant, don’t blame him. That’s just how the men of the Xie family are.”

Sometimes they would pierce the heart, yet shine so brightly it made one’s chest ache. Qin Ying affectionately smoothed Gu Wan’s messy hair.

“No, nothing at all.”

Gu Wan smiled and shook her head.

It was true—nothing unpleasant, in fact, it was astonishingly pleasant. He had even apologized. But… sigh.

Qin Ying saw that Gu Wan’s mood was subdued but her smile was genuine, and felt reassured. She patted her shoulder. “That’s good. Families shouldn’t hold grudges overnight.”

Qin Ying sighed, troubled herself. “Let’s go comfort Wenxuan, that foolish girl. She’s been crying since we got back, her eyes so swollen she can barely see.”

Qin Ying could guess what had happened, but the sisters were of different ages; Qin Wenxuan wouldn’t answer her questions, so she hoped Gu Wan, being closer in age, might have better luck.

They walked down the gravel path to the courtyard where the Qin sisters were staying. Qin Ying had the east wing, Qin Wenxuan the west. After returning, Wenxuan had thrown herself onto the bed, sobbing with heartbreak.

Gu Wan pressed the bridge of her nose, composed herself, and entered the room. Qin Ying thoughtfully closed the door behind her.

“Wenxuan? Wenxuan?”

The light in the room was gentle. Qin Wenxuan sat up, face covered, and looked back. Under the yellow glow, Gu Wan was not her usual lively self, her head lowered, those always bright eyes tinged with a quiet sadness.

Qin Wenxuan was overcome, throwing herself onto Gu Wan’s shoulder, tears streaming. She sobbed, “...Sister Gu, Sister Gu, why, why… I didn’t despise him, truly I didn’t… really…”

Beauty leaves the mirror, flowers leave the tree, and nothing in this world can be kept.

Qin Wenxuan had grown up seeing the deep affection between her parents and siblings. Though young, her feelings were not shallow. She felt for Xun Xiao, never thought him ugly—people grow old and lose their looks, and if she became ugly, Xun Xiao would not reject her, so she would not reject him.

She pursued him, searching with all her might.

But she was only human. Despite her parents and siblings’ hints, she stubbornly persisted, but she too could feel pain and exhaustion. Xun Xiao’s harsh rejection tonight truly broke her heart.

Gu Wan sighed, gently patting her back, knowing that Qin Wenxuan needed neither advice nor words—only a shoulder and a place to vent.

If asked to comfort her, Gu Wan wouldn’t know what to say.

She patted Wenxuan’s shoulder, gazing up at the canopy, its simple cotton patterns circling round and round, indistinct in the darkness, origins and destination unknown.

She was suddenly filled with melancholy and sorrow.

In this world,

Time and space are the hardest barriers to cross; with them in the way, even the best and most beautiful things can be transformed beyond recognition.

She thought of herself, opened her mouth, but her throat caught, unable to utter a word. Her hand paused, eyes closed for a moment, releasing a silent sigh before she resumed the gentle patting.

Qin Wenxuan cried for a long time before finally falling asleep on Gu Wan’s shoulder. Gu Wan carefully lay her back on her pillow and covered her with a thin quilt.

She changed the soaked soft armor and cotton underclothes, dressing her in a long blue robe with tied sleeves. The mountain mist was thick; toward dawn, a light rain fell for a while and soon stopped.

Gu Wan bid Qin Ying goodbye and followed a small stream, wandering aimlessly for a long time before finally encountering Xun Xiao, who was sitting against a cliff.

Gu Wan’s horse was clever and had followed her faithfully. She took the water flask from the saddle, sat beside Xun Xiao, drank a couple of mouthfuls, and handed it to him. “Want some?”

Her voice was hoarse, rare for her. Xun Xiao glanced at her, took the flask, drained it, and threw it into the gorge below.

The mountain wind roared, but there was no sunrise today; thick clouds blocked the eastern sky, rolling over distant ridges. The two sat side by side.

Xun Xiao hurled the empty flask into the valley, his voice rough as he laughed. “Xie Ci, Xie Ci—he’ll have to suffer again to know how cruel this world can be!”

His mind was clear, but his emotions were raw. His eyes were bloodshot, making him seem fierce and unhinged.

“Ah,” Gu Wan leaned back, letting out a long breath and looking up at the sky, “That’s for the future.”

She said, “He’s not wrong. If everyone acted like that, the common folk behind us would have no way to live.”

Xie Ci cared for the Northern Army, but Gu Wan thought first of the ordinary people.

She had considered this last night, concluding that, apart from the original trajectory, more importantly, one must adhere to the responsibilities of their position. In her previous life, she’d use special methods at work, but if she were in government, she’d never do so.

If she were in Xie Ci or Qin Xian’s position—or even just a soldier—she wouldn’t have done it.

If exposed, the consequences would be dire. Professional ethics are necessary; as a soldier, one should not collude with the enemy, not even for personal reasons.

Gu Wan had reflected on herself last night and identified why she had so quickly collaborated with Xun Xiao. Unlike Xie Ci and Xun Xiao, she was an outsider, and she was sure she could handle it. Still, she resolved that if there were a next time, she would consult Xie Ci first.

This hard-won camaraderie, Xie Ci being the person he was, deserved her respect. Da Wei was his ancestral homeland, and she should understand his patriotism. Once she had worked through it, she no longer minded.

This was what Gu Wan wanted to say to Xun Xiao.

“With someone like him, this home, this country, has hope,” she sighed.

Xun Xiao sneered coldly, “But this dynasty, this country, will only disappoint him.”

Gu Wan sighed, “That’s for the future.” Growth takes time.

“But Xun Xiao, you went too far.” Gu Wan turned, speaking earnestly to him. Xie Ci had bitten his tongue to clean up after Xun Xiao. Yangrong Road was patrolled by the Lingzhou army these days; Xun Xiao hadn’t taken the mountain path but skirted the foothills.

Gu Wan finally understood why he’d moved so quickly—he counted on Xie Ci to clean up for the greater good.

“I don’t think this is right.”

She was serious; this had crossed a line.

She and Qin Ying acted for Xie Ci and everyone’s sake, with good intentions, but Xun Xiao’s methods bordered on coercion and kidnapping. Xie Ci had said it: Xun Xiao’s nature had changed, nothing but deep hatred left in his heart.

Xie Ci disliked Xun Xiao, but once convinced he was trustworthy and brought him into his fold, he still considered him a cousin.

Otherwise, trust wouldn’t come so easily.

Xun Xiao’s sneer faded, his expression dark and cold, lips pressed tight, silent.

Gu Wan stood, exhaled, “And Wenxuan—if you really don’t intend to rekindle things, you’d better tell her clearly.”

She had her own issues and no mood to keep persuading Xun Xiao. Having said her piece, she dusted off her trousers, turned to lead her horse, and left the gorge.

Gu Wan’s mood was poor, reminded of things from her previous life.

But she was always an optimistic person.

She allowed herself to be low for a while, but only until noon; one shouldn’t dwell on the past forever. There were still matters with Xie Ci to handle properly.

She needed to adjust herself.

She led her horse, wandering the mountain paths, flexed her wrist, and glimpsed the leather edge of a concealed sleeve arrow—Xie Ci had personally strapped it on her, his elder brother’s keepsake, one he wouldn’t use himself but had carefully tied for her protection.

No matter how or when Xie Ci’s feelings began, Gu Wan did not want him to be hurt.

When she first arrived, it was Qin Ying’s strength that helped her revive so quickly, but it was Xie Ci who made her feel true joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness in this world.

At first, he was, in her mind, the hero from the original story, who carried a coffin by the Huai River—a figure she admired, cursing the author for injustice.

But upon meeting him for real, he was a wounded, beautiful youth who wept for breaking out of prison and slaying the guards, pale-faced as he helped her skin game, who handed her meat-filled buns under the stormy eaves while he ate the empty ones himself. Amid swirling mist, he solemnly promised to write her a divorce letter and help her open a tavern.

Hand in hand, they journeyed from Zhongzhou to Suzhou, from Lingzhou to Qizhou, and now to the southern foot of Yin Mountain.

He lay in the channel of the Red Pine Courtyard, declaring that if she died, he would follow her in death.

Together they thwarted Xun Rongbi and Xun Xiao’s plots, escaped from Hero’s Slope, rushed to Longshan Road to intercept those men, emerged from peril, and smiled at each other.

So many things—Xie Ci was attentive and caring, always guiding her horse, saving the best food for her.

All these experiences left deep marks on Xie Ci, and Gu Wan too.

At first, the world felt alien, but Xie Ci gave it reality, the warmth of family.

Now she saw the Xie family as almost kin, but Xie Ci remained the most special.

Gu Wan cherished their bond, unwilling to let this issue harm it.

She walked the mountain path, crossed streams, passed the old stone platform, wandered through forests, lingered long by the mountain brook.

Eventually, she felt ready.

Alright, time to return!

Gu Wan moved stones to find small crabs, built a circle by the brook, caught any that tried to escape, then released them all, mounted her horse, and spurred herself into action.

The sturdy horse crossed the water, carrying the sword-bearing young woman back toward her original route.

But some things always differ from expectations.

Xie Ci returned at dusk, having spent the entire day meticulously checking and filling in gaps to ensure nothing would go wrong.

After a full day of intense preparations, he galloped back toward camp under the evening glow.

Xie Ping had sent word: Gu Wan had urged Xun Xiao to wrap up the loose ends before returning.

The clouds hanging over the river valley were swept aside by strong winds, revealing a blue sky and warm sunlight. By dusk, the sunset painted the hills and plains in brilliant red, casting a radiant glow on his path.

His spirits soared; the warhorse’s hooves thundered as he raced along the fiery road toward the sprawling Da Wei camp.

He rounded a bend, skillfully dodging the stream, nodded to the greeting officers and soldiers, charged through the main gate, and galloped straight to his tent.

He dismounted, strode in, and lifted the curtain.

Gu Wan was leaning on his long table, lost in thought—when she returned to camp, the other guards would yield the tent, but the night shift was exhausting, and she didn’t want to disturb anyone, so she stayed in Xie Ci’s tent.

Everywhere within was marked by his presence; even with eyes closed, she could smell his familiar scent—a clean, masculine aroma tinged with sweat.

She sighed helplessly.

Both of them knew the truth, only the last veil remained.

Xie Ci entered, trailing the dusk, his black armor stirring the air. His eyes shone, filled with joy and devotion, emotions overflowing.

“You’re back?”

Gu Wan smiled at him.

She had watched him grow from a boy into a young general, from lonely and stubborn to confident and poised.

Seeing him so clearly before her, Gu Wan felt an indescribable emotion.

Xie Ci nodded, tilting his head. Xie Ping and the others sensibly withdrew, pleasing him greatly. Gu Wan: ...

Xie Ci smiled, approaching quickly, never ceasing to smile. Gu Wan looked up and managed a smile in return. Dinner was ready, warming in its box. She suggested they eat first, and he agreed enthusiastically. Gu Wan handed him the chopsticks, “I was hungry and ate first, you eat now.”

Half the dishes were already taken, the big bun split, most eaten, the remainder left on another plate. Xie Ci didn’t mind, taking the chopsticks and devouring the rest.

His youthful vigor matched his passionate feelings; once aware, Gu Wan realized how intense they were, impossible to hide. She suddenly couldn’t smile, her earlier self-adjustment losing its effect, her mood sinking.

She began to feel uneasy, as she had the night before when she’d first learned the truth.

But no matter what, what needed to be said must be said. She couldn’t let Xie Ci sink deeper.

At this moment, Gu Wan even wondered if she should transfer elsewhere, would that be better for Xie Ci?

While she was lost in thought, Xie Ci put down the chopsticks and carefully took out a bundle wrapped in red silk.

He cherished it, about to open it, when a hand pressed down—hers.

Gu Wan stopped him, her voice soft. “Don’t open it, please?”

The last rays of sunset bathed the leather tent in a reddish glow. Xie Ci was reminded of their wedding day, the red tent, the light on her profile, a gentle beauty that struck his heart.

But the joy that had peaked was instantly dashed as she whispered those words. Sensitive as he was, his heart dropped, as if a chasm had opened beneath him, draining all happiness in a flash.

Xie Ci was stunned, looking up at her. In that moment, he finally read the worry and sorrow hidden beneath her gentle demeanor.

He stared at Gu Wan.

She sat, hugging her knees, and spoke softly, “I once told you, I wanted to open a little tavern, register as a female head, sell wine from behind the counter—that’s because I never intended to marry.”

“I want to live alone.”

Gu Wan released his hand, speaking quietly, “I’m sorry, it’s my fault.” No matter what, it was her mistake.

“When June comes, can you give me a divorce letter?”

Xie Ci listened, dazed. His heart, once burning bright, was suddenly plunged into freezing darkness. More than that, Gu Wan was utterly sincere, and whenever she wore that expression, she meant it.

…Why, why?

Xie Ci opened his mouth twice before he could speak, looking at her, suddenly grabbing her hand, “Can you tell me why?”

His voice had changed, trembling. He had never imagined it would be like this; he’d always believed that as long as he tried hard enough, Gu Wan would love him.

He truly, deeply loved her.

Xie Ci finally realized what was happening, tears streaming uncontrollably. He stood lost in the tent, the blazing sunset shining on the canvas, dazzling and dizzying. All his joy and anticipation suddenly emptied, leaving him unsure where he stood.

His hand loosened, the red silk bundle falling, rolling out a ruby ring.

He couldn’t recall when—while in disguise, Gu Wan had idly fiddled with a ring, saying, “A four-pronged style is best, just a simple band, that’s the most beautiful.”

Clever as Xie Ci was, he had sensed from her tone and expression, and that identity, that she liked rings for marriage.

Gu Wan had used her only ruby to save him, a precious heirloom from her grandmother. Xie Ci had gone to great lengths to reclaim this sparkling ruby, a bit small, but beautifully shaped.

He thought, I’ll find her a bigger one someday.

He polished it himself, carefully setting it in a four-pronged silver mount.

Now, he knelt, both knees on the ground, looking up at her, “Can you tell me? Can you tell me why? Please…”

Xie Ci struggled to control himself, his eyes red and voice choked. The beautiful ruby ring in his hand pressed deeply into the back of her hand from his tight grip.

Gu Wan felt a pang in her heart, as if a blunt object had struck her chest, and suddenly tears welled up. She had never intended to speak of some things in this life, but in this moment, her heart ached and swelled, her defenses broken.

“I already have someone I love.”

Memories from her previous life, all she had tried to forget and ignore, to be positive and sunny, surged up with that sentence.

Tears flowed uncontrollably.

She covered her face. Damn it, after all this time, she thought her efforts had worked, but now she realized—they hadn’t, not at all!