Chapter Twenty-Four: Maple Forest at Dusk

Evening was falling.
The mountain was bathed in silence, interrupted only by the occasional cry of a lone bird, which made the forest seem even more tranquil, as if every object was merging into one. The last rays of the sun draped the mountain in a sleepy haze.

The carriage had stopped amidst a grove of maples. Inside were only three: Ji Wuqing, Xuexue, and Miao Jian, who served as the coachman.

“I once saw a poem written by Xue’er: ‘Stopping my carriage for love of the evening maples, frost-touched leaves are redder than flowers in spring.’ This must be what it meant,” Ji Wuqing lifted the curtain, gazing in awe at the sea of maples before him.

He leapt from the carriage, turned, and gently lifted Xuexue down, taking her hand as they walked into the maple grove.

“Husband, your leisure and delight are a little much for me to bear,” she said, recalling how he had whisked her away after supper, brought her here on a whim to revel in the charm of poetry.

Though she protested, she followed Ji Wuqing obediently. Breathing in the crisp mountain air, she could almost feel the golden sunlight painting the maples in their unique color.

“Xue’er, don’t pretend otherwise. I can see you’re enjoying yourself too, aren’t you?” Ji Wuqing surveyed the beauty around him, savoring the rare peace.

Of all the wonders in the world, only this eternal beauty was truly worth remembering.

“People say that the pursuit of wealth and glory is the eternal constant of the world, but they don’t realize that when the time comes, simple happiness becomes a luxury. Gaining always means losing. They abandon their simplicity and lose eternal joy,” Xuexue murmured, eyes closed, soaking in the moment.

“Xue’er, you can have everything in this world. Shall I take you out of the palace often from now on?”

“Sadly, you must realize: the sunset is glorious, but dusk is near.”

The sunset is glorious, but dusk is near.

The quiet dusk was tinged by the maples, gentle as a caress, yet beneath it all lay a desolate feeling.

The maple leaves glowed as if stained by blood, vivid and dazzling, bewitching in their brilliance. The autumn wind whispered, its rustling echoing across the mountains.

Amid this beauty, a perfect couple wandered.

The girl’s white robe was immaculate, her long hair falling past her waist with a few strands drifting in the breeze. Her face was pure, not overwhelmingly beautiful, but her cleanliness was like a lotus rising from clear water—naturally graceful, upright and serene, distant in fragrance, worthy of admiration but never of desecration.

“Xue’er, why do you keep others at such a distance? It truly breaks my heart,” the man beside her watched her profile, folding fan in hand, tapping idly against his leg.

He was strikingly handsome, his deep eyes like black pearls, mysterious and unfathomable. Yet his expression was somewhat helpless and troubled, his vivid features rendering him approachable, seemingly harmless.

“Your Majesty, you know how fickle the human heart is. Brief happiness and freedom change nothing. Instead, people grow greedy, wanting more with every taste. Humans are truly unpredictable—indifferent when they have nothing, their minds clear. But once they experience pleasure, it’s a slippery slope,” Xuexue said earnestly, clarity shining in her eyes. “Your Majesty, I don’t want to become like that.”

To become such a pitiful, terrifying person.

“If Xue’er always receives and never loses, won’t that be enough? I will always cherish you,” Ji Wuqing replied sincerely, his deep gaze reflecting Xuexue’s calm profile.

“Your Majesty, you will always be my husband.” It wasn’t that she doubted his words; it was just that the road ahead was so long, a distance enough to make one forget everything.

Ji Wuqing’s solemn demeanor finally cracked, and he turned to the endless maples, smiling at Xuexue’s persistence and clarity. “It’s good for Xue’er to remain so rational. If one day the Ji Kingdom falls, you would be wise enough to withdraw, just as you did when the Yu Kingdom fell.”

His words were strange, but Xuexue only smiled.

“Your Majesty, that day will never come.” She sighed. “The Ji Kingdom thrives; I doubt I’ll ever see the day it falls.”

Even if that day did come, she would never bear to leave…

“What if it did?” Ji Wuqing pressed, determined to get to the heart of the matter.

As the ruler of Ji Kingdom, he was imagining such a scenario—Xuexue felt utterly defeated by him.

“Your Majesty, do you think Yu Kingdom’s situation before compared to Ji’s now?” Xuexue faced the mountains, as if surveying the vast land. “Yu’s governance could best be described as ‘tyranny worse than a tiger.’ Common folk suffered, the court indulged in pleasure—‘wine and meat behind crimson gates, frozen bones on the roadside.’ Why assume Ji Kingdom will follow Yu’s path? Aren’t you… insulting yourself?”

Her last words were blunt; how could Ji Wuqing speak so carelessly?

“Your lesson is well taken,” Ji Wuqing replied, affecting a lighthearted manner, while his fan flicked behind him without a sound.

A crisp snap echoed—a branch broke, yet the person in the tree vanished without a trace.

“He overheard us—how despicable.” Ji Wuqing gracefully closed his fan, his voice as gentle as jade.

So danger lurked even in these mountains?

Yet such skill suggested the intruder was not an assassin—if so, they would have attacked rather than fled.

Xuexue listened intently, catching the sound of approaching danger, slower than the previous visitor.

“Master, should we return?” Miao Jian stood beside the carriage, his expression unchanged.

“Xue’er, don’t be afraid.” Ji Wuqing swept Xuexue into his arms, then climbed into the carriage with an air of ease.

Xuexue’s heart fluttered; the atmosphere had suddenly grown tense, her pulse quickening.

Miao Jian drove swiftly through the mountain, the journey abnormally quiet, everything blurred and unclear. The road was rough, the carriage swaying.

Ahead, a flock of startled birds screeched from the forest, their cries sharp. The carriage stopped, the air thick with an unfamiliar scent.

“Master, it’s unsettled ahead,” Miao Jian said calmly from outside.

The forest fell silent, as if empty. Neither side moved, locked in silent confrontation. “If the enemy does not move, I do not move”—it was just that.

“Xue’er, are you frightened?” Ji Wuqing squeezed her hand gently.

“Of course, I am,” she admitted honestly.

Though she had survived the fall of her own kingdom, her heart could not help but tremble.

Her candor made Ji Wuqing smile quietly; he had expected her to feign calm, but—his Xue’er was truly endearing!

“Xue’er, don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid…” He held her close, and with a flick of his fan, burst through the carriage roof.

At that instant, the sound of battle erupted in the mountains. Their carriage was destroyed, broken into pieces by flying darts and hidden weapons.

Ji Wuqing, carrying Xuexue, stood atop a tree, watching the dramatic fight below with leisurely interest.

The mountain air was thick with the stench of blood, mingling with a strange fragrance to create a nauseating odor. Xuexue was deeply unsettled; Ji Wuqing pressed his hand over her mouth and nose.

When all was quiet again, the mountain regained its calm.

Yet the scent of blood lingered, enveloping them.

“Master, one survivor remains.” Ten men, guards by the look of them, knelt below, reporting to Ji Wuqing. They wore simple black armor, never touched by daylight, and their skills were exceptional.

Their leader stood out, his armor emblazoned with the image of an eagle.

“Qinghe, the usual routine.”

Ji Wuqing gave a gentle command, knowing well these assassins were loyal to their master and would say nothing. There was no need to waste effort prying information from them. His mind was clear; he had no need for elaborate schemes.

He still held Xuexue in his arms. All that violence had unfolded beside her; though she hadn’t seen the carnage, she felt it keenly. The chill in Ji Wuqing’s bones was unmistakable.

If Ji Wuqing appeared a refined gentleman on the surface, then just now he had revealed the bloodthirsty side of a sovereign.

The assassination attempt ended; Xuexue had no idea who was behind it, and Ji Wuqing said nothing, nor did she ask.

By the time they returned to the mountain villa, night had fully fallen. Lanterns still glowed inside, but everyone had retired, leaving only five or six guards.

The area around the villa was hushed, interrupted only by birdsong.

The cicadas’ droning made the forest seem even quieter, the birds’ calls deepened the mountain’s solitude.

Ji Wuqing carried Xuexue into their room; she was still somewhat shaken.

Though she had dealt with spirits of the dead, she had never encountered such vicious assassins, let alone witnessed the bloody reality. The scent of blood seemed to cling to her, refusing to dissipate.

It was as if she herself had been stained.

“Did it frighten you?” Ji Wuqing noticed her unease, lifting her chin gently, reading the subdued expression on her face.

She shook her head, then nodded.

She was not weak, but doubts lingered in her heart.

Ji Wuqing asked no more, only held her tenderly and carried her into the rear courtyard, where a bamboo grove sheltered a hot spring for bathing.

“Husband, this is…” Once he set her beside the bath, she looked puzzled.

“Do you feel as if you carry the scent of blood? The water here is drawn from the mountain, perfect for bathing. Take your time and soak,” his voice was gentle, soothing.

Hearing this, she reached out, feeling the warm steam beside her—the bath was indeed close.

“But, Xue’er, I can’t rest easy letting you bathe alone…” His hand moved lightly to her waist, teasing at her sash as if to help her disrobe.