Chapter Forty-Three: Severing the Threads of Emotion

Blood Snow’s hand paused ever so slightly, the next move suspended for a long while. She tilted her head toward the direction where Ji Wuqing sat, as if gazing at him. For reasons she could not explain, there was a strain of self-mockery and something else in his words—a hint of sorrow, perhaps.

“What is it? Haven’t you already decided your next move? Why hesitate now?” Ji Wuqing mirrored her, his head tilted, a playful glint in his eyes.

“Ji Wuqing, what kind of man are you, truly?” She hesitated, and finally placed her piece on the board.

“Why ask now? Are you only curious as we part ways? Better to spare me, for in the end, I am always left alone—don’t give me hope to cling to.” He propped his head on his hand, his gaze growing unfocused, the young woman before him a blurred vision. “Ah well, I have been lonely for twenty years, it’s only a return to the past—there’s nothing to pursue…”

Blood Snow blinked, her expression growing somewhat uneasy. “Your Majesty, you will surely meet someone better. Sometimes… perhaps you should look at those nearby.”

“Are you hinting something to me? Hmph, what a pity this fine game is. I—I’m a move behind.” The piece slipped from his fingers, its crisp clatter echoing on the floor.

One could not tell if he referred to this deadlocked board, or the impasse of the present.

“Your Majesty, you’ve guessed, haven’t you?” Blood Snow’s face was impassive, but her voice betrayed her turbulent emotions.

“I have. I just didn’t expect you to be so ruthless, Blood’er… If I asked you to stay, would you remain for my sake?” His voice grew fainter, as he slowly slipped into unconsciousness.

Blood Snow’s heart quivered, silence settling over her. At last, she walked to Ji Wuqing’s side.

“Your Majesty, this tea is fine enough, but if another blossom is added, its effects are truly wondrous.” She placed her hand on his back; by now, he must be utterly drained, unaware of anything.

“Do not worry, it will only send you into a gentle slumber. Come morning, you will be well.” Her slender hand reached for his waist, grasping the golden token there. She could not help but pull at his robes, resting her head against his side in a gesture of dependence and longing.

“Ji Wuqing, what you offer me, I dare not accept. What you desire, I cannot give. Between us, there is no debt—let me owe you for this time.”

That night, she and Peach Heart, disguised, left the palace without trouble—the golden token proving remarkably effective.

Blood Snow sat in the carriage, feeling the growing distance from the palace. She wished to look back, but Ji Wuqing… she could not bear to face him again.

The night was as cold and clear as water, the palace walls steeped in chill, the royal compound solemn and desolate beneath the cloak of darkness.

In the depths of the night, Misty Mountain was utterly silent, as if even the air had solidified.

“Madam… Mistress, another fork in the road,” Peach Heart’s voice came, her head poking in from outside the carriage, dressed as a young eunuch, her delicate features hidden by shadow. She was clearly unsettled—this was the fourth fork they’d encountered in the mountain. It was uncanny.

“Peach Heart, to the right,” Blood Snow’s calm reply instilled confidence.

Misty Mountain, as its name implied, was wreathed in clouds and mist, its paths impossible to discern. Indeed, it was like a labyrinth, riddled with forks enough to bewilder and entrap any who entered.

Yet this was no great challenge for Blood Snow. Deprived of her sight, she had honed an extraordinary sense of direction, an ability that often surprised even herself.

After about half an hour, they finally glimpsed the manor veiled in the darkness, its grounds pitch black, save for a few lanterns at the gate, their dim, distant glow made all the more remote by the encroaching night.

“Mistress, there are two guards at the gate—what now?” Peach Heart anxiously ducked back into the carriage, regarding Blood Snow as almost omnipotent.

“Peach Heart, the token,” Blood Snow said steadily, betraying no concern. Peach Heart, for all her composure, was still an untested palace maid.

Peach Heart understood at once, feeling a twinge of shame. She said no more, urging the carriage forward. The closer they drew, the more alert the guards became.

The carriage halted before the gates. The guards simply watched, wary.

“We are sent from the palace—please let us through,” Peach Heart’s voice grew sharper, her eunuch’s garb lending her the guise of a young attendant.

“And what business brings you here, sir? Have you proof of your identity?” The guard’s tone softened—after all, only someone from the palace could navigate these treacherous paths.

“Our mistress has sent us to fetch someone tonight—to bring the young princess back to the palace.” As she spoke, Peach Heart revealed the golden token.

At the sight of it, the guards’ expressions changed to alarm. “Forgive us, sir, we meant no offense.” Then, raising their voices toward the manor, they called, “Open the gate at once, these are palace envoys!” At their command, the doors swung open and several more guards appeared.

Their leader stepped forward, bowing deeply. “We did not know the palace’s esteemed officials were coming. Please forgive our rudeness.”

“No offense taken. Please, let us enter quickly so we may complete our task and report back,” Blood Snow replied, lifting the carriage curtain—she, too, was dressed as a eunuch.

Her attire differed from Peach Heart’s, clearly denoting higher rank. With night as their shroud, she was not concerned her blindness would be discovered.

“This way, sir!” the head guard said with a forced smile.

The carriage rolled into the courtyard. Peach Heart sighed in relief, but Blood Snow suspected things would not be so simple.

“May I ask which palace you serve, sir? Your face is unfamiliar. And to come for the little princess at this late hour—has something urgent happened?” The leader was shrewd and alert, his doubts barely concealed.

Given the importance the palace attached to this place, why would they send someone unknown at such an hour?

Blood Snow’s heart clenched—she had expected such questions, and was about to reply when a voice interrupted.

“The people of this manor are certainly sharp!” This praise did not come from either Blood Snow or Peach Heart.

No sooner had the words fallen than all the courtyard guards were struck motionless by a ghostly figure. In a heartbeat, before any could react, they collapsed soundlessly to the ground.

The shadow stood atop the roof, his face hidden, only the wind-tossed hem of his robe and his air of effortless elegance visible.

“Blood Snow, you still owe me a favor.” With those words, he vanished without a trace, as if he had never been there.

Dan Ying!

Blood Snow turned toward the empty rooftop, a deep suspicion gnawing at her. Dan Ying had trailed them all this time? Truly suspicious. Hadn’t he left the Ji Kingdom? Why linger here still?

Not far off, a faint light drew near, footsteps barely audible—ghostly in the stillness of night.

“Mistress…” Peach Heart stepped protectively before Blood Snow, adopting the stance of a guard, eyes fixed on the approaching figure.

Feeling Peach Heart’s movement, Blood Snow’s heart stirred. Listening to the footsteps, she recognized the newcomer—Qiu Hua.

Standing before them, lantern in hand, was her mother. Her hair fell loose, her clothes neat, her face betraying not a trace of sleep.

“Mother, forgive us for disturbing you.”

Blood Snow gently moved Peach Heart aside and bowed slightly.

“Xue’er, what is the meaning of this?” Her mother had sensed the visitors long ago, but chose to watch from the sidelines. She had not expected these two girls to cause such a stir, nor for someone to intervene in secret.

“I am merely doing what you have always wished to do, but never dared.”

“What I wished to do?”

For the first time, she truly looked at the girl before her—her odd attire forgotten, she seemed remarkably serene. Especially those eyes, clear as water; never had she seen such pure, ethereal gaze.

Though somewhat empty, nothing could mar that clarity.

“You’re right. Hiding in the mountains is not a bad choice,” her mother nodded, seeing through her completely. “Yet I fear, should I remain, I too would become a burden. Misty Mountain is fine, but the one in the palace has never given up seeking this place.”

“You wish to join us?”

“Xue’er, you will need protection.”

No sooner had she spoken than a dozen masked figures emerged from the shadows, exuding a chilling presence.

“I suppose Wuqing told you my story. Is that why you fled here—did he frighten you?” She was from the martial world, and saw no reason to hide it.

“No, Mother, it was myself I feared.” Only now did she understand—this escape was not just for her own sake, but because she was shaken by her feelings for him. That was why she lost all composure, desperate to flee.

Ji Wuqing was a weakness in her heart. Yet love—best not to entangle oneself. Solitude, after all, might be the better path.

“Child, is it only now you see your own heart? I wonder, if Wuqing learns you ran away—and stole his mother too—what will he think? And are you sure you can bear to watch him love another, give all his tenderness elsewhere, and never to you again?”

“Mother, why try to sway me? The path I’ve chosen, I must walk to the end.” Yes, she had sought freedom—her wish fulfilled, it was time to let herself go.

Yet she did not know, when it comes to love, the thread is easily cut, but the root is hard to sever.