Blood splattered into his eyes, a glittering cascade of crimson. Xia Jingshi's vision was instantly clouded with a layer of red so thick it seemed the world itself had been dipped in carnage. He couldn't help but raise his hand to rub his eyes, desperate to clear the obstruction, but the more he rubbed, the blurrier his vision became—as though the blood had seeped not just across his sight but into his very soul.
The viscous red liquid trickled down his cheeks in slow rivulets, lingering briefly along the sharp line of his jawline before dripping onto his snow-white brocade robe. Like red plum blossoms blooming against pristine snow, they appeared one by one—hauntingly beautiful and unbearably desolate, each stain a small death of its own.
The Emperor and Empress had left at some point during his moment of crisis, their departure as silent as shadows fleeing dawn. Xia Jingshi tossed away the dagger with a gesture of finality and calmly walked out into the courtyard. A gentle breeze brushed against his blood-stained clothes, catching the branches of the flowering trees. Bright red petals scattered in response, swirling through the air.
One by one, they floated earthward—the shattered souls of fallen blossoms.
What kind of lives had they lived? The question surfaced unbidden in his mind. What kind of people had they witnessed in their brief existence? Why were they in such a hurry to die, releasing their hold on the branches so readily?
Sunlight suddenly burst from behind thick clouds, its rays so sharp and blinding that they transformed in his blood-clouded vision into that same blood-stained dagger, its sharp edge plunging straight toward his heart. His heart already bore the festering sting of old poison—Rao Ran's betrayal, still fresh despite the years. With this new dagger of resignation added, would it finally be enough to bury everything at once? To end this torment?
He closed his eyes and surrendered to whatever fate would bring.
In less than a month's time, everyone in the imperial capital—and indeed across the entire empire—knew that Prince Xia Jingshi of Jinxiu had formally announced his withdrawal from the succession struggle. The news spread like wildfire through teahouses and noble estates alike.
They all sensed that something profound had happened to him, some invisible transformation that changed the very essence of who he was. It was like discovering a strand of deep blue thread woven into black fabric—not immediately obvious to the casual observer, but undeniably present once you knew to look for it. Something fundamental had shifted.
The pain of Rao Ran's betrayal and calculated deception was so real, so bone-deep that even years couldn't dull its edge. That feeling of profound sorrow remained vivid, carved into his heart like characters etched in stone. From that devastating moment forward, he had sealed his heart away behind walls of ice, using thick layers of indifference as both armor and disguise.
He had convinced himself that if he didn't allow his heart to be moved, he would never feel such excruciating pain again. He had even believed, with desperate certainty, that he had become exactly as his name suggested—Jingshi, still as rock, unmovable and eternal.
Yet unknowingly, a hammer called Fu Yixiao had appeared and cracked that stone open with her mere existence, nearly exposing the long-rotted corpse of his former self that he'd buried inside—still tender, still capable of bleeding.
At the same time, the venomous fangs of his past—those twin serpents of love and loss—began to stir restlessly within him, their poison coursing through his blood with renewed vigor, reminding him that some wounds never truly heal.
"The most enduring emotion in this world is the absence of emotion."
The words echoed in his mind like a mantra he'd repeated to himself countless times.
"Love is a fetter, and also a shackle."
"In one's life, as long as you've felt emotion or harbored intentions toward another, you already have a weakness. So, you are no longer perfect. You are vulnerable."
Xia Jingshi smiled bitterly at the cruel irony, the expression twisting his handsome features into something almost unrecognizable. Not only did he have weaknesses, he was catastrophically far from perfect. Heaven had left no room for his happiness in its grand design—he was no longer happy himself, so how could he possibly bring happiness to another person? How could he dare inflict his broken self upon someone whole?
Although his love for Yixiao had never diminished for a single day, burning as steadily as an eternal flame that refused to be extinguished no matter how hard he tried.
But that was precisely why he had to let her go.
As long as it wasn't her, he told himself with grim determination, it didn't matter who became the princess consort.
The sky was still painted with the deep indigo of pre-dawn when Fu Yixiao was rudely awakened by chattering maids who descended upon her like a flock of determined birds. They began immediately to dress and groom her with practiced efficiency. She closed her eyes slightly with a soft groan of protest, too exhausted to resist, allowing them to do as they pleased with her appearance.
In her half-asleep state, hovering in that strange realm between dreams and waking, she became gradually aware of two very different gazes resting upon her. The sensation made her skin prickle with awareness.
She suddenly opened her eyes to find Feng Suige—full of irritating morning energy and looking far too awake for such an ungodly hour—crouching inelegantly nearby like an oversized child. He was staring at her with unnerving intensity, his eyes tracking every movement of the maids' hands.
Seeing her sudden awakening, he startled backward in comic surprise. "What are you doing?"
"What are you doing?" Yixiao mumbled in response, her voice still thick with sleep as she closed her eyes again. Yet with the uncanny precision of long practice, she accurately swatted away the hand of a maid about to apply rouge to her face. "Too early for makeup..."
Feng Suige couldn't help but laugh at her half-conscious yet still reactive state. "That's enough, you can all go out."
Yixiao murmured an acknowledgment in perfect harmony with the departing maids, still thoroughly groggy, her mind not quite catching up with her ears. After sitting in peaceful silence for a moment longer, reality suddenly crashed over her like cold water.
She jumped up with comical urgency. "That's enough? We're done?"
Feng Suige nodded with an enigmatic smile playing at his lips.
Yixiao's drowsiness vanished instantly, replaced by indignant outrage. She gritted her teeth, glaring at him with the full force of her sleep-deprived irritation. "Why did you have people wake me up so early then?!"
"Come," Feng Suige offered his hand to her with exaggerated gallantry, his eyes dancing with mischief. "I'll take you to the morning market."
The morning air carried an impossibly sweet scent—a combination of dew-laden flowers, fresh bread from early-rising bakers, and that indefinable quality of potential that comes with dawn. Due to the previous night's rain, the breeze was deliciously moist and cool against sun-starved skin, carrying with it the promise of a beautiful day.
Feng Suige held her hand as they walked on the still-muddy streets, their footsteps leaving temporary imprints in the soft earth. The entire city remained wrapped in slumber, peaceful and serene, with only the earliest risers beginning to stir behind shuttered windows.
"It's been so long since I've felt this comfortable," Yixiao breathed out, her face already transforming with a smile of pure, uncomplicated joy. The kind of happiness that comes from simple pleasures—freedom, fresh air, and companionship.
Feng Suige led her down a winding street, navigating the maze of alleys with the confidence of someone who knew every corner. They quickly arrived at the morning market that sprang up like magic at the north gate each day. By the golden light spilling from nearby shops—their proprietors lighting lanterns to attract early customers—small vendors were busily setting up their makeshift stalls.
As Yixiao walked, she looked around in all directions with the wide-eyed wonder of a child at a festival, trying to take in everything at once. Finally unable to resist the question burning in her mind, she asked, "Are we going to eat something?"
Feng Suige raised an eyebrow with feigned surprise. "Of course, unless you'd prefer to sneak food from the kitchen like common thieves?"
Before he had even finished speaking, Yixiao had already slipped her hand free of his grasp and dashed toward a roadside vendor with the single-minded focus of a hawk spotting prey. Feng Suige stood frozen with his mouth half-open for a moment, his hand still extended in the now-empty air, before resentfully following after her like an abandoned puppy.
In Feng Suige's refined culinary estimation—trained on the finest palace cuisine and delicacies from across the empire—these street offerings were decidedly humble. The tea eggs, cooked for too short a time by an impatient vendor, were disappointingly bland and tasteless, like drinking boiled water with pretensions. The small fish, fried until crisp in recycled oil, only smelled enticingly fragrant but tasted mediocre at best, all grease and little substance.
However, Yixiao finished the tea eggs with evident satisfaction and stood holding multiple skewers of the small fish in her hands like precious treasures, her eyes still darting covetously toward the large pot of corn simmering over an open flame nearby, sending up aromatic steam.
He chuckled and gently pulled her away by the sleeve. "Don't fill up at one stall. There are other delicious things ahead that you'll regret missing."
By the time the sun had fully risen above the city walls, painting the sky in shades of gold and pink, Feng Suige's face had turned slightly pale with a mixture of amazement and mild horror. He had never known—never even suspected—that Yixiao could eat so much. She hadn't stopped eating from the very first stall to this present moment, methodically trying almost everything from every single vendor they passed, sampling the city's morning offerings with the dedication of a scholar studying ancient texts.
Meanwhile, he could only follow dutifully behind like a particularly well-dressed servant, pulling out his coin purse at each stop to settle the bills she accumulated with cheerful abandon.
When Fu Yixiao suddenly rushed toward yet another stall with undiminished enthusiasm, Feng Suige's last shred of patience—worn thin by too many stops and too much greasy food—finally wore out completely. He frowned, ready to forcibly drag her away before she bankrupted him or made herself sick.
Enough is enough, he thought with determination.
Pushing through the slightly crowded throng of early-morning shoppers, Feng Suige walked up directly behind Fu Yixiao with his most authoritative expression prepared. But he was genuinely surprised to find her standing motionless before a simple jade ornament stall rather than another food vendor.
Her entire attention was focused on a single piece.
It was a white jade magnolia flower pendant, carved with exquisite detail—each petal rendered so delicately it seemed it might flutter in the breeze. Yixiao's fingers moved with unconscious reverence, gently caressing the cold, smooth surface of the white petals as though touching something infinitely precious and impossibly fragile.
The same as the one that had shattered into irretrievable pieces...
The stall owner was an elderly woman with kind eyes that had seen many seasons pass. She smiled slightly, her weathered face crinkling with warmth. "Magnolias represent wealth and good fortune, miss. The young lady has excellent taste—an eye for quality."
Yixiao paused for a moment, her fingers stilling on the pendant. Then she suddenly looked up at Feng Suige, and the expression on her face stopped his heart.
Feng Suige felt his chest constrict painfully. The Fu Yixiao he knew—bold, confident, occasionally reckless—had never shown such a vulnerable expression. She looked slightly pleading, full of desperate hope, and even a bit timid, as though afraid her request would be denied and the rejection would shatter something inside her.
He heard her ask in a voice so soft it was barely audible above the market sounds, "Can I have this? If it's not too expensive."
The words hit him like a physical blow. As if someone had punched him directly in the chest, Feng Suige felt a sharp pain lance through his heart that rose up to choke his throat, making it difficult to breathe. Perhaps his reaction was strange—perhaps his face revealed too much of his inner turmoil—because the tentative light in Yixiao's eyes began to dim like a candle flame starved of oxygen.
She pursed her lips, disappointment settling over her features, and turned to smile apologetically at the old woman. "I was just looking. Thank you for your patience..."
"No," Feng Suige struggled to find his voice, his tongue feeling thick and clumsy in his mouth. Somewhat flustered and moving on pure instinct, he pulled out all the silver money from his pocket—far more than he'd normally carry—and placed the entire handful in the old woman's surprised palm without counting it. "Is this enough?"
Both Yixiao and the old woman stared at him with identical expressions of blank astonishment, their mouths slightly open.
Feng Suige's face flushed red with embarrassment and growing panic. Was it not enough? He felt frantically around his other pockets and through his clothes, seemingly finding nothing else of value. Lowering his head with increasing desperation, he suddenly yanked off the jade button inlaid on his belt—an expensive piece he'd worn for years—holding it up to the old woman's eyes with shaking hands.
"Can we exchange it for this?" he asked with genuine urgency, his voice cracking slightly.
Seeing the old woman's expression grow even more confused and slightly alarmed, beads of sweat appeared on Feng Suige's forehead despite the cool morning air. As he opened his mouth to offer even more—perhaps his entire belt, maybe his outer robe—Yixiao gently tugged at his sleeve with soft fingers.
"It's too much."
Sunlight fell on her face from the side, highlighting the moisture gathering in her eyes. A smile played at the corners of her mouth—trembling, touched, overwhelmed. "Far too much."
But Feng Suige's gaze remained fixed on her face as though nothing else in the world existed. He clumsily used his sleeve to wipe away the tears that had begun spilling over her cheeks, his movements gentle despite his obvious panic. He stammered an explanation that tumbled out in a rush:
"Don't cry. Please don't cry. I was just stunned for a moment earlier—my mind went blank. It's not that I'm unwilling to give it to you. I'd give you anything, everything..."
Nearby came the sound of onlookers' snickers and good-natured discussions about young love. The crowd that had gathered to watch this touching scene murmured with approval.
Yixiao suddenly came to her senses, realizing they had become a public spectacle. She stepped back half a pace, her face flaming. Feng Suige also awkwardly withdrew his hand, finally noticing their audience.
The old woman, her eyes crinkling with delight at the scene she'd witnessed, carefully cupped the pile of excessive silver money and handed it back to Feng Suige along with the jade pendant. "Take this pendant as a gift from an old woman. Quickly put it on your wife to make her happy—don't let her tears continue!"
Someone else in the crowd called out with jovial authority, "Remember to always cherish your wife like this! That's the secret to a happy marriage!"
The surrounding crowd immediately erupted in good-natured laughter and sounds of agreement, some people clapping.
Yixiao's face reddened even further, matching the crimson of the morning sun. She stood frozen, utterly at a loss for what to do with her hands, her gaze, her entire self.
Feng Suige took the jade pendant from the old woman's wrinkled hand but firmly pushed the silver money back toward her, smiling as he said with surprising smoothness, "Madam, your kindness is truly appreciated and touches my heart. But today is my wife's birthday, and the pendant is meant to be her special gift. So please, I must insist you accept this payment. It would dishonor both the gift and the occasion otherwise."
After several rounds of polite refusals—the old woman protesting it was too much, Feng Suige insisting with gentle firmness—she finally accepted only the silver equivalent of the pendant's actual value and carefully returned the excess to Feng Suige along with his jade button.
The crowd of onlookers gradually dispersed, heading off to their own morning business with satisfied smiles, having witnessed something sweet to start their day.
Feng Suige haphazardly stuffed the returned silver money and jade button into his pockets without paying attention, his focus entirely on the pendant. He held it up with a smile that transformed his entire face, making him look years younger. "Come, let your husband put it on for you..."
Yixiao's bright, beaming smile suddenly froze on her face as though turned to ice.
A long, terrible moment of silence followed.
Then Feng Suige's expression became even more distressed than hers, realization dawning with the force of a thunderclap. His eyes widened with horror, his mouth falling open.
And so, the entire marketplace—vendors, customers, stray dogs, and passing birds—heard Feng Suige's anguished roar that echoed off the surrounding buildings:
"How can you wear this pendant if your ears aren't pierced?!"
The absurdity of the situation, the passion of his outburst, and the ridiculousness of the oversight sent ripples of laughter through the morning market that would be retold in teahouses for weeks to come.
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