By the time He Jia Feng Yi and He Simu had dealt with Noble Consort Yu and the Lord of Gui Ghost Palace, dismantled the formation, and walked out of the imperial palace, the bright moon had already risen to the center of the sky—a perfect silver disc suspended in the vast darkness.
A figure in purple approached through an alley in the Yu Bian district, moving with purpose through the shadows. When He Jia Feng Yi saw this person, his exhausted face lit up with genuine joy. He smiled happily and waved, "Zi Ji!"
He had only taken two steps forward when his footsteps began to falter, his body swaying like a candle flame in wind. The wooden staff in his hand fell to the ground, its bells making a crisp sound that echoed in the empty street. Amid that sound, his thin white figure collapsed—caught just in time by Zi Ji's steady arms.
He Jia Feng Yi closed his eyes in Zi Ji's arms, consciousness slipping away like water through fingers. Zi Ji looked at the terrifying red marks covering his body—angry welts that spoke of tremendous suffering—and raised her head to gaze questioningly at He Simu.
He Simu said, her voice carrying neither concern nor coldness, merely stating fact, "His body reacts strongly to filth and evil spirits. When exposed to ghostly energy, he can only endure for at most three hours. Take good care of him. Once the red marks on his body subside, he'll be fine."
The world's strongest sorcerer happened to be the person least suited to be a sorcerer.
Such was the irony of fate.
Zi Ji nodded and supported He Jia Feng Yi as she stood up, bearing his weight with practiced ease. He Simu observed her discreetly—noting the calm competence, the familiarity of her touch—before suddenly asking, "Zi Ji, how old are you this year?"
Zi Ji was momentarily taken aback before answering, "Twenty years old."
"What is your zodiac sign?"
"…"
As Zi Ji hesitated, He Simu smiled beneath her veiled hat and said, "Miss Zi Ji can't even remember her zodiac sign. Are you only twenty years old?"
She was indeed not an ordinary person.
Zi Ji held He Jia Feng Yi, standing silently in place like a statue carved from moonlight.
"I'm not particularly concerned about who you are. Feng Yi has grown up now and doesn't need me to make decisions for him anymore. Whatever you are, since he keeps you by his side, he must have his reasons."
Beneath the veiled hat with its hanging red bead curtain, He Simu's voice was calm and gentle—the tone of someone who had seen centuries pass and learned the futility of controlling those you love.
"Feng Yi has always been a worrisome child—overly curious, physically frail, plagued by illness and misfortune. He may not live out his natural lifespan. From now on, he must walk his path. I see that he respects you greatly. I hope you can take good care of him while you're by his side."
Zi Ji nodded and said, "I will."
He Simu patted her shoulder—a gesture both blessing and farewell—and said, "Take him home. I want to clear my mind a bit."
In the deep night of South Capital, where all was quiet, only the leisurely call of the night watchman—"Beware of fire in the dry season"—echoed through the streets, marking time in a city that slept. Under the moonlight, He Simu walked straight through several courtyard gates and walls as if they were nothing more than morning mist, finally arriving in a room within an elegant compound.
The owner of the room had not yet gone to sleep. Wearing a simple robe that made him look more scholar than soldier, he was leaning against the windowsill, gazing at the night sky. He Simu followed his gaze and saw several bright lanterns rising into the night—paper vessels carrying souls to the afterlife.
He said, "Someone else has passed away."
She had opened his yin eyes, so he was now quite familiar with this world of ghosts, though he still couldn't see her as she deliberately concealed herself behind layers of spiritual energy.
This was the Duan family courtyard, and the man before her was her curse-bonded person, the soon-to-be-married groom, Duan Xu.
Duan Xu suddenly turned his head. He seemed to sense something—that particular awareness that comes from having one's soul touched by the supernatural. His gaze swept through the room before he said softly, "I feel like someone is watching me."
A familiar scene. In Shuo Prefecture, she had also concealed herself to watch him, and his intuition had been just as accurate then.
After a moment of silence, Duan Xu closed the window, walked to the bed, and sat down. He looked around the empty room and smiled—a smile that held both hope and resignation. "Is it you?"
He Simu did not answer—even if she had, he wouldn't have heard her. After some thought, she simply sat down in the bright square of moonlight that fell through the window onto the floor like a pool of liquid silver. The bead curtain of her veiled hat hung down to the ground, covering her entire body as she looked up at Duan Xu sitting on the bed.
In truth, she didn't know what to say or why she had come here. She had merely been reminded of the past by the Lord of Gui Ghost Palace's few sentences, and feeling momentarily melancholic—a rare emotion for one who had lived so long—she had wandered aimlessly for some time. When she came to her senses, she was already here.
"What do you like?"
Remembering that she hadn't prepared a wedding gift yet, she asked this question. Through the spell that concealed her voice, this was more like talking to herself than asking a question—words spoken into the void.
Duan Xu sat cross-legged just like her, his hand supporting his face, his gaze fixed on some distant point only he could see, his eyes blinking quietly in the moonlight.
"Your Highness, I like you," he suddenly said, as if responding to her question—as if his heart had somehow heard what his ears could not.
He Simu frowned and said, "That won't do."
Duan Xu rested his head on his hand, looking at the quiet, empty room bathed in serene moonlight, and chuckled softly—a sound caught between amusement and sorrow. He spoke to himself, "There's something that's been bothering me—you never ask me why I like you. Since you don't ask, it must be because so many people like you that you've grown accustomed to it, so you're not curious about my reasons for liking you."
He Simu watched him silently. Those distinct characteristics of his—supposedly passionate, brave, sincere, and wild—were now as calm as water in the night, as if all his emotions had transformed into a clear, tranquil pond reflecting only moonlight.
He spoke softly, in a tone that seemed part accusation, part jest, "You seduce me."
He Simu raised an eyebrow beneath her veil.
"You seduce me with your gentleness beneath that cold, hard exterior; with your solitude above ten thousand ghosts; and with your love for the world. And I willingly take the bait."
He lowered his chin and raised his eyes to look at her—at the space where he sensed her presence. From this angle, his upward gaze was clear and sharp, his eyes bright and unusually focused, as if he could truly see through the veils that separated them. He Simu was momentarily stunned, as if captured by his gaze despite knowing he couldn't actually see her.
Duan Xu leaned forward and said softly, "Do you miss me?"
"From the time I left Yu Zhou City until now, I've always missed you. Every day, everything reminds me of you."
"When I met you on the street, you asked me who I was. Though I knew you were pretending not to know me, I thought that perhaps one day you might truly be like that—forgetting my name, forgetting what I look like, forgetting me entirely. By then, I would probably have turned to dust, with no chance to hold you and introduce myself to you again."
"I think this is truly unfair. You must rarely think of me, which is why you forget so easily. If you thought of me as much as I think of you, you would remember me for at least a hundred years."
He spoke in a very relaxed tone as if just joking, yet every word carried the weight of absolute sincerity. His gaze fell on the stone tiles in front of He Simu. They were very close—close enough that she could touch the side of his face if she reached out.
As if under some spell, He Simu raised her hand through the crimson bead curtain and reached toward Duan Xu, until her fingertips passed through his cheek like smoke through air. She froze, the reality striking her heart like a physical blow—realizing that she couldn't touch him. Not anymore. Not from where she stood between life and death.
He raised his bright eyes and earnestly asked, "Simu, are you still here?"
He Simu's hand paused in the air before slowly withdrawing, curling back like a flower closing at dusk. She neither removed the concealment spell nor spoke to Duan Xu, maintaining her silence like a stone thrown into deep water.
Duan Xu lowered his eyelids, chuckled softly—a sound of resignation mixed with fondness—and said, "Gone already? Without saying a word to me."
He finally ended his monologue, lay back on the bed, pulled up the covers, turned to face the wall, and closed his eyes. He Simu watched his back for a long while until his breathing became steady and prolonged, each breath marking the passage of time. Only then did she stand up and laugh softly—a sound like wind chimes in a breeze.
"Little Fox Duan, I'm quite busy, you know."
If he had awakened at this moment, if he could have heard her voice, he would have discovered that her voice was extraordinarily gentle—softer than she had ever used with anyone in centuries.
"But I do miss you occasionally."
He Simu fell silent for a moment, perhaps feeling that not telling the truth even at such a time was somewhat ridiculous—a pointless vanity when no one could hear.
So she added a sentence.
"I often miss you."
The moon set, and the sun revealed a faint glimmer of light on the horizon—that precious moment when night surrenders to day. Insects chirped and birds called, full of life and the promise of new beginnings. He Simu thought about how she had inexplicably come here, listened to Duan Xu's monologue for a long time, and lingered here for even longer, yet still hadn't decided what wedding gift to give him.
On the night of the twentieth day of the fifth month, Noble Consort Yu and the Fifth Prince attempted to escape the palace and commit assassination. Their plot was exposed, and they took their own lives in Guanghe Palace. The Emperor was furious and punished their clan, ordering the investigation and confiscation of the property of Sun Zi'an, the Minister of War. The Minister of Justice, Jing Yan, who went to search, found conclusive evidence of corruption in the Horse Administration case in a hidden compartment in his mansion. The witnesses testified again, and the Horse Administration corruption case was finally concluded. The Minister of War, Sun Zi'an, and the Director of the Imperial Stables were beheaded. The Emperor ordered reforms to the Horse Administration and the major construction of horse farms in Yun Prefecture.
On the eighteenth day of the sixth month, as the turmoil began to settle like dust after a storm, the Duan family's third son, Young General Duan, was to be married.
That day, South Capital was very lively. Firecrackers exploded throughout the sky, drums and gongs resounded, and countless people crowded the streets to watch the spirited Young General Duan welcome his bride—as if the entire city had turned out to celebrate.
He Simu and He Jia Feng Yi stood on the roof of a building along the street, watching as Duan Xu walked out of the Duan residence. His face bore a radiant smile as he nimbly mounted his horse, his clothes and hair ribbons fluttering—a bright and vibrant display that only youth could possess, that particular luminosity of someone at the peak of life.
He Jia Feng Yi sighed deeply, fanning himself dramatically as he said, "I'm a proper guest of the Duan family—my invitation is far more formal than that hair ribbon of yours, Ancestress. Yet here I am, standing with you on this scorching rooftop, watching the groom in such an undignified manner. What sin have I committed to deserve this?"
He Simu snorted with laughter and said, "Go ahead to the Duan residence and enjoy the feast. Who asked you to come here?"
"I just thought that you've never attended a wedding before, Ancestress, so I wanted to keep you company," He Jia Feng Yi said plaintively, though his eyes held genuine affection.
The sound of firecrackers and the crowd's clamor drowned out their conversation. Servants were seen holding long bamboo poles with strings of firecrackers hanging from the tops. Now they were lit from the bottom, crackling vigorously as flames surged upward, the sound echoing across the sky like thunder. Paper scraps floated everywhere—like sparks or festive snowflakes, filling the air with chaos and celebration.
Bright wedding couplets swayed in the breeze, and musicians played lively tunes as a fervent joyous atmosphere filled the streets and alleys like flood water. He Simu wondered why, when it was someone else's wedding, all those people lining the streets—who clearly would gain nothing from this union—were so happy.
What was there to be happy about? What was the meaning of a wedding, after all? Why had Duan Xu insisted that she attend his wedding?
Was he hoping that she would feel sad or regretful?
Suddenly, Duan Xu, astride his horse, looked up. This time, He Simu had not concealed herself, so Duan Xu could see her at a glance—see her standing there on the rooftop like a specter from another world. He gazed at her deeply for a moment before breaking into a brilliant smile. He took out a talisman from his bosom, waved it in the air with a flourish, and then threw it upward, where it spontaneously combusted into ashes that scattered like stars.
From that moment on, the world in He Simu's eyes suddenly changed.
Black, white, and gray dissolved like ink in water, and everything was instantly dyed with various dreamlike, complex colors that eagerly leaped into her eyes—so vivid and beautiful that it made her heart race and left her at a loss, overwhelmed by sensations she had no words for.
Among all those chaotic, bright colors, Duan Xu looked up at her without blinking. His dark hair ribbon, clothes, and light-colored headdress suddenly transformed. His entire being radiated a passionate, warm, and gorgeous hue, shining brilliantly in the sunlight, just like the heartbeat she had once felt on the day she first gained the sense of touch—that same intensity, that same overwhelming reality.
Those colors seemed alive, living on him. It was hard to tell whether he brought these colors to life, or whether these colors made him more vibrant—a perfect synthesis of man and moment.
He Simu belatedly realized that this was what people called red. Duan Xu wore red clothes, and he looked exceptionally handsome—devastating in his beauty.
Duan Xu smiled at her amidst the red paper scraps floating in the air, so beautiful it was breathtaking, like a burning painting come to life.
He wanted her to attend his wedding and then give her his ability to perceive colors.
He wanted the first colorful world she ever saw to be him in his wedding attire.
The realization struck her like lightning—this was his gift. Not gold, not jade, not any earthly treasure. But this: himself, radiant and alive, dressed in celebration for another, yet making sure the first thing her color-seeing eyes beheld was him.
Him in red.
Him at his most beautiful.
Him, giving her the world in color, even as he walked toward a life that didn't include her.
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