By the time Duan Xu had mostly handled the aftermath of his failed wedding and returned to his courtyard, Chen Ying and Duan Jingyuan were already in his Hao Yue Residence, gathered around He Simu like moths drawn to moonlight, watching her paint. She had changed into a moon-white cross-collared gauze dress with subtle lotus patterns, holding her sleeve delicately as she worked on meticulous brushwork on rice paper.
A variety of colorful paints of different shades were spread out beside her like a rainbow scattered across the table. Duan Jingyuan, with her arm around Chen Ying, watched in amazement as He Simu sketched and outlined with practiced precision. When Duan Xu stepped in, Duan Jingyuan whispered to her third brother: "This Miss He's painting skills are incredible. I think even the palace artists can't compare to her."
After a pause, she added with curiosity, "But she seems unfamiliar with colors. I just brought out all the paints I have and went through them with her one by one. How could such a skilled artist not recognize colors?"
Duan Xu patted Duan Jingyuan's shoulder affectionately. Instead of answering, he embraced He Simu from behind, forcing her to stop painting and pull her attention away from her focused state to notice him—a deliberate interruption.
"…" Duan Jingyuan covered Chen Ying's eyes with theatrical haste, saying they wouldn't disturb them any longer while dragging Chen Ying out of the room. Chen Ying struggled, calling out that she wanted to spend more time with Sister Xiaoxiao, but couldn't overcome Duan Jingyuan's determined strength.
"Third Brother, show some restraint! I've informed the sister-in-law and the steward that Chen Ying's sister has arrived, but you should at least act more convincingly. And… don't corrupt the child!"
Duan Xu laughed out loud, the sound warm and unguarded. He released He Simu to close the door, saying to Duan Jingyuan outside: "Thank you for taking care of things, sister."
When there was no more sound from outside, he turned around and walked behind He Simu, putting his arms around her waist again, claiming his territory.
"I thought you might be gone by the time I returned."
He Simu's gaze remained on her painting, her brush moving with steady confidence. She chuckled lightly and said, "You and He Jia Feng Yi conspired to strip me of my powers. Where could I possibly run to?"
"Wang Suyi has safely left South Capital's vicinity and reached Shun Prefecture."
"Shouldn't you call her your wife?"
"Simu…" Duan Xu elongated her name, as if pleading. He Simu turned to look at him, her eyes initially filled with mirth, but her expression fell when she clearly saw his face. She put down her brush and raised her hand to his cheek with sudden concern, asking, "Who struck you?"
Duan Xu was somewhat surprised. He had already applied ice to it himself, and throughout the day, no one had noticed the mark on his face—it was faint, barely visible. The vision of evil ghosts was truly exceptional.
Duan Xu placed his hand over hers as she caressed him, his eyes crinkling with affection: "It's nothing. I have no sense of touch now, so it doesn't hurt at all."
He Simu frowned, her brow furrowing with displeasure. After thinking for a moment, she said, "Was it your father who hit you?"
"Yes."
"He abandoned you to die back then, and now he has the nerve to hit you."
"My father naturally doesn't think he did anything wrong." After a pause, Duan Xu leaned against her shoulder seeking comfort and said, "I can't blame him either, saying he was wrong back then. Do you remember the mineral I mentioned before the generals, Tianluo?"
"I do."
"Back then, what the Hu Qi people threatened my father for was precisely the refining method for the Tianluo mines in Luo Prefecture."
In his youth, his father had made friends in the jianghu, including connections with the assassination organization Wen Sheng Chamber. His father discovered that one of the assassins in Wen Sheng Chamber was actually from a famous craftsman family in Luo Prefecture, and one of the few people in the world who knew how to refine high-purity Tianluo—a rare and valuable skill.
So his father helped this assassin leave Wen Sheng Chamber, planning to have him join the Ministry of Works to put the Tianluo refining method into practice for the nation's benefit. However, the Hu Qi people somehow learned of this and approached his father with threats and inducements, demanding this person. When threats and bribes failed, they kidnapped Duan Xu, but his father ultimately did not yield.
"The Hu Qi people learned the news so quickly that Father suspected someone in the court was collaborating with the enemy. He temporarily hid this person and the family's written instructions, planning to wait until Luo Prefecture was recovered and the mines returned before making further plans. Hidden in plain sight, the craftsman's descendant, who mastered the Tianluo extraction method, was a young girl back then, and is now Miss Luo Xian of the Yu Zao Tower."
He Simu raised her eyes toward Duan Xu with some surprise, the revelation unexpected. Duan Xu smiled and said, "How about that? Doesn't my father sound like a hero in his youth?"
How could he say his father was wrong?
How could he blame his father for sacrificing him to protect Great Liang's nation, to prevent crucial technology from falling into others' hands, to ensure the survival of millions of subjects?
Of course, he couldn't.
Moreover, his father didn't know about all he had suffered in Danzhi. His father thought he had simply been displaced in Danzhi, surviving with martial arts skills as he made his way back to the South Capital. Given such circumstances, any guilt would naturally fade after a year or half—time healed all wounds, or so people believed.
"But he has grown old. He thinks Luo Xian is still his confidant and informant, but Luo Xian has long been my person. What he learns from Luo Xian is only what I want him to know."
Duan Xu spoke calmly, as if discussing the weather, but He Simu turned around, sitting on the table with her arms around his neck, looking earnestly into his eyes.
In his world of only black and white, light and shadow floated in her eyes like stars in a monochrome sky.
"Do you feel wronged?" she asked, her tone calm as if stating rather than questioning—as if she already knew the answer.
This was the first time he had heard such a question directed at him.
Duan Xu was momentarily stunned, caught off guard. He lowered his eyes and shook his head with a smile: "If you don't expect anything, there's nothing to feel wronged about."
He Simu lifted his chin, looking at him and saying with quiet intensity, "Even if you didn't expect anything from anyone before, now you can expect things from me. You are my lover."
With that, she embraced him, laughing in his ear with warmth: "I don't give promises easily, but once given, I never fail to keep them. You can trust me."
Duan Xu remained silent for a long while, putting his arms around her back and burying his face in the crook of her neck. He spoke softly, his voice still carrying a hint of laughter: "Originally I didn't feel wronged. He conceals things from me, I deceive him—we play our parts in a harmonious act. Perhaps that's just how family is."
"Family isn't supposed to be like that."
"Is that so?"
"Yes, and from now on, I am your family too."
Duan Xu held her tightly and said no more, the silence speaking volumes.
He had always been like a flame, merging everything he touched with himself without changing his essence. Bright and sharp, an untouchable intensity, an unfathomable mystery—distant even when close.
But now he wasn't.
He Simu felt as if she were holding a beating heart, fragile yet resolute, resolute yet fragile—a contradiction that made her protective instincts flare.
That small heart raised its head to look at her, eyes sparkling with mischief, and said, "You said I am your lover."
"That's right."
"Do you want to leave a mark?"
He Simu was somewhat surprised by the suggestion. Duan Xu pointed to the paintings covering the table and smiled: "All-powerful Ghost King, do you know how to tattoo? Would you like to paint on my body?"
He Simu was taken aback. She looked at Duan Xu in his blue clothes for a long while before smiling: "What should I paint?"
"Red plum blossoms covered in snow, like you," Duan Xu answered without hesitation.
He Simu didn't understand how red plum blossoms covered in snow resembled her; perhaps it was because the red and white colors matched her usual attire. Duan Xu very consciously removed his upper garment, revealing his muscular torso and numerous scars—a map of suffering written on flesh. He Simu walked around him in a circle, examining him like a canvas, then pushed him to the bedside, having him lie face down on the bed.
"The first time I saw these scars on your body, I thought you looked like a piece of porcelain with ice crack patterns," He Simu said as she caressed his back, fingers tracing the raised lines.
Duan Xu, face down on the bedding, laughed and said muffled, "I didn't realize I looked so good in your eyes."
He Simu's hand traced a burn scar at his waist, feeling its texture.
"How did you get this wound on your waist?"
"It was originally a slave mark of Tian Zhixiao. I burned it flat."
"Aren't you very afraid of pain?"
"I'm sensitive to pain, but not afraid of it. I kept claiming it hurt before just to soften your heart."
He Simu patted the back of his head and said, "You're being very honest now."
Duan Xu laughed softly, the sound vibrating through his body.
There was a slash wound on his back, a scar resembling a branch growing sideways. He Simu followed the scar with paint and needles as if a vibrant plum blossom branch were growing from his flesh, covered with a layer of fine snow—art born from pain.
Having only recently become acquainted with colors, she found everything in the world overwhelmingly vivid, even dizzying in its intensity. The plum blossom on Duan Xu's back was the same, adding a touch of bewitching beauty to her bright-day-white-snow youth, making him look somewhat ghostly as well—a living work of art.
The wind lifted the gauze curtains, and in their flowing, obscuring movements, the pale young man lay on the red bedding, while the moon-white-robed young woman, arm supported on the bed, painted on his back—an indescribably enchanting scene of intimacy and trust.
"My father taught me how to paint," He Simu said as she worked, her voice soft with memory. "He was very skilled in these things—proficient in zither, chess, calligraphy, and painting. He was different from me; he had lived as a mortal for a time, so his mastery of these things was better than mine. He would use various methods to help me imagine what the human world was like, and he always felt guilty that I couldn't truly experience it. I never blamed him for that and always loved him deeply. To me, that's how family should be."
Finally, she finished her work. A lifelike plum blossom bloomed on Duan Xu's shoulder, vibrant against pale skin.
She lowered her head to place a kiss on his shoulder. Duan Xu turned his head, and she kissed the corner of his eye and his lips, gentle benedictions. Duan Xu pulled her down onto the bed, and He Simu, with her arms around his neck, said, "Be careful not to smudge the painting."
Duan Xu kissed her fingers—he always seemed to enjoy kissing her fingers, as if they held some special fascination—then interlocked his fingers with hers, their slender fingers entwined like promises.
"If it smudges, we can continue painting tomorrow."
He Simu tilted her head back to look at him and said with a smile, "Don't make me hurt today."
Duan Xu shook his head and said, "I won't."
As he leaned down, He Simu whispered in his ear, "Do you know what ice crack patterns signify?"
"What?"
"Harsh winter has passed, and spring returns to the earth." After a pause, she continued, "You will be like this too."
Harsh winter has passed, nightmares fade, wounds heal, let spring enter your life—you will be like this too. A promise and a prophecy.
Duan Xu smiled softly and lowered his head to kiss He Simu. He felt that in the future, he would be unable to resist showing weakness before her, perhaps feigning distress even when not truly troubled. He loved how He Simu cared for him too much—it was an addiction he welcomed.
"Simu."
"…Yes?"
"I want to know what moved you, what made you accept me."
"Silly."
"Ah, the Ghost King is so magnanimous. Tell me…"
Duan Xu's neck was pulled down, his voice drowned in passionate kisses and breaths.
Like a moth to a flame, like Weisheng clinging to the pillar—such an intelligent person choosing to be such a fool, making it impossible not to worry about him, impossible not to love him.
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