Chapter 11: Confronting the Past in Ximing Temple
In the quiet back courtyard of Ximing Temple, Cui Xun and Li Ying walked side by side at an unhurried pace.
The temple’s plum garden was one of the most celebrated sights in Chang’an. Crimson plum blossoms stretched across the courtyard, blooming in dazzling abundance like clouds lit by dawn. Snow from the previous night still lingered on the ground, unmelting, its pale brightness contrasting vividly with the fiery blossoms above. The entire scene resembled a painting—serene, elegant, and timeless.
Cui Xun wore a black crane-patterned robe, his figure refined and upright, his features as smooth as carved jade. Beside him, Li Ying, wrapped in a white fox-fur coat, appeared delicate and luminous.
With each step, Cui Xun’s black leather boots pressed clear footprints into the snow.
Li Ying, however, left none.
As a ghost, her presence could not disturb the mortal world.
The realization stirred a faint ache in her heart, and without noticing, she slowed… then stopped.
Cui Xun sensed the change and turned slightly.
“Walk behind me.”
Li Ying immediately understood.
She nodded softly and stepped into the footprints he had left behind, carefully aligning each step with his—as though, through him, she could still leave traces in this world.
Cui Xun’s steps were naturally larger than hers would have been. Li Ying lowered her gaze, her hands tucked into her sleeves around a scented hand warmer. Golden morning light filtered through the branches, draping itself across Cui Xun like woven silk.
His shadow stretched long across the snow.
When Li Ying looked down, she realized that his shadow covered her completely.
The loneliness that had lingered within her seemed to dissolve, replaced by a quiet, unfamiliar sense of safety.
A red plum blossom loosened from a branch and drifted downward, brushing against Cui Xun’s shoulder before falling.
Li Ying instinctively reached out.
The blossom floated gently into her translucent palm.
For a fleeting moment, she remembered the plum blossom that had touched Cui Xun’s lips the previous night—and the cool sensation when her fingers had brushed against them.
Her heartbeat quickened.
Cui Xun noticed she had stopped.
“What is the Princess doing?”
Startled, Li Ying hurriedly hid the blossom inside her sleeve atop the hand warmer.
“Nothing… nothing at all.”
Cui Xun smiled faintly.
Under the winter snow, that smile seemed brighter than the blossoms themselves.
Li Ying’s thoughts drifted. She recalled a poem she had read in childhood:
“Stones piled like jade, pines arranged like emeralds.
The gentleman’s beauty is unparalleled, there is no second in the world.”
She had once wondered whether such a man could truly exist.
Now she knew.
He did.
No wonder Cui Xun was known as the “Lotus Gentleman.” With such elegance, he seemed even more refined than the flower itself.
Realizing her thoughts were wandering too far, Li Ying lowered her head and quickly changed the subject.
“By the way, did Young Lord Cui catch a chill last night? Are you well?”
“Thank you for the clothes the Princess sent. I am fine.”
Cui Xun fell silent again.
Li Ying searched for another topic.
“Oh, why has Young Lord Cui come to Ximing Temple today?”
He paused briefly.
“Today is the anniversary of my mother’s death.”
The answer caught her completely off guard.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know…”
“It’s alright.”
“My mother passed away when I was three years old. I don’t even remember what she looked like, but every year at this time, I still come here to light an eternal lamp for her.”
His tone was calm—almost too calm.
Li Ying gently offered comfort.
“Your mother must have had abundant blessings and surely has already reincarnated.”
“Reincarnated?” Cui Xun smiled faintly. “Sometimes, I would rather hope she hasn’t reincarnated yet.”
Li Ying was momentarily stunned.
But before she could respond, he added quietly:
“However, it would be better for her to reincarnate soon.”
The contradiction puzzled her, yet she sensed there was pain behind the words and chose not to press further.
After a pause, Cui Xun suddenly asked:
“Has the Princess ever heard of a place in the netherworld called the City of Wrongful Deaths?”
“The City of Wrongful Deaths? I have heard of it a little.”
Li Ying carefully explained everything she knew about the place—how unjust souls were trapped there until their grievances were resolved.
When she finished, Cui Xun remained silent for a long time before softly saying:
“So that’s how it is.”
Then he asked another question.
“Then why hasn’t the Princess’s soul entered the City of Wrongful Deaths?”
Li Ying froze.
She had never considered it.
“Perhaps it’s because the Empress Dowager had eternal lamps lit for the Princess in all forty thousand Buddhist temples across the country, offering them before Buddha. That’s why the Princess doesn’t need to be confined in the City of Wrongful Deaths.”
Li Ying thought for a moment.
“Perhaps that’s the reason.”
Cui Xun nodded, but his gaze had already drifted back to the plum blossoms.
The quiet atmosphere was suddenly broken by the sound of footsteps crushing snow.
Cui Xun’s expression changed instantly.
Li Ying followed his gaze.
Beneath a plum tree stood a woman dressed in a pomegranate-red skirt. She held a broken plum branch and stared at Cui Xun with an unmistakably arrogant expression.
Her features were striking—pale skin, sharp nose, deep-set eyes—clearly not of the Central Plains.
Most eye-catching of all was the vivid red lotus tattoo on her cheek.
Beautiful.
Dangerous.
Unforgettable.
She walked slowly toward them.
Cui Xun’s face turned pale.
He bowed stiffly.
“Greetings, Consort Hui.”
What followed unfolded like a blade cutting through old scars.
Ashina Jia’s tone was languid yet cruel. Each word carried deliberate humiliation.
Although your Central Plains plum blossoms are beautiful, they are not as beautiful as you.
Consort Hui’s mockery continued, revealing fragments of Cui Xun’s past—captivity, torture, humiliation.
Li Ying felt her heart tighten as the truth slowly surfaced.
When Ashina Jia called him “Lotus Slave,” the air itself seemed to freeze.
Cui Xun’s expression turned deathly pale.
The insult was not merely a name—it was a wound.
Unable to bear the scene any longer, Li Ying quietly picked up a fallen plum branch.
Ashina Jia suddenly felt invisible blows strike her arm and shoulder.
“Why don’t you leave? Why don’t you leave?”
Though unseen, Li Ying’s voice carried stubborn determination.
Ashina Jia’s composure finally broke.
“This plum garden… has ghosts! Ghosts!”
She fled in panic.
The courtyard fell silent once more.
Li Ying turned toward Cui Xun, wanting to comfort him—but the words would not come.
Cui Xun avoided her gaze.
Without thanking her, he tightened his robe and walked away, his figure lonely against the snow.
Li Ying watched him leave.
Only then did she sigh softly.
From the way he had refused to collapse in front of others the night before, she already understood—this man possessed an unyielding pride.
To have his most humiliating past witnessed by her must have felt unbearable.
She took out the plum blossom she had hidden earlier and lifted it gently to her nose.
Its fragrance was faint yet persistent.
For the first time, Li Ying found herself deeply curious about Cui Xun—about the man the world called a traitor, and about the hidden story behind his scars.
As the scent lingered, hurried footsteps approached from afar.
The quiet moment ended.
The story, however, had only begun.
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