He leaned back, one hand bracing against the ground, raising his head to look at the top of the tent, not looking at Gu Yan’s reaction nor wanting to hear his reply, and continued rambling.
“New waves can coexist with the old, but unfortunately, there is no such option between us. One day I found a secret: it turned out that when you ascended to Prince, it was by taking advantage of your predecessor’s grave illness to kill your father and rise. See, history always repeats. Whetstones pile up one by one, building a bridge across the river, and once at the bank, the bridge must be torn down. It’s just a charge of embezzlement and treason; I’m not even killing you, which is quite merciful.”
Bloodshot veins appeared in Gu Yan’s eyes, and after a brief silence he said in a low voice: “It’s always been this way. Do you think you yourself will meet a good end? You destroyed the Guan family, and Guan clan members will hunt you; you framed me, and future descendants will turn against you. Sitting in this position, it has always been so.”
“I will have no descendants. Or rather, your Gu family will have no more descendants.” Gu Jinyu looked at him. “My Prince, your eldest daughter was already shot dead by your own hand; your second daughter, by your doing, was captured by Gao Mingqian—if she unfortunately bears a child, the Empress will surely kill it swiftly; your third son, once the heir in whom you placed greatest hope, is a cut-sleeve who only likes men; you have only one youngest son left. Guess how I will instruct him once I return to Changluo?”
He looked at Gu Yan’s rigid expression and said gently: “My Prince, that which you value most—national honor and clan glory—from this moment on, is burned to ash and scattered.”
Gu Yan was about to speak, but he kept cutting him off, slowly throwing out more pain: “Why still not suspect that this embezzlement charge wasn’t something I framed you with for no reason, but was forced onto you by the imperial family you’re most loyal to? Without the Empress’s consent, how could I send you into exile?”
Finally, he leaned forward, looking down at him with false pity: “There’s another matter the imperial family hasn’t told you, but I think you really need to know. You don’t know that you are actually the late Emperor’s full brother—an imperial bastard—a genuine dragon.”
Gu Yan finally showed anger: “Absurd!”
Gu Jinyu sighed gently and humbly: “The late Emperor specifically told the Empress before he died. Do you know why he only told her at the very end?”
“He was guarding against you.”
“Look at you, serving as the imperial family’s watchdog for decades, while the late Emperor neither sought justice for your wife’s maternal clan, nor fulfilled your wish to go to battle. He refused your eldest daughter as an imperial consort, elevated the Su family as the foremost clan to suppress you—each act not fatal, but every one nauseating enough.
“The greatest loyal servant of Jin, the Prince Zhenbei—look back and see how ungrateful and cold the late Emperor was. You sold your life so diligently: sold your eldest daughter, killed your eldest daughter, sold your four sons, harmed your four sons…”
Gu Jinyu’s voice suddenly cracked at this point. His hatred seemed bottomless, yet it was a calm, wooden hatred; only by bringing up a vivid example like Gu Xiaodeng could he feel the pain of cutting open a wound and bleeding.
He laughed hoarsely: “Since you are so loyal to the throne and patriotic, so eager to pacify Hanzhou and suppress the north, then don’t leave. I will nail you to this desolate northern border—without wife or children, without kin or friends, without home or clan.”
He stood up, looking down at Gu Yan, who rarely appeared aging.
“You must taste the wind and frost of Gu Renli’s nine years holding firm among the Northern Rong; taste the illness An Ruoyi silently endured for twenty years; taste all the cold and hot violence the Gu family’s children have suffered.
“You must also endure the lowest of the low in status, endure the stripping away of glory, reputation, and authority one by one, toiling for a bare existence, wasting life for the highest false ideals.”
Gu Jinyu turned Gu Xiaodeng’s blessing for Gu Yan into the most vicious curse.
“I can only wish that from now on, your ambitions unfold fully, with no regret before heaven and earth.”
Gu Jinyu walked out of the tent, glanced at Gu Pinghan standing far away, walked over, and for the first time ever, placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Third Brother, see: I helped Gao Mingshi kill her father, and others come to help kill yours and mine. See how fair the world is, Third Brother; see how reciprocal the world is.”
“…You’re crazy.”
“Maybe a little, but I think none of us are normal.”
Gu Pinghan closed his eyes. He couldn’t affirm or deny; he felt both relief and pain, with no answers. He had returned to the days before he was sixteen, as hollow as a wooden puppet.
So he turned and went to find Zhang Dengqing.
Gu Jinyu then walked by himself. He couldn’t find a single lamp; of course he could only walk alone.
All the remaining light of this long night probably converged on Zhu Mi.
He led a fine horse and rushed early to the border between the two tribes that Gu Jinyu had told him about.
It was only a year ago that Gu Jinyu had established secret correspondence with Gu Renli in the Northern Rong royal house. After long, cautious planning, it wasn’t until tonight that Gu Renli felt safe enough to step back into the Central Plains with a new identity.
Zhu Mi had arrived during the day, too distracted to eat when hungry, to drink when thirsty, his mind churning with fleeting glimpses of years past. He was certain she was returning, yet what filled his memory most was the scene of her departure back then.
The night before Gu Renli left, under imperial orders, to marry beyond the border, she went to East Forest Garden to patrol her home one last time. Zhu Mi had only accompanied her for a stretch. By then he had been assigned as Gu Jinyu’s attendant and could no longer walk with her further.
She finally extended a hand toward him. Zhu Mi hesitated a moment, then, half in a dream, grasped that pale white wrist.
Both knew that after this grip came farewell. This grip also represented the two of them laying bare their long, silent childhood affection and insurmountable love.
In the final moment, they only lightly intertwined their fingers, a mere parting.
But this brief, fervent touch, born of free will, was too beautiful, so beautiful that the young man and woman unquestionably fell deeply.
Panicked, Zhu Mi wanted to suppress the desire and pain spreading in his heart, so he immediately knelt, still holding her hand, his head lowered, not daring to look at her again, hoping the restrained and proper eldest young lady would stop his loss of control.
Gu Renli, however, did not return to being the cold, dignified young lady as he wished. She bent down like a wild goose, her arms transforming into wings, and fully embraced him.
Zhu Mi knelt without daring to speak, only knowing that tears rushed to his eyes, wanting to say, “Let me go beyond the pass with you, Miss,” but even more wanting to say, “Miss, can you not marry…” Yet the word “Miss” lingering on his lips was one that, as a “servant,” he could not overstep.
Gu Renli gently stroked his back; her unsteady breathing continued for a while before she squeezed out four words, said as light as the breeze and clouds.
“A Mi, take care.”
Zhu Mi’s joy came to an abrupt halt after Gu Renli left the pass. Unknowingly, he became a blank-faced man; Gu Xiaodeng called him Iron Door God, which was actually quite fitting.
He originally thought he would spend the rest of his life clinging to what was left. Yet the young Gu Jinyu, one night after stepping out of confinement, suddenly stopped him and made a promise he couldn’t refuse.
“Zhu Mi, how about an alliance? You and your brother work for me, help me rebel against the Gu family. Someday, when I reach the pinnacle of officialdom, I will surely go beyond the pass to attack the Northern Rong and reclaim Hanzhou. The day Hanzhou is recovered will be the day I help bring your Eldest Sister back to the Central Plains.”
Whether it was because he was too desperate for hope then, or because Gu Jinyu’s gaze was resolute enough, Zhu Mi believed and thus rushed all the way to today.
The memories of nine years ago were blown awake by the northern border’s cold wind, and Zhu Mi fixed his gaze ahead.
A line of shadows gradually appeared on the horizon. A group of women came riding tall, dark horses. The one in the lead wore Han-style skirts, while the maids behind her all wore Northern Rong-style riding clothes. For safety while riding, she actually should have worn a convenient riding outfit.
But she had been unable to wear the attire of her homeland for too long, so the moment she left Northern Rong territory, she eagerly changed.
Zhu Mi watched without blinking as Gu Renli rode over.
This reunion seemed to have been awaited for only nine years, yet also for ninety, as if from toddling infancy to tottering old age. It wasn’t someone returning with pitch-black hair, but with white hair like snow.
Gu Renli drew closer and closer, until Zhu Mi heard her still pleasant voice.
“A Mi, it’s snowing.”
Zhu Mi awoke from a grand dream.
So it was just snow; the hair was white because of the snow, and youth still remained.
So it hadn’t been a dream: she had returned, and he had waited.
Zhu Mi, like an arrow shot, threw himself to Gu Renli’s horse, raised his head to look at her, just like that year: “Eldest Young Lady, you’re home.”
Saying so, he quickly grabbed Gu Renli’s reins and, with long, awkward strides, soon began racing toward the Central Plains.
He had forgotten to mount his own horse, so he ran ahead, pulling Gu Renli’s horse, while his own horse stupidly followed behind at a trot.
Gu Renli didn’t remind him either; she just sat on her horse, watching Zhu Mi’s frenzied, ecstatic back as he ran, then raised her eyes to gaze at the land of Jin, and under the whistling wind, threw her head back and laughed.
“Home!”
