She pushed open the door, stirring dust that choked her. She stepped back, not daring to light a lamp lest it attract the searching Imperial Guards.
Faint outer light spilled in, illuminating the room. She peered: tables and chairs overturned, gold hairpins and stepshakes scattered from the vanity, pins broken, mirror shattered. She recalled Xun Changqing on her coming-of-age day, in peach-blossom pink skirts, delicate and radiant, a faint smile on her cheeks.
But everything was ruined. Hatred surged; she thrust her sword into the door. A shadow halted outside.
Her lips curled mockingly. “Your Highness should be in the Southwest. Why appear in the Imperial Capital? Be careful—you might enter but never leave.”
Xun Yi stared at the blade embedded inches deep, astonished and heartsick. Looking at Wei Lingci, respect tinged his gaze. “You killed the emperor?”
Wei Lingci despised Xun Yiran and likewise Xun Yi, who had abandoned his daughter for power and throne. “This is Your Highness’s domain; I should yield the place. The County Princess Mansion is next door—I’ll return to my own home.”
“Wait, I have questions,” Xun Yi blocked her, throat bobbing. “Changqing… is she really… gone?”
The name “Changqing” rang in her ears like thunder. Wei Lingci trembled, fists clenched, choking silently before coldly saying, “If Your Highness wants to know, go seek beyond Mang Mountain at the Yangtze.”
Xun Yi fell silent. Under moonlight, Wei Lingci in white illuminated his dark eyes. Her lips sneered like the wind; he punched the door, splintering it in two with mighty force. Watching her figure, regret was futile.
Yet Wei Lingci remained calm. She drew her sword from the door and said flatly, “Your Highness, after the Imperial Capital falls, might I borrow a thousand troops?”
…
On the Mid-Autumn Festival of family reunions, the Imperial Capital had been besieged by Southwest forces for over half a month. No more floating luxury—only countless starving commoners. Shao Yun still hid in the palace, hoping for relief troops, unaware that citizens fled madly outward. The city had no grain; soldiers had seized it all.
Amid rampant rumors, many, unable to endure hunger, attacked soldiers and snatched meager food.
When the military oppresses the people to rebellion, after days, commoners seized Imperial Guards’ bows, arrows, swords—heedless of death, truly heedless. Hiding inside meant starvation; opening the gates offered a chance at life.
When the Imperial Capital fell, Shao Yun fled with some Shao Family members, whereabouts unknown.
Wei Lingci stood at the city gates, watching the grand Southwest army enter. The rivers and mountains still bore the Xun surname, but many had died—unremembered by the people, unnoted in histories.
Xun Yi kept his word, granting her a thousand troops. She returned to Lingyun Mountain.
There, it remained the bustling orthodox sect revered by the jianghu.
Lingyun Mountain’s terrain was steep, easy to defend, hard to attack, augmented by wondrous Arrays. Few dared intrude, but Wei Lingci ascended alone, cracked the Arrays and mechanisms, and set the back mountain ablaze.
Her thousand troops followed, shouts and clashing steel echoing across Lingyun Mountain in an instant.
She saw Wang Pingjun in his death throes, shouting of justice to sway the crowd. But the soldiers, battle-hardened veterans, ignored him.
On Lingyun Mountain, those who could flee did; the rest became souls under the blade. Yet she found no Xu Ke.
Searching the entire mountain yielded nothing—perhaps dead, perhaps escaped.
Alone on horseback, she returned to Mang Mountain, building a thatched hut there—impervious to rain and waves, far from worldly clamor.
Daily, she watched tides rise and fall, mists veiling the waters. With company, it would be idyllic; but alone, it was desolate isolation, like a drifting leaf. Images in her mind lingered inescapably, thoughts causing excruciating pain.
On the parched yellow beach, scorched hotter by the blazing sun, a figure trudged the hot sands. From her hut, she watched the woman stumble along, curious: this was the imperial hunting ground, rarely visited. Why would a woman brave the heat alone by the river?
The woman neared the hut and asked for water.
Wei Lingci observed her long, seeing no threat alone, and invited her in, pouring a bowl of clear water.
The woman took it but didn’t drink immediately, asking, “Why does the lady wait here alone?”
Wei Lingci paused, softening her tone. “Guarding someone.”
“True guarding means staying by their side. Waiting alone here isn’t guarding.”
“I don’t know where she went; unable to go, I guard the spot. Even if you see her, what then?”
Wei Lingci didn’t grasp the meaning, but long without speech, she held no hopes for a happy end—only to see her once.
She clutched her aching chest, eyes anguished, shaking her head. “I don’t know what I’d do upon seeing her. Without a way to meet, why speak such delusions?”
The woman drank the water and rose. “All things in the world have roots. Human and beast reincarnation is heavenly law, but one life’s cycle abandons myriad worlds.”
Wei Lingci puzzled over it; when she looked up, the woman was gone. One life cycle, abandoning myriad worlds.
If truly one life without reincarnation, she would willingly accept it.
All the sins—she would bear them!
