During Qu Yunmie’s recovery, no one should’ve disturbed him, but because Xiao Rong was there, people came by constantly. Some were even uninvited, pretending to check on the patient while actually spying.

One such man was Prince Dongyang, He Tingzhi. In the first three days after Qu Yunmie’s injury, not just the Xianbei were waiting—many in the Northern Army were waiting, too. The winds of change blew strong, and even an autumn breeze felt like a warning. Even so, no one acted—because, like the Xianbei, they feared Qu Yunmie. They needed to wait until he was confirmed dead. No one wanted to be on the revenge list of the Northern Army King.

When He Tingzhi learned that Qu Yunmie was no longer in danger, he was clearly disappointed. Still, he was self-aware enough to know that even if Qu Yunmie died, it would bring him more trouble than benefit. He had few followers and was surrounded by wolves. He still needed the Northern Army’s protection. More importantly, even if the army was destabilized, he couldn’t profit from it.

A dead Qu Yunmie replaced by a fool would be good—but controlling the Northern Army himself would be even better.

Standing before the royal tent, He Tingzhi stared longingly at the densely-packed soldiers surrounding the center like stars around the moon. He eventually sighed in disappointment and put his ambitions away. When he entered the tent, he had already buried those thoughts.

This was He Tingzhi’s first visit to Qu Yunmie. During the dangerous first few days, Jian Qiao hadn’t allowed anyone near the royal tent. Later, Xiao Rong arrived, and access to the central circle was permitted—but idle people still weren’t allowed inside. It was said that aside from Qu Yunmie’s chancellor and relatives, even generals were kept out.

Today the ban was finally lifted. As soon as He Tingzhi heard the news, he rushed over. He knew that others would probably curse him behind his back for being sycophantic, but he didn’t care. After all, those people didn’t dare say such things to his face.

He Tingzhi looked at the wounds all over Qu Yunmie’s body and even squeezed out a few tears at the right moment. He sat beside Qu Yunmie, acting as if they were very close friends. In a low voice, he began expressing all the worry and fear he had felt these past days. The more he talked, the more emotional he became. By the end, it sounded as if the whole world would fall apart if Qu Yunmie died.

Xiao Rong stood nearby watching. He knew Qu Yunmie disliked He Tingzhi, so he had no intention of saving him. Xiao Rong observed with schadenfreude, but the more he watched, the more he felt something was off.

Qu Yunmie didn’t show any signs of disgust. No matter what He Tingzhi said, he listened. If He Tingzhi asked him something, he would nod. Though not enthusiastic, he at least appeared willing to listen. As a result, He Tingzhi wasn’t discouraged and just kept talking more.

Xiao Rong felt a block in his chest. Suddenly, he found both of them extremely annoying—He Tingzhi annoyed him, but Qu Yunmie even more so.

He strolled over. He Tingzhi was still fussing over Qu Yunmie’s health. Sensing someone behind him, he turned his head, was slightly stunned, then enthusiastically stood up. “Lord Xiao! Ah, I didn’t know you were here. My fault, my fault. I was too focused on talking with the Northern King and forgot to look around.”

Then he smiled and said to Xiao Rong, “It’s been a while. Lord Xiao looks even more radiant—”

He suddenly got stuck because Xiao Rong didn’t look good. Not just his complexion, but his expression too. He looked at He Tingzhi as if they were enemies.

He Tingzhi was stunned and quickly tried to recall if he’d ever offended Xiao Rong. He concluded he hadn’t. They had only met once and hadn’t even exchanged a word. How could he have offended him?

Realizing it wasn’t his problem, He Tingzhi steadied his mindset and still politely smiled. “Lord Xiao doesn’t seem to be in a good mood? Have the Xianbei rats done something again?”

Xiao Rong looked at him and also smiled. “I greet His Highness the Prince of Dongyang. There’s something the prince may not know—I’m no longer the Prefect of Chenliu. The title ‘Lord Xiao’ is far too much. From now on, just call me by my name.”

The Prince of Dongyang: “…”

With years of bootlicking experience, he instantly sensed he had missed some important news.

His smile stiffened. He sneaked a glance at Qu Yunmie. The latter was watching them with folded arms, calm toward Xiao Rong but showing some disdain when his eyes landed on He Tingzhi.

He Tingzhi said, “So that’s how it is. Seems there has been some recent reshuffling in the Northern Army. I hadn’t heard. I hope Mr. Xiao can forgive me.”

Xiao Rong replied with an extremely tolerant and gentle tone. “How could anyone blame His Highness? This change was something I willingly accepted. The position of Prefect of Chenliu should go to someone more capable. I’m plain-looking and dull-witted—it’s only fitting that I return to being a commoner.”

He Tingzhi stared at him blankly.

He didn’t understand a single word Xiao Rong said, but he could tell there were barbs underneath. Now he was sure—he had definitely missed some important news and had unfortunately walked right into it.

He couldn’t afford to offend Xiao Rong, but he could avoid him. Although they’d only met twice, He Tingzhi could tell how high Xiao Rong’s status was within the Northern Army. When Xiao Rong arrived, even Qu Yunmie’s four generals were sent out. He didn’t want to get caught between the two. Xiao Rong might even matter more to Qu Yunmie than his future queen. This wasn’t someone he could use, nor a situation he could exploit. He should just leave.

Soon, he said he needed to check on his men. Luckily, Xiao Rong didn’t try to stop him. After he left, Xiao Rong suddenly turned and both he and Qu Yunmie spoke at the same time.

Qu Yunmie: “That’s your way of treating a guest?”

Xiao Rong: “You were awfully polite to him!”

Xiao Rong froze. His face instantly darkened. “What did you say?”

Qu Yunmie replied, “You told me to treat guests with courtesy, but I don’t think you did.”

Xiao Rong: “…”

He was angry, but staring at Qu Yunmie, he didn’t want to argue. Every time they argued, he seemed to win, but he always felt exhausted afterward—sometimes physically, sometimes emotionally.

He pursed his lips and turned to leave. Qu Yunmie watched his back and suddenly narrowed his eyes. “Even you can be at a loss for words. What’s the phrase—when someone hits the nail on the head and then walks away? There’s a term for that.”

Xiao Rong: “…”

He paused, clenched his fists, and suppressed his temper. His steps grew wider.

Just then, Qu Yunmie said again, “I remember now. It’s called ‘flying into a rage out of humiliation.’ About that guest etiquette you insisted on, but didn’t follow yourself—there’s a word for that too. You’ve used it on me before: arbitrary.”

He was just one step away from reaching his little retreat, but upon hearing “arbitrary,” he skidded to a halt, spun around, and almost in a blink, stood before Qu Yunmie again.

Xiao Rong burst out, “I’m arbitrary?! What, He Tingzhi is some good man now? You were always the one telling me how fake he was. Now you’re fake too? Oh, I get it. You’re going to say you were just doing what I told you to do, but why are you listening so well today?! It’s too late to mend the pen after the sheep are gone! You guarded the trivial and forgot the bigger picture. Do you think I still care about etiquette? And how long did your etiquette last anyway? Less than half a cup of tea! You were all polite while he was here, then turned to mock me the moment he left. Qu Yunmie—you!”

He stopped abruptly. His eyes dropped downward, and his expression changed.

When he spoke again, his voice was cold. “You provoked me on purpose.”

He took a breath, then smiled charmingly at Qu Yunmie. “Your Highness, may I ask—why did you do that?”

Qu Yunmie replied, “I didn’t sleep last night.”

Xiao Rong’s face changed. He looked into Qu Yunmie’s eyes. Qu Yunmie was the type whose face showed it when he lost sleep—dark circles, bad complexion. Now that Xiao Rong looked closely, he realized Qu Yunmie looked terrible.

Many emotions passed through his heart and face. Finally, he gave a faint smile. “So you don’t even take proper care of your injuries. You can’t even manage that.”

Qu Yunmie said, “One sleepless night won’t hurt my recovery. More importantly, I needed to sort out the thoughts in my heart before I could move on.”

Xiao Rong wasn’t sure where this conversation would go, so he became wary again. He asked, “So, what have you figured out?”

Qu Yunmie leaned back again. Although he was lying down, he was far enough from Xiao Rong that he could still meet his eyes. “I figured out—” 

He drew out the words, then lifted his uninjured arm and rested it behind his head. Smiling, he said, “This is just how I’m going to be for the rest of my life.”

Xiao Rong was slightly startled and watched as Qu Yunmie’s pale lips moved. “When I was struck by that arrow, I felt a hint of regret. The arrow was poisoned. I knew it immediately. On the battlefield, it’s always deadly poison. I thought I might really die there. I thought of our promise, of the flourishing Chenliu, and I couldn’t accept it. I had never had anything good in my life. Now that I finally had something, I couldn’t go back. So I regretted it.”

He paused and continued, “Last night, you asked if I had ever thought of you. I—”

He recalled the searing pain when the poison attacked his body. The agony made him want someone to kill him right then. It felt like every bone in his body was about to explode. He had always been able to endure pain, but that day, he lay on the ground struggling, howling in agony, pitiful and disheveled. He wanted to smash his head and end it, but he held himself back—because there was someone waiting for him… and that person was different.

That person truly needed him to come back.

That person was proud, petty, and lofty—and yet, to bring him home, he set aside his pride and dignity.

So he thought: No. No. Absolutely. Not.

The military doctor even cried and wanted to give up. He believed that not even a god could save Qu Yunmie at that point and said it would be kinder to let him go.

Yet when Qu Yunmie heard those words, he grabbed the doctor’s hand tightly, and forced out two words from between the waves of pain:

Save me.

That was just the first attack. There were more to come.

After a brief silence, all of this agony and anguish was reduced to three simple words from Qu Yunmie: “I thought so.”

Xiao Rong stared at him without speaking. That was a signal that he wanted him to continue.

Qu Yunmie smiled again, and this time his smile was pure and joyful. Xiao Rong frowned at the sight but didn’t stop him.

“You were right. After I was shot, I thought of you. That probably means nothing to you. Last night I thought about it again and again, but no matter how many times I revisited that day, if I had the chance to do it over—I would still do the same. I would fight them. I would take back my mother’s remains, because that’s who I am. I had no other choice.”

Xiao Rong raised his arm, as if wanting to change posture, but midway through, he didn’t know how else to position himself. So he paused and slowly lowered it. He swallowed the lump in his throat and finally asked, “And what about abandoning the army? Losing control in bloodlust—are you going to keep doing that too?”

Qu Yunmie furrowed his brow. “That’s a different question. Back then I was running on instinct. I wasn’t thinking. So I don’t know what I’d do.”

Xiao Rong froze. Then he lowered his gaze and looked at the ground. After a while, he started nodding and even chuckled. “You really are something.”

Then he raised his head with a laugh. “So this is your answer after thinking all night? You tell me you know you were wrong, but you won’t change anything. Then what’s the point of telling me? Just to piss me off?”

By the end, Xiao Rong’s voice had grown sharp and cold. Qu Yunmie looked at him, then slowly lowered his arm.

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t change. The same thing can’t happen again. They can’t use my parents against me a second time. As for my other weaknesses, most of them are safely in Chenliu. As long as Chenliu holds strong, no one can use them. As for outside Chenliu—you—you’re by my side. I will protect you with my life. Unless there is absolutely no other way, unless the heavens themselves abandon me—I will not die before your eyes. If things are truly that hopeless, if I can’t protect you or myself, then we’ll die together.”

Qu Yunmie said this seriously. He had truly thought it over all night and reached this conclusion.

Xiao Rong’s two questions had left him stunned. He didn’t understand how Xiao Rong had arrived so quickly—as if he’d already been on his way even before the arrow struck. Whenever he asked Gao Xunzhi or Agusheja, they both dodged the question, clearly hiding something.

Qu Yunmie may not have been good at scheming, but he wasn’t stupid. Eventually, he pieced it together, and once he did, he couldn’t sleep.

Xiao Rong listened to Qu Yunmie, finding it absurd, laughable, and bitter.

Qu Yunmie understood nothing. Bonding was a one-way connection. He was a free man and yet he came to a conclusion identical to the system’s.

So foolish.

Xiao Rong took a deep breath before replying. “I don’t like this ‘die together’ ending. I don’t like the word ‘death.’ I want to live. I want everyone to live.”

Qu Yunmie nodded. “I will do everything I can—to keep you alive, to keep everyone alive. That scenario is the last, last resort. Only when Heaven and Earth turn against me, only when Fate itself demands my death, would that happen. Even if there’s the tiniest sliver of hope, the slimmest chance of victory—I won’t give up. I can’t fail you, right?”

Xiao Rong looked at him steadily and replied with one word. “Right.”

Then he lowered his eyes again and asked Qu Yunmie, “There may not be plots like this in the future, but the same kind of thing will happen. You said it yourself—you can’t control yourself. So what then? You won’t remember me, or today’s words, or what you promised me.”

Qu Yunmie made a sound in agreement. “I really can’t control myself, but you can.”

He asked Xiao Rong, “Outside Huaiyin City—remember that?”

Prompted, Xiao Rong recalled that night of deathly silence and blood. Qu Yunmie had been injured before his eyes and went into a murderous frenzy, but the moment he heard Xiao Rong’s voice, he suddenly turned his head. That expression on his face—Xiao Rong would never forget it.

Xiao Rong’s voice turned hoarse. “I’m not that important. That day wasn’t like the Mid-Autumn Festival.”

That time, Qu Yunmie only thought he’d been hurt. It was nothing compared to the severity of Mid-Autumn.

Qu Yunmie studied his face but couldn’t read what he was thinking. He wanted to explain, but didn’t know how—just like he didn’t understand why thinking Xiao Rong had died had impacted him so much.

He had the feeling that impact was still growing. That day, he had only lost control, but if it happened again… he didn’t know what he would do.

So if it couldn’t be explained, then don’t explain.

Qu Yunmie said, “Then let’s wait and see. I’ve learned what I could, done what I can. I really don’t want to see that look of disappointment on your face ever again.”

Xiao Rong looked at him for a long time.

Qu Yunmie had given it real thought and done all he could. Anything beyond that was simply out of his reach.

This wasn’t the result Xiao Rong had wanted. What he really wanted was for Qu Yunmie to listen to him from now on and never risk himself again.

However, this outcome wasn’t so bad either. Everyone has their limits—especially when it comes to life and death. No one can promise to live to a ripe old age.

Since that Mid-Autumn day, there had been a lingering fog of gloom and oppression in his heart—but now, it seemed to lighten. Xiao Rong didn’t know why he suddenly felt a bit relieved. This wasn’t the outcome he’d wanted.

He pursed his lips, feeling tired from standing. He walked over to Qu Yunmie and plopped down beside him, head lowered, silently thinking.

Qu Yunmie didn’t disturb him. He simply looked at Xiao Rong’s profile gently. No one knew how a man could make his gaze so soft, but Qu Yunmie had that ability. When he looked at Xiao Rong, every part of him softened—even those eyes that struck fear into others could turn tender.

No one knew how long had passed when Xiao Rong suddenly said, “Should we transport the remains of General Qu and Lady Qu back to Chenliu for reburial?”

Qu Yunmie blinked and paused before answering. “No. Let them stay beneath Yanmen Mountain. That’s their home. Just send more guards there in the future—or maybe we won’t need guards. Yanmen Mountain will no longer be the national border.”

Xiao Rong turned his head and saw Qu Yunmie say this lightly. He couldn’t help but snort, wanting to mock him for bragging again, but after meeting his gaze, he turned his head away.

His feet tapped the floor unconsciously.

Sensing Xiao Rong’s mood had improved, Qu Yunmie slowly sat up. He leaned in close and asked suddenly, “May I call you A-Rong now?”

Xiao Rong smiled and turned his head. “First, explain why you provoked me on purpose.”

Qu Yunmie: “…”

The two locked eyes—one held a grudge, the other felt guilty.

A moment later, they looked away in unison.

Xiao Rong said, “I’m going to write a letter.”

Qu Yunmie nodded. “I’ll take a nap.”

Just like that, the royal tent fell silent again.

 

 

Edited by: Antiope

 

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