Chapter 11

Now, the capital city thrived in prosperity and bustle; merchants and travelers crossed the borders in endless streams, painting a scene of abundance and peace. Yet who could have foreseen that in a few short years, a reckless and arrogant new emperor would stubbornly lead a personal expedition, only to be captured by the Northern Nomads, resulting in the gates being breached, the land shattered, and foreign cavalry clad in gleaming armor trampling the heart of the Central Plains?

Of all the thousands of years of history, if one were to ask which era’s people suffered most, the periods when foreign invaders plundered and ruled are without question the bleakest. There were the X tribes ravaging the land, Kublai Khan’s Yuan dynasty, and later, the “radish-head” invaders from a certain island nation.

The book into which Gu Wan had transmigrated was originally titled “Beauty’s Tragedy in Chaos,” later renamed “Ode to the Storms of the Mortal World.” This was a female-oriented story, initially telling the tale of Prince Xiao Shan, Li Yi, and Yu Manzhen—a stunning beauty from an obscure branch of a noble family—caught in a tormenting, passionate romance.

Li Yi, Prince Xiao Shan, born into adversity but harboring lofty ambitions, outwardly adhered to the rules of his princely residence, but secretly traveled the length and breadth of the land under a false identity. He openly commanded border troops, covertly recruited scholars and heroes, gathering loyal followers and deadly warriors, carefully amassing power and influence.

When the emperor was captured and the gates fell, Li Yi seized his chance, first rising as a powerful minister, rallying the troops who had long pledged allegiance in secret, establishing a formidable force against the invaders. Eventually, he led his soldiers and people across the great river, founding the Southern Dynasty and preserving the flame of his people.

In short, he was a remarkable man of great ability.

Yu Manzhen, meanwhile, was the last survivor of her fallen family, a peerless beauty adrift in the chaos. The county magistrate who captured her offered her to Li Yi, who had by then carved out his own territory, and so she barely escaped death. What followed was a tale of heartbreak, rivalry among wives and concubines, and endless suffering, which need not be detailed here.

And what of Xie Ci?

Xie Ci was one of two male leads.

Yes, this novel had two male protagonists.

It began with a familiar setup of tragic romance, but as the story developed, the canvas grew broader, and the other male lead’s popularity soared, eventually turning it into a dual-protagonist narrative.

As the nation was torn apart and the dynasty faced peril, there emerged a lone figure—clad in white, wielding a silver spear—who stood against the torrent of invading cavalry for five whole years, buying precious time for the people to cross south and the court to relocate.

It could be said that he alone saved millions.

Steadfast as iron, radiant as the sun.

Ultimately, he fell in battle by the banks of the Huai River.

He was only twenty-three.

When the story was adapted into a television drama, it became an instant sensation, dominating screens for a year and captivating countless viewers of all ages. This nameless silver-masked war god inspired tears and heated debate, but soon, keen-eyed fans traced the subtle hints and foreshadowing back to the original novel.

Later, the author penned a lengthy prequel, confirming what readers had suspected: this silver-armored hero was none other than the loyal young lord Xie Ci, who once swept through the capital, beloved by thousands.

Brilliant in youth, looking back, dazzling in his smile.

Young men of the Five Mausoleums vied for glory, countless songs and dances in red silk, riding home in crimson robes, banners fluttering in the wind and rain.

Xie Ci ought to have lived such a life.

He was born into a family of loyal generals, the Xie clan renowned for generations, guarding the borders, defending the land, standing tall and unyielding.

Yet in the end, this family of unwavering loyalty was betrayed by scheming officials, resulting in all its men being executed and the rest exiled three thousand miles away.

At the time, Xie Ci was not yet sixteen.

Gu Wan knew that, in rare circumstances and specific physical conditions, some people may experience a state resembling death at the verge of demise—a false death. Ordinary examinations would confirm death.

Whether it was injury or strangulation, Xie Ci must have experienced this. This once proud youth, stripped of his arrogance after his father and brother were imprisoned, must have struggled through those years—not out of unwillingness, but inability. When the white-robed young man first appeared in the novel, his eyes were shrouded in white gauze, which he finally removed half a year later, fully healed.

He wore a half silver mask; when Yu Manzhen asked him about it, he replied that his face bore scars and he did not wish to frighten others.

From a gallant youth to one who survived death, rising from despair, seeking light in darkness; his initial willingness to serve Li Yi stemmed only from Li Yi burying the Xie family.

His eyes not yet healed, he stumbled a thousand miles, only to find a handful of cold gravestones.

He sought the truth of the past, but found the world changed and traces lost; after painstaking effort, he found one or two clues, only to discover they led to the current imperial father-in-law.

The new emperor had only just overturned the Xie family’s injustice.

Gratitude and vengeance, loyalty and righteousness, yet with the court precarious as an egg, all factions entangled—if he acted recklessly, the fragile edifice would collapse at once.

The gates and the homeland, guarded by generations of Xie blood, would be lost forever.

He possessed strength, skill, and a spirit that could shake heaven and earth, yet he was powerless.

His grief, his pain, were known to none.

But when the land was broken and the people suffered, it was still he, alone with his horse, who stepped forward to stem the tide.

He gathered troops, defended the land, arrayed soldiers at Wuyuan, unbroken by any foe.

In his rage, he walked a path he knew could not return.

With his blood, he wrote a song of sorrow for the land.

The author crafted two protagonists: one adept at reading the times, calculating risks, preserving himself for future plans; the other, knowing his efforts were futile, yet persisted, unwavering, battling with all his might for five years to protect the court, the country, and the people.

The author never stated who was right or wrong.

These two men, transformed by storm and fate—one founded the Southern Dynasty, the other fell by the Huai River, immortalized in hearts and legend.

Yes, this pillar of the nation, no less than Li Yi, died by the Huai, posthumously honored as Duke of the North.

He and the original heroine, Yu Manzhen, were barely connected, only saving her alongside others during the battle for Minzhou.

Yet such a legendary man was the sole bright color in Yu Manzhen’s storm-tossed life.

A glance for ten thousand years, ten thousand years in a glance.

This was a tragedy; the beautiful heroine died in the end, killed herself against a stone monument.

But now, the problem was, the beauty seemed to have been reborn, and she evidently did not wish to repeat the path of tragic romance.

Moreover, she had tricked the original owner into suicide.

Gu Wan already knew this.

But the original heroine, Yu Manzhen, not only seemed, but clearly knew she had “died and returned to life.”

Gu Wan: “……”

…

The pounding rain and the sweeping storm blurred the world into a veil of white mist, as seen through the water curtain beneath the eaves. This small patch of black-tiled, yellow-walled dwellings seemed an isolated world. Behind, the window cast a warm glow of oil-lamp light, and lively voices and laughter became faint in the thunderous rain.

Gu Wan leaned against a pillar, sitting on the stone steps under the gallery, chin resting on her hand, stretching out her bare feet to let the rain wash over them.

Smoke curled from the kitchen chimney. Xie Ci stoked the fire, kneaded dough, made buns, steamed them, and sorted them onto plates for each room. The last plate he carried along the narrow corridor toward Gu Wan.

“Yuan-niang?”

Yuan means ‘one’; Yuan-niang, Er-niang, San-niang were customary names for women in the past. The original owner had no childhood name; the family called her Yuan-niang.

Gu Wan looked back. The tall, slender young man held a clay plate, moving toward her through the mist and splatter of rain, silhouetted against the dim lamp.

“Why are you sitting here in the rain?”

The narrow eaves could not keep out the drifting mist. He opened a half-worn oil-paper umbrella over her head; Gu Wan took it, and he sat down beside her, kicking off his boots and stretching his feet into the rain as well.

No reason—just comfortable.

So he said nothing, simply joined her.

He picked up a big bun, chose one with a flower pattern for her, took a plain one for himself.

The flowered bun had more meat; the plain one less.

Gu Wan accepted the bun and heard him say, “Yuan-niang, once Mingming’s injury heals and the family settles, I plan to inform Mother and make a trip to the border.”

To the border—to investigate the Xie family’s fate, naturally.

But that was not the main point of his words; after explaining his plan, he softly added, “Then, let’s dissolve our marriage.”

They had been married too briefly, never living together, their understanding of marriage still superficial, little different from being unmarried.

Xie Ci knew Gu Wan did not like him. During their shared nights, it was clear. He had overheard her mention, unintentionally, wanting to open a small tavern—Xie Ci, perceptive, immediately understood this was her future plan.

The Xie family had arranged for Gu Wan to marry him, hoping she’d have lifelong security. But with the Xie family in such dire straits, stability was out of reach. Xie Ci felt gratitude beyond words; the only thing he could do for her was this.

“I’ll explain everything to my mother and sisters. Don’t worry.”

At last, he looked at her earnestly and said, “Thank you.”

Though it sounded distant, perhaps not to her liking, Xie Ci’s countless feelings distilled into that single sentence.

He whispered, “When the time comes, I’ll make sure you have your own household registration.”

He’d mentioned this long ago. He had sensed Gu Wan’s wishes early on.

Gu Wan was surprised, turning to see Xie Ci smiling at her.

“In future, should you need anything, Xie Ci will do his utmost, never refusing!”

No time limit, no restrictions—this promise was for a lifetime.

Gu Wan should have been delighted, for this was exactly her plan; without her asking, Xie Ci had thoughtfully proposed it, repaying her efforts in journeying a thousand miles and working to save the Xie family.

But in this moment, Gu Wan felt an ache within.

They looked at each other; from this angle, Gu Wan could see the lamplight outlining his profile, his earnest words, the lines of youth already hinting at greatness.

This youth before her would one day be a hero, but he would die young.

At only twenty-three.

The dynasty failed him, failed the Xie family; yet in the final moment, it was still him, still the Xie sons, who stepped forward to bear the burden.

Surprised as she was, Gu Wan believed this turn of events, for the Xie Ci she knew was exactly this kind of person.

Gu Wan had not forgotten how he broke out of prison, forced to kill pursuing guards, and then knelt in the snow, crying out in despair.

He stayed in a hunter’s cabin, knowing the hunter was long dead, and even if there were descendants, they had not shown much filial piety. Yet, after using the house and the hunter’s savings, he chopped all the huge logs the old hunter had left uncut for years, stacked them neatly, and cleaned the cabin thoroughly, ready to leave at any time.

When he stole a horse, he felt guilty, carefully noting the owner’s sign, intending to repay double someday.

Along their journey, at first he could only light fires and skin game; now he could cook, knead dough, and do most of the chores.

Even making buns, he saved the meaty ones for her.

He was good.

Xie Xinzhong and his wife had truly raised their children well.

Gu Wan couldn’t help but let out a long sigh, her heart heavy and uncomfortable.

Xie Ci: “Yuan-niang?”

Gu Wan came back to herself, met his gaze, suppressed her tangled feelings, and forced a smile: “Mm.”

…

Once she informed his parents and wrote the divorce papers, she would part ways with the Xie family.

They might not sever all contact, and Lady Xun and the others might not feel at ease letting her live alone, but overall, Xie Ci’s fate would be separate from hers.

He would stride toward the border and the turbulent world, while she would save enough to open a tavern and become a small proprietress.

With the Xie family burdened by so many deaths, Gu Wan had no grounds to persuade him not to go.

Her feelings were complicated, but since Xie Ci had spoken so plainly, she agreed to settle the divorce first.

She hadn’t expected that, that very evening, Second Sister-in-law Xie would come to find her.

This handsome, spirited young woman in worn brown attire stood in the gallery, smiling as she said, “Yuan-niang, since Fourth Brother insists on going to the border, I wanted to ask—could you go with him?”