Chapter 52

When April’s blossoms have faded from the mortal world, the peach trees in the mountain temple begin to bloom in earnest.

After spending an entire night sorting through her emotions, Gu Wan rose with the golden dawn the next morning, springing up like a carp. She drew several deep breaths; though she hadn’t slept a wink, her spirits were steady.

Gu Wan felt she had already tidied up her mood and returned to normal, but she didn’t rush back—instead, she granted herself half a day’s respite. First, she visited Guiyi Prefecture to check on the aftermath of the trading incident. Yehe Guqing’s traces had been thoroughly erased by Xie Ci, so she needn't intervene further. She greeted Liu Xing, tried to find Xun Xiao, but failing that, let it go.

Afterward, she strolled through the streets and alleys of Guiyi Prefecture, leading her horse, then wandered along the mountain path behind the city. From the stone platform, she gazed down upon the undulating ranks of the Great Wei army encampment, and in the forest, she found a wild peach tree with a crooked trunk, its gnarled branches bearing sturdy clusters of pink and white blossoms.

One ought to be like this wild peach!

She kept wandering until dusk, spent the night in Guiyi Prefecture, and rode back to the East Camp early the next morning.

The sky was barely light, but the camp now knew no distinction between day and night—the gates bustled with people and horses, ceaselessly coming and going.

Gu Wan flashed her identification token; the gate sentries inspected it and let her pass. She skirted the parade grounds, weaving between tents large and small, until she reached the left wing of the East Camp.

The left wing had returned from fierce battle at midday yesterday and was still in its period of rest, quiet and subdued. As she rode back, she happened to see the flap of Xie Ci’s tent lift—several people emerged, and leading them was Xie Ci himself.

Both paused.

Xie Ci continued instructing Xie Yun, who took his orders and left. He Yuanwei greeted Gu Wan and departed as well. Xie Ci raised his eyes and turned, and their gazes met.

“Ci,” Gu Wan called first, smiling in greeting. She looked just as she always did; Xie Ci’s heart stung, but he forced down the surge of emotion and said, “Wan.”

Gu Wan’s approach was entirely correct. After more than a day, Xie Ci had finally slept, utterly exhausted, and everyone had calmed down.

At dawn, dew wet the tops of the grass, soaking their boots as the two walked side by side along the narrow paths between tents. The crimson sun crested the eastern mountains, its rays spilling over the ridges to bathe the camp and far beyond.

They stood watching the sunrise. Gu Wan stretched out her hand, letting the sunlight fall into her palm. She said, “The sun is gentle only at this hour; soon it’ll be unbearable.”

Wearing armor beneath the blazing sun was torture, though she was lucky—Xie Ci and the others, clad in heavy, bright cowhide plate, suffered far more.

“Mm,” Xie Ci replied. They stood beside a modest flagpole. Gu Wan tilted her head, plucked a tender shoot from the fresh flagstaff, holding the vibrant green between her pale fingers.

She leaned against the flagpole, and he stood before her, quietly listening as she spoke, responding now and then, just as before. When she finally fell silent, idly toying with the shoot, Xie Ci softly asked, “Wan?”

“Mm?”

A breeze carried the morning mist from the mountains; dew soaked their boots, but the sun quickly dried it away. Xie Ci glanced at her, clenched his fist, then quietly said, “Could you tell me who he is?”

Gu Wan’s hand paused, her heart pricked by a fine needle—not sharply painful, but perceptibly stung. She twirled the stem between her fingers, looked up with a smile, and answered softly, “You don’t know him. He and I—there’s no chance. But I wish to live alone.”

Whether it was the impossibility of love, or the cooling of her heart after experience, Gu Wan had no intention of seeking another. It had always been so.

It’s not as if life cannot go on without a man; she felt that solitude suited her perfectly.

She glanced at Xie Ci, sighing inwardly. What a mess. She could truly swear she had never given any misleading signals—how had things come to this?

Xie Ci was momentarily stunned, “How can that be?” He grew anxious. “Is it because of my family?”

Why fate had denied them, his first thought was the Xie family was to blame.

“No, no, not at all! Really!” Gu Wan hurriedly shook her head and hands. “Nonsense, truly not—don’t overthink it.”

She spoke earnestly: “The Xie family is wonderful. I’m very fortunate, honestly!” The original Gu Wan had believed so. And Gu Wan herself did as well.

To find such kinship amid the vast sea of humanity, to discover new family in loneliness—Gu Wan genuinely felt herself lucky, even if conditions had once been harsh. It hardly mattered.

She cherished the Xie family, Xie Ci most of all; thus, she devoted herself wholly to handling this matter, hoping fervently it would not damage their relationship or feelings.

Gu Wan stole a glance at Xie Ci; her cautious look was caught by him. His chest tightened, fist clenched beneath his sleeve, then released. He too leaned against the other side of the flagpole.

“Actually, perhaps it’s not so bad.”

A dull ache spread through his limbs, but Xie Ci endured, adopting a thoughtful expression, hesitantly, yet not suppressed, saying, “After you told me, the night before last, I felt uncomfortable, but not as much as I expected.”

To learn there was no hope, to be refused, brought clarity rather than obsession. Of course, that was a lie. But Xie Ci saw Gu Wan relax, her anxious face quickly brightening.

Xie Ci removed his helmet, raked back stray locks from his brow, his expression tinged with concern. He said, “Hey, don’t you dare keep your distance from me!”

His long, glossy hair was tied in a knot, a beautiful widow’s peak at her full brow. Xie Ci was well-groomed, not haggard in the least. He declared, “Don’t worry, the divorce document will be ready for you when the time comes.”

At this, Gu Wan’s heart settled; she looked relieved. “Nonsense, you said it!”

She glanced at Xie Ci; he nodded immediately. Gu Wan broke into a broad smile, tossing aside the shoot, standing, and patting Xie Ci’s shoulder. She laughed, “Why not wait until mourning is over? It feels more appropriate to write it then.”

A few months more wouldn’t matter.

That had been Gu Wan’s plan, lest she seem too eager—it wouldn’t be fitting. Seeing Xie Ci’s demeanor, she truly felt a weight lift from her heart.

They walked on together, chatting as they went, as if returned to old times.

They spoke of many things: Xun Xiao’s visit the day before, Xie Ci’s decisions, Gu Wan even whispered gossip about Wen Xuan being hurt by Xun Xiao. Only when the sun rose high and fierce did they reluctantly part.

Gu Wan patted her stomach. “I’ll go wash my face first.”

“Wash up, brush teeth, eat breakfast!”

She waved goodbye, sunlight brightening her smile. Her tall, slender figure in black armor strode off with a wind-like vigor, even more heroic than before. Turning a corner, she vanished behind the tents.

Xie Ci remained where he stood, the lightness in his expression fading instantly. He watched, unmoving, as Gu Wan disappeared. His smile vanished, lashes trembling as his true feelings surfaced.

He closed his eyes, struggling to restrain his emotions, but his face betrayed a pain deep as marrow.

He stood for a long time, until faint voices sounded behind him. Only then did he turn and slowly enter his tent.

The familiar furnishings were missing the companion who once shared meals with him; it felt empty.

He stood before the bronze mirror in the inner tent—he’d specifically asked Xie Yun to fetch it that morning, carefully tidying his appearance to ensure not a trace of fatigue showed.

It was the right thing to do.

When pain lingers, its sharpness dulls, becoming a blunt ache. He tossed aside his helmet and collapsed onto the campaign cot.

Alone.

No longer concealing himself, he curled up, hugging his knees, covering his eyes with his hands. Warm tears soaked his palms. Yet however hard things became, seeing Gu Wan’s cautious look, all his churning emotions were instantly swept clean.

He licked the wound of unattainable love in solitude, his eyes burning with tears—a pain that made him wish to smash his head against the ground, worse than skinning alive, yet he resolved to endure it alone.

Xie Ci had been through so much. At the moment his father died and his brother met tragedy, he had lost the wildness to be hysterical over unfulfilled longing. He knew well how precious Gu Wan was.

He couldn’t bear it—not her tears, nor the thought that his mistake might reduce them to old friends with deep history.

When Gu Wan had cried, he’d been frantic; the thought had flashed in his mind, returned last night, but he couldn’t bring himself to decide. After a day and two nights of deliberation, the resolve came only when he saw her careful glance.

—If he could not walk through life with her, he wished, hoped, to remain at her side, guarding her for all his days.

Until his life’s end.

Xie Ci opened his eyes; the tent’s yellowish ceiling was as silent as every day before. His heart felt steeped in bitter herbs, the taste sinking into bone and lung.

—Gu Wan might not know how much confusion he endured before understanding his heart, but he knew with certainty: there would never be another.

The multitudes may pass.

He wondered if that “he” in her heart was the same as he was.

But Gu Wan’s gentle eyes held a faint sadness, drawing a boundary like the Chu River and Han border: she on this side, he on the other, and he could feel clearly that she wished no one to come near.

Gu Wan had always been clear-minded, knowing exactly what she wanted and did. If she said she wished to live alone, then she truly did.

What else could he do?

The only answer was to stand on the other side of the boundary, guarding her from afar. That was the closest he could come.

Sometimes Xie Ci hated his own clarity, but he knew even a hint of persistence would only push them further apart.

He couldn’t bear it—couldn’t bear for them to drift apart and end without resolution; her tears falling on his hand the night before last were still vivid in his memory.

It was hard, bitter, but Xie Ci ultimately decided to keep all the suffering to himself.

Life holds a hundred kinds of pain; his was but one, and with time, it would pass. As long as she was well, so was he, and so was everyone; then this pain would be nothing.

He thought quietly: this should be the path most suited to him.

All his thoughts left only the indelible image of her slender silhouette, like wind and snow etched into his soul. To love someone means putting her wishes first, not disregarding them.

Xie Ci lay back, covering his eyes with his hand.

The inner tent was silent, with only the faint sound of wind stirring the canvas in the blazing sun.

Xie Ci’s heart was like embers from last night—once fiercely burning, now ash, no matter how one stoked it, only cold remains.

Why had things turned out this way?

When he confessed, Xie Ci never imagined it would end thus. He understood, had made his decision, but the pain was real.

This ache seemed to seep from the marrow, flooding his limbs and gathering in his heart, his chest aching as if it would burst.

He lay facedown on the pillow, eyes shut tight, tears soaking the fabric in silent sobs.

He allowed himself one more day of sorrow.

After that, no more.

She was clever; she would notice.

Xie Ci pressed his hands to his eyes, thinking so.

But had Gu Wan truly put it behind her? Of course not.

After parting from Xie Ci, rounding several corners and returning to her own tent, the cheerful smile faded from her face. She scratched her head and sighed.

She paused outside, then lifted the flap and entered. The tent, already growing hot, had its window open. Qin Wenxuan was busily folding clothes for herself, Gu Wan, and Qin Ying.

Packing, it seemed.

Qin Wenxuan’s mood had settled somewhat, though her eyes were still red—she’d cried too long, and lacking cold water, the compress hadn’t worked well. She looked haggard but was gathering her strength, smiling up at Gu Wan: “Elder sister and brother said we might march at any moment, so I’m getting things ready.”

Gu Wan returned the smile and sat to help, bundling the items needed for a forced march into three packs. As they were nearly done, someone called Qin Wenxuan away, leaving Gu Wan alone in the tent.

Gu Wan tied the packs and tossed them aside, then lay down with her hands behind her head. Only now did she have time to ponder Xie Ci’s situation—ah, it was so vexing.

How had Xie Ci come to like her? It was a bolt from the blue.

This morning it seemed Xie Ci was merely a confused youth, stirred by salvation and long companionship, and lacking other prospects.

But Gu Wan wasn’t as nonchalant as she appeared. She wasn’t truly a naive seventeen-year-old girl.

She’d seen many crushes, had been confessed to herself.

Sigh, now that she knew Xie Ci liked her, everything felt strange; it was impossible to interact as casually as before.

Gu Wan was beautiful even in modern times; she’d had many experiences of friends’ secret feelings or confessions. She knew the best course was to create distance, let time and space cool things off—a cold treatment was optimal.

She scratched her head. The trouble was, now was the critical moment in the struggle against Lu Xinyi and the Northern Rong; leaving for a distant assignment was out of the question.

In life-and-death times, personal matters must come second.

Sigh, best to busy herself.

Gu Wan rolled over several times, pulled out her hair ribbon and tidied her tousled hair. Now she only hoped Xie Ci was truly as he seemed—merely youthful confusion, stirred by salvation and circumstance, with feelings not deeply rooted.

Many people are like that; after a while, it passes.

Thus, after much thought, Gu Wan hoped to get busy—if Xie Ci were occupied, he’d have no time for messy thoughts.

Coincidentally,

Xie Ci thought the same.

There was no time for lengthy healing—after a bout of tears, Xie Ci called for cold water, changed into fresh underclothes, donned his bright heavy armor, and repeatedly cooled his eyes until no trace remained.

In the bronze mirror, the young man’s brows were straight, his features resolute and handsome, but his expression was grim, devoid of joy or animation, as if stripped of all youthful vigor in a cold winter.

The last trace of youthful spirit had vanished.

Xie Ci lowered his gaze, hiding all emotion.

Was there any news from Northern Rong and Lu Xinyi?

He hoped to get busy as soon as possible.

Only time could resolve all this—when he was used to it, things would improve. He wished for important affairs to occupy his mind, so he would not show anything amiss.

Endure this period, don’t let her notice. Everything should get back on track.

As both had wished, events soon became tense.