Chapter 72

The underground channel was pitch black, the rainwater rushing down in torrents, splashing as it filled the entire buffer pool, while a cold, hidden wind whistled through, making the air biting. Yet, inexplicably, Xie Ci suddenly found his mouth dry and his tongue parched.

Gu Wan’s face was so close—a mere breath away. The darkness was absolute, allowing only the faintest outline of her features to appear: the straight, delicate bridge of her nose, her eyes lost in shadow, their depths unknowable. Yet, Xie Ci could feel her gaze, tracing a path from his chest, across his collarbone and shoulder, lingering at his throat and jawline, finally settling on his face, on his eyes.

Her eyes seemed to burn with heat, scorching a trail over his skin. His mouth grew even drier, his body felt aflame, his throat bobbed as his heart pounded wildly, threatening to leap from his chest. She was above him, their faces mere inches apart—though she couldn’t see him clearly, her eyes bore down from above, meeting his own, their breaths mingling, warm and intimate in the close quarters. The air between them thickened, charged, every shift and exhale electric.

Even Xie Ci could sense that something had changed.

At last, Gu Wan pressed a hand against the moss, its slickness making her shudder with goosebumps. Then, a faint rustling sound—though not from the child—startled her enough to spring up immediately. “Xie Ci, hurry and get the child down.”

The entire exchange had lasted only a few seconds—brief, yet excruciatingly drawn out. Something nameless hung in the air, sticky and unresolved. As Gu Wan rose, Xie Ci was unexpectedly crestfallen, his face still flushed, heat lingering in his veins. He leapt up, supporting himself, and swiftly retrieved the bundled infant, setting the child gently on the ground.

Tall and agile, he moved with a grace that darkness only served to highlight—the poised waist, strong arms, armor gleaming in the faint light. In stillness, he was as serene as a falling leaf; in motion, thunderous as a storm. He landed at the edge of the pool, standing like a pine atop a mountain, the very picture of heroic perfection.

With a deft movement, he skimmed across the space towards her.

Gu Wan stood at a wider turn in the channel, tilting her head as she watched him. He was the same as before, and yet, somehow changed.

She recalled the recent moment, savoring its flavor, and couldn’t help but smile. She kept the laughter silent, but in this place, with only water for company, the sound of her breath, tinged with mirth, seemed unnaturally loud.

Xie Ci, too, sensed something different. Hearing her laughter, his cheeks burned anew. Cradling the swaddled girl, he awkwardly stroked the child’s face, relieved to find no insects had disturbed her. His eyes never left Gu Wan, nervousness making him blurt out, “Wanwan, don’t we look like we have a child?”

He was standing right before her now, the bundle between them. For a wild moment, he imagined a future where he and Gu Wan had their own child, the three of them together just so.

He’d spoken before thinking.

But as soon as the words were out, Xie Ci realized his blunder. Gu Wan burst into laughter, shattering the charged atmosphere in an instant.

Gu Wan: “???”

She glanced down at him, cradling the infant, and couldn’t help picturing a harried father on the verge of collapse, a headscarf askew, driven mad by a wailing child. She nearly doubled over with silent laughter. Xie Ci truly had a gift for ruining a mood!

Trying to stifle her mirth, she clapped a hand over her mouth—though the sloped exit was already closed, there might still be a vent nearby, and she didn’t want to be overheard. Chuckling softly, she tapped Xie Ci’s forehead. “Aren’t you going yet?”

As time passed, their eyes adjusted to the darkness. The stone ledges and mossy patches became visible. She pointed to a black patch—slick with moss—then lightly leapt to a dry spot at the innermost edge, picking her way carefully along the water’s rim toward the channel’s exit.

Xie Ci:

He loathed himself for his blunder, but Gu Wan’s laughter was so pure, so full of joy, that even the lost intimacy was replaced by a buoyant, almost sweet air. His shoulders drooped for a moment, but then he let it go.

As she made her way ahead, he followed at once.

Gu Wan hopped around the bend, sleeves rolled, boots laced, her figure nimble and bright. After a few steps, Xie Ci paused to watch her, scuffing his foot against the stone, then asked in a low voice, “Wanwan, do you—do you feel a little something?”

He gestured with his fingers—a tiny bit.

Gu Wan couldn’t help but smile. Naïve, yes, but not foolish. She turned back, laughing, “I do.” She mimicked his gesture, pinching her fingers together. “A little—just this much.”

Her fingers barely marked an inch, then she drew them back half an inch for effect. But Xie Ci hardly noticed such details; holding his breath, his heart soared. “Really? Really?!”

Did she truly feel something?

He darted to her side, repeating his question eagerly. Gu Wan, still laughing softly, hushed him, “Keep it down.”

“Come on, you fool!”

She rapped his head twice. “There might be snakes here.” That soft rustling sounded again, making her shudder.

Xie Ci’s smile nearly split his face; he couldn’t help himself. He wrapped an arm around her waist, bent low, and propelled them forward in a swift leap.

This drainage channel was likely an emergency escape route, with a raised stone walkway along each side above the waterline. But with the recent, relentless autumn rains, the great lake’s water had surged, torrents rushing through all the city’s drains—including this one beneath the palace. The water level had never dropped.

With one arm around Gu Wan’s waist, Xie Ci felt as if he were walking a flower-strewn path, despite the cramped space. Gu Wan found it funny, but beneath the amusement, she felt a deeper happiness.

At the narrowest point, the water had overtaken the stones. The two abandoned the slippery, mossy walkway. Xie Ci hoisted her onto his shoulders, wading through the water as she cradled the infant, ducking her head to avoid the low ceiling, shielding the baby’s face from any falling debris. Children were not as resilient as adults.

What a good child, she thought, though it was a pity she was Yu Manzhen’s daughter—how complicated it all felt.

Babies get hungry easily. The two hurried, knowing a crying child would bring trouble. Fortunately, the escape went smoothly. After clearing the narrowest stretch, they climbed back onto the stones. Xie Ci bent low, swept Gu Wan up, and raced at top speed to the channel’s mouth.

The exit narrowed, a dragon’s head sculpture spewing water into the Golden River. But for Xie Ci, it posed no challenge. Listening for a moment, he gathered his breath, then, clutching both Gu Wan and the child, skimmed along the ceiling and vaulted out, landing beyond the white marble river rail.

Suddenly, the world opened before them—moonlight, sparse stars, the cold autumn wind whipping across the river. It was the second watch of the night, darkness shrouding the city. Xie Ci noted their position: the outermost ring of the Outer Court. In the distance, several carriages were leaving official buildings, just having passed the Imperial Guards’ inspection.

Gu Wan still wore the armor they used to enter. They’d meant to change at one of Yin Luo’s safe houses, but there was no need now. Xie Ci darted into a row of official quarters, rolled around a corner, and slipped Gu Wan under a carriage. After a moment, he climbed into a second carriage with the bundle.

The carriage wheels rumbled for the length of a tea’s steeping. They exited the Outer Court and soon left the palace grounds entirely.

After thanking the unknown carriage owner, Xie Ci created a distraction up ahead, drawing the driver’s attention. Gu Wan rolled to the street, sprang up, and dashed into a side alley.

No signals were needed—their understanding was complete. Gu Wan sprinted down the alley’s length, and Xie Ci was already there. They joined hands and raced along the still-open streets.

The late autumn wind was chilly, but the flight left them warm. Gu Wan exhaled—aah, how wonderful, the air of freedom was so invigorating.

They exchanged a smile, running through the alley until they reached the main market square, where people and carts still bustled, shops not yet closed. Here, finally, they were safe.

They stopped, glancing back at the crimson palace at the end of the avenue. Gu Wan peeked into the bundle—the baby girl was fine, dozing. The autumn wind howled. Fanning herself, she asked Xie Ci, “So, how have things been? Has anything happened?”

After all, when the imperial father and son clashed, Xie Ci would certainly be caught in the storm.

Gu Wan had been locked away for more than half a month, clueless about the outside world—but from what she’d seen underground, things must be lively. She wondered how their own side had fared.

Unexpectedly, Xie Ci fell silent for a moment before quietly replying, “Last night, the Emperor put me in charge of the Crown Prince’s treason case. When the Eastern Palace raises arms against the throne, I am to apprehend him on the spot and leave no traitor alive.”

His tone was gentle, speaking to Gu Wan, but as he went on, a chilling coldness crept beneath the calm.

From his angle, he could see the palace gates—the mighty red walls and golden roofs loomed in the darkness, a monstrous beast lying in wait. Only moments ago, he’d been elated, running hand in hand with Gu Wan, wind in his face. Now, with this topic, the joy drained visibly from his features.

He tugged at his lips. The street was crowded and noisy, yet he felt utterly apart from it all. He said flatly, “Laying in wait, catching them all, a direct assault on the Eastern Palace.”

Twelve words, each one striking as a death knell. Xie Ci gazed up at the palace’s central axis, the towering Jade Spring Hall perched atop ninety-nine steps of white marble, cold and indifferent above all of Zhongdu, if not the world.

He forced a hollow smile. “He sent two men as well—Xue Rong’an and Liao Kai—to consolidate the Eastern Palace’s civil and military power.” The wind howled. The sweat of their escape cooled to an icy chill as the autumn wind raised goosebumps. Night pressed in, thick and unyielding, swallowing all light. Darkness crept from every direction.

Gu Wan: “…”

She was shocked—had things come so far in just half a month?

Xie Ci’s words made sense in an instant. Damn, that old emperor was ruthless! He’d left Xie Ci no way out, truly treating him as a disposable blade. Still, Gu Wan wasn’t wholly unprepared; from the original novel, she knew the emperor’s character. She’d even speculated, before entering the palace, that he’d use more than just hostages against Xie Ci, and had discussed it with his household.

But she’d never imagined it would come so quickly, so viciously.

The autumn wind swept by. On the very day Xie Ci brought Gu Wan home, before the first winter snow, he received a late-night message from Lu Haide: “Xie Ci, His Majesty commands you to muster the capital troops at the first watch tomorrow. Enter through the Western Virtue Gate and reach Xuanwu Gate before the second watch!”

It was a day like any other—so ordinary that many officials, after a fierce debate in court, stayed the night at their offices to plan countermeasures. As the palace gates closed, many waited in silence.

In the midst of his endless paperwork, Li Yi suddenly dropped his scrolls and went to the west window, gazing at the faint palace lights and the red corner of the wall, his hand quickly turning a string of rosewood beads.

This was Li Yi’s first time at the heart of imperial power, his first encounter with the vortex that could grind down anyone. Nerves were inevitable.

He wondered silently how Xie Ci was faring. Elsewhere, Feng Kun and Grand Preceptor Lin had long since returned home, now sitting in the large study with the windows wide, the northwest wind rifling through papers. The room was quiet, a stark contrast to the city’s tension. One sat, one stood—both players in this looming storm.

It was a night to chill the blood.

Clouds masked the stars and moon; the darkness was absolute. Gu Wan rode with Xie Ci at breakneck speed toward the capital encampment, the man ahead taut in black armor.

The old emperor hadn’t given Xie Ci any men—he’d had to muster his own, gathering those like Qin Guan who had been assigned to the capital.

He laughed coldly to himself. Truly, the old man was thorough.

Thundering hooves rumbled down the flagstones, ordinary folk hurried to shutter their doors, sensing something amiss.

There was no suspense to this battle—the emperor had already dealt with the underground plotters. The Crown Prince’s defeat was a foregone conclusion, and the emperor had several layers of elite troops as backup. Xie Ci was merely the visible executioner.

Black armor, black helmet, red-tasseled saber—his boots echoed one after another as he broke open the Eastern Palace gates, seizing all within, dragging them out bound and cowering.

After capturing the failed Crown Prince, he cleared the palace of rebels, then ordered his men to fan out, swiftly arresting all the Steward’s Office officials and other traitorous supporters.

Dawn was breaking. The outcome was certain, martial law lifted.

But what Xie Ci had to face was more than imperial coercion.

That night, a light rain fell, soaking the marble. The Eastern Palace was filled with wailing; even the Crown Princess and Heir Apparent were dragged out in chains.

Xie Ci stood cold and unmoving in the autumn wind as dozens hurried over—old and young, but mostly trembling elders and men in their thirties or forties. In the palace, only those with real power or connections dared approach at such a time. They were pillars of the old regime, many former mentors or comrades of his father, and some who had shown Xie Ci kindness.

“Your Highness! Your Highness! Release the heir! Crown Princess, how dare you—how dare you!” The palace was in chaos, stained with blood, their words sharp and their faces twisted with outrage.

Qin Guan and Chen Luo could only reply coldly, “Traitors must die! By His Majesty’s command, all of the Eastern Palace are to be detained.”

Boots thundered as troops swept through the residences of all involved—no one spared.

Among those who came were high ministers, quick to grasp the situation. With the martial law lifted, the full story was already known.

Xie Ci’s armor was soaked, stray locks clinging to his forehead, his face as cold as last night’s rain.

The former Minister of Justice, now Vice Chancellor Zhang Yuanrang, uncle to Zhang Ningyuan, was livid. After a moment, he turned and slapped Xie Ci hard across the face.

This black-bearded, wide-eyed man spat, “I regret ever helping you!”

Xie Yun and Xie Ping drew their swords at once, but Xie Ci raised a hand to stop them. He lifted his head slowly, saying nothing.

By day’s end, it was over. That evening, Xie Ci returned home.

The lamps in the study were already lit, but Gu Wan preferred it bright. After entering, Xie Ci lit another lamp at the desk.

The room glowed. Gu Wan quietly asked Xie Ping to bring ice water and cloths. The servants had just returned.

Soon, the water and towels were ready. Gu Wan, a little nervous, said, “Xie Ci, let me tend your face?” The side of his face was swollen—Zhang Yuanrang had struck him hard.

But after a day, Xie Ci was calm. He removed his helmet, touching his face. “Alright.” He softened his voice for Gu Wan, “Don’t worry. He struck me, but it’s nothing.”

For anyone else, Xie Ci would never have accepted such an insult. But for Zhang Yuanrang, who had once saved the Xie family’s women, he remembered the debt. This slap, he took without complaint.

He shed his heavy armor and damp underclothes, bathed, and emerged in fresh attire. Half-reclining in a chair, Gu Wan wrung out a cold cloth and pressed it to his cheek.

The study was vast, the doors wide, lanterns turning in the wind. Their glow was not enough to banish the dark from the courtyard beyond. The shadow wall at the far end vanished into night.

Grief and anger had passed; after these two days and nights, Xie Ci felt a rare peace.

“He wants me to be his blade.”

But I refuse to be a blade! The Crown Prince’s fall had ignited his own ambition.

From now on, I will be a man like Feng Kun! Xie Ci’s voice was hoarse, but every word was cold and resolute, his hands clenched white-knuckled.

Gu Wan heard the rasp, saw the sudden fierceness in his eyes, and squeezed his hand in silent support.

She’d always known this reckoning would come. In his last life, he’d been torn between love and hate for the imperial family, finally giving up revenge—if not for the nation’s ruin, he would have left it all behind. But now, things had come to a head a year earlier, and with all he now knew, his path diverged.

This was the path she wanted for him—a rebirth from death. Yet she knew it would be the darkest time of his life.

A slap, and nothing he could do. In time, he and Zhang Yuanrang might well become mortal enemies.

Xie Ci’s eyes reddened. He covered them with his hand. Apart from family and Gu Wan, he was unyielding—he would never have survived otherwise. This was the first time he’d wept for anything else.

He took her hand, cold from the ice water, and warmed it in his own, not wanting to let go. He found a dry towel for her, holding her hand, resting his head on her shoulder, letting her warmth drive away the last of his gloom.

After a moment, he said, “This is the path I chose. Second Sister-in-law always said—until the end, who can say what’s right or wrong?” He drew a deep breath, his eyes clear. “He wants me dead. I refuse to die.”

Let the slander come—he would bear it all. If he must be a tool, he would seize the reward. Even if it meant becoming a power-broker like Feng Kun, he would do so without regret!

As he spoke, Xie Ci stood abruptly. Clad in white nightclothes, a black cloak draped over his shoulders, he was as formidable as his father and brothers ever were—serene as a mountain, his presence commanding.

Gu Wan looked up at him. In this moment, she saw clearly that the thin youth she’d once dragged from prison had become a true man—tempered and powerful.

In his past life, these chains had bound him until his death, his eyes open to the bloody sunset. This time, though wounded, he had finally broken free.

The road was painful, but Gu Wan believed he would prevail in the end.

She’d always been a little worried. Though the northern war was won, the old path might still repeat itself. But after months of watching the Xie and Liuyun Guards gather intelligence, and seeing all with her own eyes, Gu Wan was nearly certain—there was no escaping the old path. The dynasty’s ills were beyond fixing, and only a decisive end awaited.

This was the final moment to gather strength. Now, at this turning point, Xie Ci could finally break free from loyalty’s invisible chains. Gu Wan was genuinely happy for him.

She said at once, “If he won’t let us live in peace, why should we let him?” The words were treasonous, but they struck straight to Xie Ci’s heart. He answered hoarsely, “Exactly.” He managed a smile for her.

His eyes were still bloodshot, but his spirit had steadied.

In the lantern light, Gu Wan’s smile was radiant. Xie Ci’s heart felt warm; with her support, nothing seemed insurmountable. No matter the storms outside, his heart could raise armor high enough to protect her and their own.

He exhaled deeply. With Gu Wan’s comfort, he was at ease at last. They shared a smile.

Then, under the dazzling light, Gu Wan beckoned him closer.

He thought she had something serious to say—her face was solemn. But as he leaned in, she straightened and whispered in his ear, “You look really handsome.”

That cold, iron calm—she could hardly contain herself.

From this angle, Gu Wan caught sight of his Adam’s apple, and found it incredibly attractive. He was her boyfriend now, after all—so she followed her impulse and traced it with her finger, slow and gentle.

Xie Ci jolted, nearly crying out, barely holding it in. Gu Wan, in high spirits, grinned up at him, then caressed his throat again. “I’m going. I’m going to bed!”

He was stunned, unable to react, watching her flit away, laughing, out into the corridor.

Xie Ci’s face was burning, and after a long moment, he clasped his throat and collapsed onto the couch. He was done for—utterly done for.

He could feel the change within himself.

He’d thought her promise and their joined hands were already the best thing in the world. But now, with this new intimacy and novel sensations, he was utterly undone.