Number 57, return to your position.

In the temple, Chuxue knelt upon the prayer mat, just as Mingyue had seen when she first arrived in Yongzhou. But this time, Mingyue stood outside the hall, accompanying the Emperor Que. Mingyue turned her head to glance at him, observing how he stood with one hand behind his back, eyes closed, his face tilted slightly upward to meet the sunlight.

At that moment, a soul lamp appeared in Qin Shi’s hand, and in Mingyue’s previously unresponsive palm, a small seal manifested.

The next instant, the Emperor Que entered the hall, bent down, and leaned close to Chuxue’s ear.

From Mingyue’s vantage, the Emperor’s brows and eyes were curved with a gentle joy, as if sharing some delightful secret; all his usual sternness had vanished, leaving him looking like an ordinary man, a husband cherishing his beloved wife. For reasons she could not name, Mingyue suddenly sensed that the Emperor, knowing he would forget his feelings for Chuxue upon waking, was now pouring all his tenderness and happiness into these final moments.

Mingyue turned the small seal over in her hand. Slowly, traces of characters emerged—stroke by stroke, the name Zichu was carved. Ziqi and Chuxue, joined at last as Zichu; Mingyue surmised this must be the name the Emperor had chosen for their child.

Yet, in the end, all the words in the world narrowed to a single regret.

As the white mist began to swirl, Mingyue took Qin Shi’s hand, gripping it firmly.

When she opened her eyes again, Mingyue met the Emperor Que’s gaze—calm, emotionless, neither sorrow nor joy. She thought, from this day forth, nothing could hinder this sovereign’s path.

She handed him the seal, and though he now felt nothing for Chuxue, still she said, “This is your token of longing. As for Her Ladyship’s, it was interrupted midway and remains incomplete.”

“Then why hasn’t my lady awakened?” Zihua asked anxiously.

Mingyue, unfazed, replied, “Her soul has returned safely. If she does not wake, it is only because she herself does not wish to. In such cases, there’s nothing I can do—perhaps she’ll wake tomorrow, or perhaps she will remain this way her whole life. Who can say?”

As she spoke, Mingyue looked toward the Emperor Que, seeing him rub the little seal for a moment before tucking it into his robes, shedding no tears as others had. While Mingyue puzzled over this, the soul lamp in Qin Shi’s hand blossomed with a lamp flower.

It was pure white—a color never seen before.

Since the lamp flower had bloomed, Mingyue no longer concerned herself with the absence of tears; perhaps the tears of others were mere coincidence. Knowing this scene was no longer hers to witness, she bowed slightly to the Emperor and, together with Qin Shi, took her leave. Once back in their quarters, they gathered their belongings and left the imperial palace of Que. Mingyue no longer wished to linger there, fearing she would lose control of her emotions.

As they passed through the palace gates, Zihua caught up to them, handing Mingyue a pouch of silver.

“This is a token of thanks prepared in advance by my lady. Though she still sleeps, I believe it should be given to you. Thank you, Miss Mingyue.”

Mingyue placed the silver in the carriage. Before Zihua departed, she suddenly asked, “Zihua, do you still resent the Emperor Que?”

Zihua paused, then shook her head. “I don’t know. Perhaps, in a few years, I will no longer resent him, and neither will my lady. Now, I only wish for my lady to awaken soon.”

“And if she does?” Mingyue said softly. “Shall she and the Emperor become estranged, or grow old alone in the palace? Once, the Emperor cherished Chuxue, which is why he protected her so dearly. But now, with all longing forgotten, he will never be the same again. I think perhaps it’s better for Chuxue to continue sleeping.”

With Zihua stunned into silence, Mingyue signaled Qin Shi to drive the carriage toward the gates of Yongzhou.

Once beyond the city, Mingyue took the lamp flower Qin Shi had given her earlier and placed it in her mouth. Yet it had no taste—bitterness and sweetness once distinct were now blended into nothingness, just as colorless as its appearance.

Returning to Yinzhou this time, Mingyue’s state of mind had changed considerably. She realized that, since she did care for Qin Shi, she ought to seize the chance to win him over, lest hesitation breed regret. But such things are easier said than done; when it came time to act, she often found herself at a loss. Lacking experience in these matters, after much internal struggle, she decided to imitate the approaches Mingyue of old had used on Yi Yan.

She tried dressing up to surprise him, but since they lived in the same courtyard, Qin Shi walked in halfway through her transformation—hardly a surprise. Another time, she attempted to sneak into his room, but just as she swung her leg through the window, he rounded the corner from the front hall—foiled again.

Such mishaps abounded, and with each failed attempt, Mingyue’s spirits wilted like a frost-beaten eggplant. After her final, fruitless effort, she strode up to Qin Shi, seized his collar, and declared fiercely, “Hey! I think I’m getting a little too used to having you around. To avoid the inconvenience of you running off someday, why don’t we sign a contract of servitude?”

“And what does the mistress mean by this?” Qin Shi’s calm, composed features made Mingyue grind her teeth in frustration. She forced out, “I mean…”

Her words were cut off as Qin Shi pulled her into his arms, his delighted laughter warm at her ear. Only then did she realize she’d been outmaneuvered. She tried to push him away, but his grip around her waist was too firm to escape.

“Hey!”

“I understand. I’m just relieved I finally waited long enough. You know, I was prepared to wait a lifetime, but now it’s come sooner than I ever dreamed.”

Qin Shi’s voice was cool but soft at her ear, and Mingyue couldn’t help but curve her lips into a smile. How wonderful—it was true she was not Wenyen, nor Qingyi, nor Zhushu, and not Chuxue… so she was free to live a good life with this man who had stood by her side all along. At this thought, Mingyue wrapped her arms around Qin Shi’s back.

Now that all was confessed, their days together grew all the warmer. Even Qin Shi’s usually cold features would often be colored by a smile. The payment for the token of longing was more than enough for their needs, so Mingyue closed down her rouge shop, keeping only the name “Hall of Longing” in honor of Lady Yun’s legacy.

One evening, Mingyue suddenly craved the Eight Treasure Cake from the far edge of Yinzhou. Unable to refuse her whims, Qin Shi agreed. The trip there and back took him an hour and a half, and though the shop hadn’t closed early, by the time he returned it was already deep into the night. Remembering Mingyue’s earlier pouting, Qin Shi couldn’t help but smile; he’d never imagined that she would one day display such girlish caprice. Yet now, it was so real.

Suddenly, his smile faded and his hand, poised to push open the door to the Hall of Longing, stilled. Turning, he saw a man step out from the shadows—it was Yi Zihan, eldest son of the Yi family.

“At this late hour, may I ask what brings you here?” Qin Shi inquired.

Yi Zihan laughed lightly as he approached. “Getting along well with her?”

Qin Shi knew full well who “her” referred to, but the question’s purpose was unclear; after all, the Yi family and they were hardly close. Frowning, he was caught off guard as Yi Zihan suddenly extended a finger.

Qin Shi instinctively tried to retreat, but found himself rooted, unable to move. Yi Zihan’s slender finger touched his brow, and a chilling, bone-deep cold seeped into him like a mountain stream.

“Who… are you, really?”

Yi Zihan smiled, a strange charm in his expression. “When you remember, you’ll understand.”

Panic rose in Qin Shi’s heart. He was content with his current life—he didn’t want it to change.

“Don’t bother struggling. Which of you could ever best me?” Yi Zihan said. “Isn’t that right, Old Ninth?”

The cold seeped through Qin Shi’s veins, spreading until his long-blocked mind suddenly opened, and all his past memories surged forth. His face paled as he closed his eyes, suddenly weary.

“Don’t blame me. You were the one who asked me to do it in the first place. Besides, back in Luodu, I did save your life.” Yi Zihan chuckled.

Qin Shi opened his eyes, glancing over with a cold, dark gaze that had once been serene. With a trace of chill, he said, “You know you’re the only one I can rely on. Are the others dependable?”

“What do you plan now?”

Qin Shi placed one hand behind his back. “Naturally, to wait for the right moment—to save her.” With that, he glanced in the direction of the Yi family, then suddenly smiled. “So, how does it feel living among the immortals again? I hear that one is your old master?”

Yi Zihan shook his head. “Not quite a master, but there was some respect. Since you’ve regained your memories, I suppose his tribulation and return aren’t far off.”

“Reluctant to let go?”

“Not really. It just brings back memories of certain people and certain things.”