He saved her.

Qin Shi bent down to meet Mingyue’s gaze. “It was the night you sent me to buy Eight Treasures Cake. Do you remember the thunder and lightning that night? Watching it, everything suddenly came back to me—I remembered that this was the reason I came to your side. If you’re willing to give it to me yourself, I’ll make it easier for you. Otherwise, I’m afraid you’ll have to suffer.”

Mingyue stared at Qin Shi in a daze, unable to believe that all her doubts from these days had come true. Yet she couldn’t help but wonder: if she hadn’t sent Qin Shi out that night and had kept him by her side, would he have remained the one who always protected her? Now, parted from Qin Shi and burdened with these memories, could she still find happiness?

In that instant, Mingyue made a decision. “I’ll give it to you,” she said, “but before that, may I offer myself a token of longing?”

Qin Shi paused, then nodded. The familiar soul lamp appeared in his hand, but this time, it was she who stepped forward to light it.

After igniting the lamp, Mingyue returned to her seat by the table. Bathed in the soft blue glow, she began, “That day was overcast. The moment I stepped out, I saw you collapsed there…”

Word by word, she told her story. She smiled lightly at the amusing parts, her lips gently curving; when she spoke of awkward moments, her cheeks flushed. Yet from beginning to end, her expression remained serene—gone was the sharpness or coldness of their first meeting, the worry and anxiety she’d shown for him in the palace, or the sweetness of recent days. Though it was her story, she seemed to narrate from a deliberate distance, stripping away all emotion that might disturb her, recounting their tale with calm and warmth.

“I once thought I’d live simply with him for this lifetime, free from the troubles and sorrows of stories. Yet now, here I am, telling my own.” When her words ceased, Mingyue opened her eyes anew. In her hand was a round, lustrous pearl. She played with it for a moment, her gaze lingering, until a single tear fell and struck its surface.

From the transparent core of the soul lamp, vines unfurled, and at last a tricolored flower bloomed.

Mingyue smiled, slipped the pearl into her sleeve, then met Qin Shi’s gaze with composure. “Go ahead.”

Qin Shi stepped forward, his right hand covering Mingyue’s left eye. As she closed her eyes, he bent his fingers sharply, reaching through the eye to its deepest part. In an instant, a dazzling white light burst forth, filling the room. When the radiance faded, only Mingyue’s lifeless form remained.

A thousand miles away, in the imperial palace of the Cloud Kingdom.

“Is it done?” asked a man in imperial yellow robes.

Qin Shi nodded, following him into a quiet, dim chamber. When the palace lamp containing the pearl was lit, Qin Shi saw a young woman lying on a couch. She appeared sixteen or seventeen, with delicate, charming features, but after so long in the darkened chamber, her skin had taken on an unnatural pallor. Qin Shi withdrew the item from his sleeve—a cluster of blue flames danced in his palm. His mind drifted back to events more than two years past.

At that time, Yun Qing, princess of the Cloud Kingdom, had suffered an accident. Though her life was spared, she never woke again. When he arrived, this was how he found her.

Only a single remnant of her soul remained in her body; naturally, she could not awaken.

Thus, he made a three-year pact with the Cloud Emperor: within three years, he would gather the scattered fragments of Yun Qing’s soul and save her life. The emperor did not ask his reasons, simply agreed to all his terms, neither questioning nor doubting, but waiting for the final result. In his search, he found Mingyue; only then did he learn that the rest of Yun Qing’s soul had not dispersed but had all been transferred into this woman, who had died for love.

Yun Qing became Mingyue. But lacking that last remnant of her original soul, the reborn Mingyue was also missing the most common of emotions. She forgot her former obsession with Yi Yanzhi, remained unmoved by any affection she encountered, and adapted to Mingyue’s life with indifference. Therefore, Qin Shi embedded the treasured White Night, borrowed from Yi Zihan, into Mingyue’s left eye to replace the missing soul fragment and make her whole again. Then, he sealed his own memory, staying by her side; once White Night and Yun Qing’s soul became one, he would have Yi Zihan unseal his memories and bring Yun Qing’s soul back.

Now, he stood once more at Yun Qing’s side—much sooner than he had expected.

Taking Yun Qing’s hand, he embedded the blue flame from his palm into the center of her brow. Her frail body trembled uncontrollably. In that moment, he wanted to hold her close and tell her those shared days had not been false. But all he could do was watch coldly until the young woman on the couch opened her eyes anew.

Qin Shi left Mingyue’s token of longing behind. She could not remember him yet, at least not now.

Yun Qing’s awakening brought joy and bustle to the entire palace, none more so than the Cloud Emperor and Empress. But Yun Qing, still weak, could only stroll outside with her attendants for an hour or two each day before exhaustion overcame her. She remembered glimpsing a man’s departing back as she awoke, but before she could see him clearly, her father rushed to her side in delight.

Yun Qing asked the emperor who the man was, but received only the answer that he was an envoy from another country.

As days passed, Yun Qing thought no more of it.

But soon, Yun Qing began to dream of another woman’s life. The dreams were fragmented—sometimes whole, sometimes in pieces. Yun Qing did not recognize the woman, nor notice any resemblance between them, and simply found it strange.

“Silly girl, what are you thinking about?” The empress entered to find Yun Qing lost in thought and laughed.

Yun Qing opened her arms, embracing her mother. Leaning against her mother’s soft, warm body, Yun Qing recounted her dreams. “Mother, what do you think this means?”

A trace of awkwardness crossed the empress’s face. She had heard, from the emperor, something of Qin Shi’s assistance in the past. She feared Yun Qing might now recall the other woman’s fate. The empress did not mind telling Yun Qing of Qin Shi’s help, but before he left, he had solemnly admonished both her and the emperor never to reveal his existence to Yun Qing. The empress patted Yun Qing’s back with a smile. “Perhaps our little princess has a special gift? To dream of another’s life—well, that’s good too. It lets you experience the days of ordinary folk, so you won’t grow spoiled.”

“Mother!” Yun Qing nuzzled into her mother’s embrace, her cheeks flushed. Unseen by Yun Qing, the empress’s expression was tinged with worry.

If they said nothing, would Yun Qing truly never remember on her own? The empress had her doubts, but there was nothing to be done. Yun Qing remained fragile—they dared not risk anything further.

So be it. This was Yun Qing’s fate; survival was blessing enough. The empress sighed to herself, then took Yun Qing’s hand and led her to the palace gardens. After an hour, she returned Yun Qing to her chambers on time.

Yun Qing complained, “Mother, I’m much better now. There’s no need to be so cautious.”

“Nonsense! Rest a few more months and you’ll be free to go anywhere in the palace. If you wish to leave the palace, I’ll allow it too. But for now, you must keep resting.”

With that, the empress departed, leaving Yun Qing lying down in resignation. She hadn’t felt tired before, yet now sleepiness crept in. Drowsily, Yun Qing closed her eyes and dreamt again of that woman—neither entirely a stranger nor wholly familiar. This dream was vivid, as if she herself were living it, uninterrupted from beginning to end: from being settled in a shop by a woman, to finally shedding tears for a man and drawing forth a token of longing.

Yun Qing awoke with a start; a pearl rolled from beneath her pillow and fell to the floor.