Chapter 33: Reunion

Night had deepened, and the mist grew thick, shrouding the stars and moon.

A woman garbed in a brilliant red palace gown emerged slowly from behind the screen. Her long skirt trailed across the floor, peonies in full bloom embroidered in gold thread upon its hem. On her forehead, a golden peony-shaped ornament was delicately painted, exuding regal grace and opulence.

She gazed at the world outside the window, dark and impenetrable. Her painted crimson lips curled faintly upward. With measured steps, she entered the inner chamber and settled before a bronze mirror. Unfastening her neatly arranged hair, she took up a pale peachwood comb in her slender, graceful hand and slowly combed through her locks, stroke by stroke.

Raising her head, she looked at the figure in the mirror—a woman with a delicate brow and fair skin like polished jade, lips as though tinted with vermilion, and alluring eyes shaped like peach blossoms that shimmered with light. Her gentle hands gathered her raven hair, deftly fashioned it into twin looped buns, and adorned it with a gold-plated phoenix hairpin with hanging tassels. The woman in the mirror pressed her lips into a soft smile, radiant as peach and plum blossoms.

Rising, she slipped off the red palace attire and donned another embroidered dress of the same color. She extinguished the last lamp in the room, and, unhurried, walked out.

The fog grew denser.

The street was empty, swept only by the sound of the wind. Qiang Yanxi, expressionless, surveyed her surroundings, her steps slowing to a halt. A ripple stirred across her smooth brow. Ahead, she glimpsed a woman emerging from the mist—a figure elegant, captivating, stirring something inexplicable within her heart.

The woman stepped gracefully out of the fog, wide red sleeves fluttering in the wind like a blooming peony. Each step was dignified and refined, as if she walked upon lotus blossoms. She stopped before Qiang Yanxi, parted her vibrant lips, and spoke softly, “It’s been a long time.”

Qiang Yanxi’s serene expression shifted ever so slightly. The woman before her was beautiful and seductive, a face so familiar—yet not a single memory of her surfaced, not even a fragment. Her hand clenched tightly around the dart. Qiang Yanxi’s voice was cold: “Who are you?”

The woman looked straight at her and smiled gently. She took a step forward, closing the distance so they were nearly pressed together. Qiang Yanxi felt the soft warmth of the woman’s chest against her own, but her star-bright eyes remained lowered, betraying no emotion. The woman leaned close, her breath fragrant like orchids, whispering, “I am your wife.”

Qiang Yanxi’s delicate brows knitted tightly. She retreated a step, face impassive as she regarded the woman, replying coolly, “You’ve mistaken me for someone else.” The woman’s body tipped forward at Qiang Yanxi’s sudden withdrawal. Qiang Yanxi suppressed the urge to steady her, folding her arms instead.

The woman’s gaze grew softer. She reached out with a fair, delicate hand. Qiang Yanxi arched her brow but did not move, allowing the woman to take her hand. The woman drew a slow breath and gently placed Qiang Yanxi’s hand against her chest, “I’m not mistaken. You are my wife, and I am yours.”

Beneath her hand, the softness trembled. Qiang Yanxi instinctively tried to withdraw, but the woman held her fast, refusing to let go. Qiang Yanxi gazed at her in silence, voice deep and steady, “I don’t know you.” But the woman shook her head. Suddenly, she wrapped her arms around Qiang Yanxi’s neck and pressed her crimson lips to Qiang Yanxi’s tightly pursed mouth.

Qiang Yanxi’s first instinct was to push her away. The woman’s body was soft and yielding—a gentle push would suffice. Yet, the hand Qiang Yanxi raised slowly fell back down, for this feeling, this embrace, this scent, even this person, all seemed so familiar, as if etched upon her very soul. The name hovered on her lips, yet she could not utter it.

Somewhere deep within, a voice whispered that she knew this woman, that their connection was more than mere acquaintance.

The warmth pressed against her lips slowly withdrew. Qiang Yanxi looked down at the woman before her, whose luminous eyes stared straight at her, their shifting light drawing at her very spirit. For a moment, Qiang Yanxi felt her heart twisted tight, a dull ache.

The woman smiled softly and spoke in a gentle voice, “Remember, I am your wife, your only beloved in this life. My name is... Ran Luo.”

Ran Luo...

—What is your name?
—Those who knew my name have likely all turned to bones by now...
—I saved you, a life for a life.
—My name is Ran Luo. Like the solitary bamboo growing on Mount Tai. To wed you anew, as the bindweed entwines the vine.

Ran Luo...

—If you are the vine, I am the bindweed.
—You wish to marry me?
—Why not?

Ran Luo... Qiang Yanxi suddenly seized her slender arm, “You...” Her brows knit tightly, but no words came. Ran Luo gently smoothed the furrow between her brows, laughing softly, “It’s alright... You will remember me...” She slowly freed herself from Qiang Yanxi’s grasp and departed as she had arrived, drifting away, as if she had never been there.

Qiang Yanxi lowered her gaze to her palm, where the warmth from that wrist still lingered.

Like the solitary bamboo growing on Mount Tai. To wed you anew, as the bindweed entwines the vine.

—Why did you lie to me?
—I never once deceived you.
—You never told me you were...

—But you never asked.

Who was she, and what had she hidden? Qiang Yanxi’s unfocused gaze searched the distance, where only a vast expanse of white mist remained, no sign of another soul.

The veins stood out on her clenched fist. She suddenly hugged her head, leaning against the wall and slowly crouching down. Before her eyes, a sea of red appeared—the red brocade quilt, the red mandarin-duck pillows, the red bed curtains, the red candles, the red double happiness symbol, and... herself in a scarlet wedding dress, and herself in a red wedding robe...

The red before her eyes blurred. Qiang Yanxi closed her eyes slowly.

The mist began to dissipate.

In the North Palace, Qi Yi lit the lamps in the chamber, their flames flickering brightly.

The insects in the jar stirred gently. Qi Yi smiled as he replaced the lid, his jet-black phoenix eyes half-closed, and the red cinnabar mark upon his forehead gleamed vividly.

He clapped his hands lightly, and a figure in brown appeared instantly. Qi Yi placed the small jar back in the hidden compartment by the bedside and asked in a low voice, “Mu Min, how fares the pavilion?” Mu Min bowed his head, calming his spirit, “Reporting to Master, there are some restless souls in the pavilion.” Qi Yi’s long lashes drooped, casting a dark blue shadow on his pale, cold skin.

Mu Min, seeing his silence, bowed even lower. Qi Yi lifted his gaze, his crimson lips curving into a strange smile. He turned, laying a hand on Mu Min’s shoulder, “Do you remember what I said last time?”

If anyone was restless—kill...

Mu Min’s eyes shone with resolve, and he nodded deeply.

Qi Yi’s smile grew ever more brilliant. His gaze pierced the tightly shuttered window, looking into the distance, a flash of light in his eyes, “It’s almost time...”

Mu Min looked at him, lips pressed tight, saying nothing.

Qi Yi slowly withdrew his gaze and sighed softly, “I have waited so long...”