Li Wei froze. “What?”
Mo Xi still did not raise his eyes. His deep-set brows and eyes remained hidden beneath the shadow of his hand. His low voice carried a nasal rasp.
“Maybe he still remembers some things. Maybe his mind isn’t completely destroyed.” He paused. “He’s pretending.”
“How is that possible?” Li Wei’s eyes widened. “Gu Mang’s condition was diagnosed by the physicians at Shennong Terrace. Even Doctor Jiang, the best physician in Chonghua, examined him personally. His spiritual core is shattered, two of his souls are missing, his mind is damaged—he thinks he’s a wolf—”
“What kind of wolf would rather hurt itself than hurt someone else?!”
Li Wei was stunned.
Was it his imagination?
Lord Xihe’s eyes actually looked slightly red and damp.
“M-My lord… why do you say that…”
Mo Xi closed his eyes.
His anger was not directed at Li Wei. He simply could not bear hearing things like Gu Mang remembers nothing anymore.
“At Wangshu Manor. Murong Lian gave him two choices—either break one of my arms, or cut his own face.”
Mo Xi turned his head and stared at the rustling shadows of the trees. After a long while, he murmured,
“He chose the latter.”
Li Wei: “……”
“Tell me. What wolf would make that choice?”
Li Wei thought helplessly: Tell you? Tell you what? With that temper of yours, if I say maybe Gu Mang didn’t even understand Lord Wangshu’s question, wouldn’t you jump up and kick me to death?
From that day onward, Mo Xi became a little obsessed.
Although Li Wei later tried, when Mo Xi was in a better mood, to tactfully explain things like, “Gu Mang’s mind really is damaged now. He doesn’t understand many words. Talking to him is like talking to a three-year-old—sometimes you have to repeat one sentence several times.”
Still, Mo Xi could not let go of that faint sliver of hope.
In the end, Li Wei had no choice but to say, “Then, my lord… perhaps you should go verify it with Shennong Terrace?”
“……”
Shennong Terrace had many of Murong Lian’s people.
Mo Xi did not want to go.
Li Wei offered another suggestion. “Then go to the Imperial Apothecary Hall and ask Apothecary Jiang.”
Apothecary Jiang was a cold and sharp-tongued man. Mo Xi had never liked him.
But in the end, he could not endure the torment in his heart and went to visit him.
Outside the extravagant Medicine King Manor, with its grand and lavish eaves, a young servant said nervously, “Lord Xihe, my master has gone out to gather medicinal herbs.”
“When will he return?”
“My master’s schedule is uncertain. Sometimes three to five days. Sometimes three to five months.”
“Did he say where he went?”
“When Master gathers herbs, he travels across the world.”
Mo Xi was speechless.
Seeing the child answer with that serious, bobbing expression, he could only nod, turn his horse, and head back home.
Perhaps because his obsession ran too deep—because he spent every day thinking about Gu Mang—that night, after falling asleep, Mo Xi had a dream.
In the dream, he returned hazily to many years ago—
to the day he had finally understood his own feelings, the day he had been so desperate to confess that he could not wait even a moment longer.
It was deep night at the frontier.
He was very young, not yet twenty.
At that time, he was not yet the renowned Lord Xihe.
Gu Mang was still under Murong Lian’s name, with no fame of his own.
They were fighting a fierce war against the Liao Kingdom. Many had died.
While sorting through the belongings of fallen comrades, Mo Xi found a bloodstained love letter.
Holding that letter, which had never been sent, he stared at it in silence for a long time.
Mo Xi’s family life had been tragic.
From childhood, all he had ever seen was deceit, betrayal, and manipulation.
This was the first time he had encountered love so passionate and sincere.
The dead cultivator had been a rough man, the type who normally hated books.
Yet amidst smoke and fire, he had written that long letter carefully, word by word.
He wrote nothing of war’s suffering.
Nothing of military glory.
He wrote only of the mole at the corner of a girl’s brow, and the newly planted seedlings in their courtyard.
When flowers bloom in splendor next year, Xiao Yan will sing while I play the flute.
A clumsy poem—
not even especially elegant—
yet so gentle it seemed to drip with warmth.
And it had come from such a rough man.
When he wrote it, he must truly have imagined returning victorious next year, standing beside the girl named Xiao Yan among the flowers they had planted together, playing music while she sang.
But in the end, only that bloodstained letter remained.
Mo Xi could not describe what he felt.
He sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, clutching the letter.
When flowers bloom in splendor next year, Xiao Yan will sing while I play the flute.
If the one who died today had been him…
Was there anyone he could not let go of?
Very quickly, a familiar figure came to mind.
He dismissed it at first.
Only much later did realization strike him—
He froze.
Cold sweat drenched his back.
It felt as though a fire had suddenly ignited in his chest, illuminating everything with blinding clarity.
And yet…
It also felt as if that fire had always been there, deep in his heart, silently lighting him, consuming him, tormenting him.
He simply had never realized it.
He had never understood what those repressed feelings were.
He sat there in stunned silence.
Yet the wildfire in his heart burned hotter and hotter.
Something collapsed.
Something else rose with a thunderous force.
Outside the tent, cultivators mourned fallen brothers.
A faint xun flute sounded through the silent wind.
He gripped the thin sheet of paper in his hand.
Who would die tomorrow?
Whose unspoken feelings would turn into bloodstains tomorrow?
Suddenly, he could no longer suppress the urge in his heart.
He flung open the curtain and nearly collided with a healing cultivator who had come to treat his injuries.
The healer jumped.
“Young Master Mo?”
Mo Xi did not answer.
He strode out of the tent.
Faster and faster.
He tucked the bloodstained letter into his robe—he would return it to Xiao Yan someday.
But right now, he urgently needed to find someone.
Suddenly he was so desperate.
As though if he did not speak now, tomorrow he would never get another chance.
As though death stood right before him.
“Young Master Mo! Young Master Mo!”
The white-robed healer chased after him, shouting.
“Young Master Mo, the wound on your arm—”
But Mo Xi ignored him.
He did not care about such a trivial injury.
He rushed alone out of camp, summoned his spirit horse, and rode forward.
The northern wind and icy snow lashed against his face.
Behind him, pigeons fluttered and cooed in the garrison.
Their faint cries faded farther and farther behind.
Hot blood surged in his chest.
He needed to find Gu Mang.
He needed to tell him everything.
He could feel his pounding heartbeat.
His chest burned with anxiety.
Though snow and wind surrounded him, even his palms were damp with sweat.
“Where is Gu Mang?”
Upon arriving at the Northern Camp, he called out before even dismounting, breathing hard as he questioned a guard cultivator.
“I’m looking for him. Where is he?”
The cultivator was startled by his urgency.
“Y-Young Master Mo, is there urgent military news?”
“What urgent news? Must I have urgent news just to see someone?”
White mist poured from his lips as he spoke, his tone increasingly impatient.
“Then you…”
The cultivator glanced at Mo Xi’s injured arm.
After hesitating, he said no more.
But Mo Xi already understood what he meant.
Then if nothing is wrong, why are you running through snow and wind from the Southern Camp to the Northern Camp just to find a nobody?
Mo Xi was too anxious.
Too impulsive.
He had just realized something—
something important.
Something that had troubled him for a very long time.
He had to find Gu Mang.
If he did not find him immediately, it felt as though the boiling blood in his chest would burn itself dry before dawn.
He had always been decisive.
Once he decided he wanted something, he had to seize it.
And back then, he was young.
He had never known the bitterness of love.
He had not considered consequences.
He had not thought about morality or propriety.
He had not considered rejection.
He knew nothing.
Carrying nothing but a sincere heart, he rushed impulsively to Gu Mang’s tent.
Standing outside the military tent, his fingers trembled faintly.
His blood ran hotter.
His heartbeat raced faster.
Finally, his Adam’s apple bobbed.
He took a deep breath and lifted the curtain.
“Gu Mang—”
A handsome offensive cultivator turned around.
It was Lu Zhanxing, Gu Mang’s close friend at the time.
Lu Zhanxing was also one of Murong Lian’s study companions. He had grown up with Gu Mang and had a rather wild personality.
At the moment, he sat inside the tent, eating fruit while reading sword manuals.
Seeing Mo Xi, he blinked in surprise.
“Young Master Mo?”
“……”
“What are you doing here?”
“Where’s Gu Mang?”
“You’re looking for him?” Lu Zhanxing bit into a juicy pear and suddenly grinned. “Funny. Why is everyone looking for him tonight?”
“…Who else is looking for him?”
“Oh, no one important. Just some of our friends. They asked him to head to a nearby village to have fun. You don’t know them, Young Master Mo. I was supposed to go too, but my leg still hasn’t healed, so I stayed behind…”
Lu Zhanxing rambled on.
The anxiety in Mo Xi’s chest only intensified.
He bit his lip lightly.
“Where did he go?”
Lu Zhanxing smiled, ready to answer.
But just as Mo Xi was about to hear that long-lost answer in his dream—
pain suddenly struck.
It was as though his heart instinctively wanted to protect itself, refusing to suffer that pain again.
Heavy darkness suddenly descended, overwhelming everything.
It crushed the answer before it could form.
The dream shattered like fragile dust blown away by the wind.
The darkness deepened.
The dream sank farther.
All sound vanished.
At last, heaven and earth dissolved into emptiness.
Everything returned to silence.
The next morning, Mo Xi awoke to birds chirping in the courtyard.
He blinked slowly, regaining consciousness, as if swimming ashore from the wreckage of a shattered illusion.
“…Gu Mang…”
Still trapped in the lingering aftertaste of the dream, he lifted his hand.
His palm felt warm.
There was even a thin layer of sweat.
The burning emotions of his youth remained vivid—
but the contents of the dream had already begun fading.
“My lord.”
Seeing he was awake, Li Wei hurried over and bowed.
“Lord Changfeng sent gifts early this morning. They’re currently stored in the flower hall. Should we accept them?”
“Lord Changfeng?”
Still groggy from sleep—and from such bittersweet memories—even the brilliant Lord Xihe needed a moment to collect himself.
After a while, rubbing his brow, he finally remembered.
Lord Changfeng was a fallen old noble.
His title remained, but only in name.
He had not interacted with other noble families in many years.
Mo Xi, still irritable from waking, pressed his throbbing temple.
“Why is he suddenly sending me gifts?”
“He didn’t explain.”
Mo Xi had always been upright and principled.
After a pause, he said, “Return them. Tell him I appreciate the thought, but it’s neither a festival nor a celebration. I won’t accept them.”
“Yes, my lord.”
After washing and dressing, Mo Xi went to the flower hall.
The sight made him frown immediately.
Pearls, jade, silks, brocades, magical artifacts, spiritual medicines—
eight enormous gift chests in total.
He called Li Wei over.
“Did Lord Changfeng commit some crime?”
“Huh?” Li Wei froze. “No.”
“Then what does this mean?”
“Well…” Li Wei thought to himself that Lord Changfeng had recently offended several powerful noble families because of his daughter’s affairs. Sending gifts to Lord Xihe now was clearly an attempt to test the waters and see whether he could gain favor with this newly returned commander.
But Li Wei was clever.
It was best not to get entangled in family disputes.
“If even my lord doesn’t know, then I certainly don’t.”
Mo Xi silently scanned the gifts again.
Still unable to understand the other party’s intentions, he gave up thinking about it.
He adjusted his sleeve.
“I’m going out. I won’t be back for lunch. Tell the kitchen not to prepare my meal.”
“Oh… yes.”
Li Wei responded, but secretly glanced at Mo Xi.
His lord had been acting strange lately.
Ever since returning from Wangshu Manor, even on days without court or military duties, he left every day without fail.
Sometimes for half a day.
Sometimes all day.
Sometimes until late at night.
And he refused to bring attendants.
Looking at the signs…
No matter how he looked at it, it felt suspiciously like he was secretly meeting someone.
The thought made Li Wei nearly break into a cold sweat.
No, no, no!
Impossible!
There had been Meng Ze, Yan Ping, and countless noble ladies and seductive beauties besides.
All had tried to melt Lord Xihe’s cold, lofty heart.
Not one had succeeded.
Li Wei thought to himself: if Lord Xihe truly was secretly meeting someone behind everyone’s back…
Then what kind of breathtakingly dangerous beauty could possibly accomplish that?
Mo Xi sat down at a tea stall on the street corner with a grim expression and ordered a pot of Yangxian tea.
The tea arrived quickly, along with dried fruits and candied snacks.
He drank slowly.
From time to time, his long elegant eyes shifted toward the opposite street.
Across the street lay the lotus pond in the back courtyard of Luomei Villa.
And that filthy little “calamity” had not appeared for a very long time.
In the past days, Gu Mang had come here almost every day.
He would stand absentmindedly on the floating bridge, doing nothing.
Silent.
Alone.
Simply staring at the fish in the lotus pond.
His face was blank and distant—
like a world buried beneath endless snowfall.
At first, Mo Xi did not understand what was so interesting about fish.
Until one day—
he saw Gu Mang try reaching out to catch one.
Of course, he failed.
So Gu Mang crouched by the shore, staring blankly as the koi swam away.
His throat bobbed.
He swallowed.
His gaze gradually turned fixed.
Only then did Mo Xi understand.
He was hungry.
Murong Lian had ordered his food rations cut for a month.
Counting the days, it had already been more than ten days.
And so, miserable and starving, Gu Mang had actually tried catching fish to eat.
But for some reason, from that day onward, Gu Mang stopped appearing.
Mo Xi came every day.
Yet he never saw Gu Mang crouching by the pond again.
Today was no exception.
Slowly, the tea pot emptied.
He asked the stall owner for another.
Then sat there for a long time.
Still no sign of Gu Mang.
Gu Mang had not come out for five days straight.
Could something have happened again in Luomei Villa?
Though Mo Xi’s face remained calm, anxiety began rising in his chest.
He endured it.
He drank the last drop of Yangxian tea—
but it did nothing to extinguish the fire in his heart.
At last, he stood.
Then he crossed toward the opposite street.