Dacheng, Qingshi Village.
By the time Xiao Yuan returned to camp, it was already well past midnight.
The wind and snow still showed no sign of stopping. The braziers outside the tents flickered erratically under the wind, casting wavering shadows across the snow. The night patrol soldiers moved back and forth, and from time to time came the faint clinking of armor.
He did not rest immediately.
First, he went to check on Zhao Ping and the wounded soldiers from the Northern Watchtower. Zhao Ping was already able to sit up and was leaning against his bedding while drinking hot soup. When he saw Xiao Yuan enter, he tried to salute, but Xiao Yuan raised a hand and stopped him. He then confirmed that the grain carts had been successfully stored before turning toward the main tent.
When the tent flap was lifted, the light inside was still burning.
To his surprise, Xia Lanshi had not yet gone to sleep.
Wrapped in a thick cloak, he sat beside the desk. At his hand were a bowl of medicine that had long since gone cold and several account books that had only been half organized.
The candlelight illuminated his snow-white hair, making his profile appear almost translucent.
Xiao Yuan swept his gaze around the tent. Chi Banyue was not there, so he knew that Xia Lanshi had probably found another excuse to send her away.
He stood by the tent entrance without immediately walking in.
“Doctor Su said you shouldn’t stay up late.”
Xia Lanshi raised his eyes. His pale-red irises looked even lighter beneath the candlelight, like cinnabar sealed beneath a layer of ice.
“I wasn’t staying up late. I simply wasn’t very sleepy yet.”
Xiao Yuan did not expose his lie.
He walked forward, took the letter from inside his robes, and placed it on the desk.
The envelope was very thin. There were no military markings on it, only four words—
For Huaiyu’s eyes only.
Xia Lanshi’s gaze paused. His eyes fell upon those four words and remained there for a long while.
“A reply from Xiao.”
The tent suddenly fell silent.
The sound of wind and snow filtered through the thick fabric, becoming distant and indistinct.
Xia Lanshi did not immediately reach for the letter. He merely stared at it, his thoughts churning.
The handwriting on the envelope was not particularly neat. The strokes were steady, yet there was a distinctive elegance and restraint to them, as though one could see the person himself simply from looking at the writing.
It was not perfunctory courtesy. Rather, it looked like the handwriting of someone who was not accustomed to writing letters, deliberately slowing down and forming each stroke one by one.
But what surprised him was the way the other party addressed him as Huaiyu.
Not Chief Secretary Xia. Not Young Master Xia.
Huaiyu.
After coming of age, Grand Tutor Xia had given him the courtesy name Huaiyu, but very few people called him that.
In the military, he was called Chief Secretary.
Those who had known him over the years mostly addressed him directly by his name.
This was the first time someone had solemnly written those two characters.
The form of address was too intimate.
So intimate that he could almost imagine how long Xiao had hesitated while putting brush to paper and writing those two characters.
He reached out and picked up the letter.
It was very thin.
The envelope was likewise simple and white, without any unnecessary decoration.
Yet it was what he had waited the entire night for.
During the day, Chi Banyue had even laughed at him, saying that if he continued staring at the tent entrance like that, others might think he was waiting for some extremely important military report.
He had not denied it.
Because what he was waiting for really was important—
Just not a military report.
An answer.
The envelope had not been sealed. It had merely been folded shut.
He drew out the letter and unfolded it.
The tent was very quiet. The only sound was the faint crackle of charcoal in the brazier.
The first line read:
“Young Master Huaiyu, I have received your letter.”
Xia Lanshi stared at those words, his fingertips tightening slightly as his gaze moved downward line by line.
“Regarding the previous treatment, it was because I happened to be beside the door when it opened. Young Master need not take it to heart.
I have only met Young Master once. How could I have saved you several times?
What Young Master heard while ill may not have been true. There are many scents in this world resembling the fragrance of burning cold plum wood.
As for the events of childhood, if Young Master does not remember them clearly, then do not cling to them any longer. A person cannot spend an entire lifetime chasing after a vague shadow.
Do not sit for too long and exhaust yourself. Take your medicine on time, and do not stay up late.
If Young Master is still willing to write to me, I will reply.”
When Xia Lanshi reached this point, the faintest smile appeared at the corner of his lips.
This person had written, Take your medicine on time. Do not stay up late.
It was as though he was worried.
Or perhaps he was using this clumsy way to say—
I remember that your health is poor.
He continued reading, his gaze falling upon the signature.
There was only one character:
Xiao.
Beside it was a simply drawn owl.
Xia Lanshi froze.
Then he laughed softly.
The sound of his laughter was very light, yet it was more genuine than any smile he had shown in all these days.
These hands of his had written far too many memorials. With a single letter, they could send one of the Prince of Su’s opponents to the execution ground. They could also secure honors and official positions for others.
These eyes of his had seen countless secrets and account books that could never be revealed to others.
When people wrote letters to him, they sought merit, fame, flattering words, or even mercy—
Everything was calculation.
Yet this was the most selfless letter he had ever received.
There was even a coldness in it that kept people at arm’s length.
Every sentence clearly sought to distance himself from their relationship, yet at the very end he had written:
If Young Master is still willing to write to me, I will reply.
A contradiction.
The sentence There are many similar scents was denied far too earnestly.
And that very earnestness was itself an answer.
If they had truly met only once, why would he have deliberately written such a long letter to explain himself?
Xia Lanshi looked at the handwriting on the page and gently rubbed his fingertips across the paper, as though confirming something.
It was only a few short lines, yet Xia Lanshi read them for a very long time.
Xiao Yuan sat to one side without disturbing him.
He watched Xia Lanshi’s expression change from its initial tension, to softness, and finally to that smile he could no longer conceal.
He had known Xia Lanshi for many years and knew that this man rarely truly smiled.
The winds and snow of the Northern Frontier were harsh, while the blades of the imperial court were cold.
Most of the time, his smiles were gentle and refined. They were distant and false, perfectly measured courtesy.
But at this moment, he was genuinely smiling.
To have someone make Xia Lanshi show such an expression was no small thing.
Xia Lanshi folded the letter again and placed it back into the envelope. His movements were gentle and slow, as though he were putting away some fragile treasure.
He held the letter against his chest for a long while.
Xiao had said that they had only met once.
He had said that there were many scents resembling cold plum wood.
He had said that if the events of childhood could not be remembered clearly, then he should stop clinging to them.
But he had also said—
If Young Master is still willing to write to me, I will reply.
This was not rejection.
It was waiting.
Like a game of chess, waiting to see where the other person would place his next move.
He slipped the envelope into his sleeve. His fingertips touched the white jade peace clasp, and its warm-cool sensation seeped into his fingers, like the warmth from that snowy night many years ago, when someone had tied this red cord around him.
“Your Highness.” He straightened his expression. “There is something I wish to ask of you.”
Xiao Yuan looked at him.
When Xia Lanshi had been sent by Grand Tutor Xia to become his study companion, he had already been half-dead.
Xiao Yuan still remembered the first time he had seen Xia Lanshi.
That year, he was fifteen, while Xia Lanshi was ten.
But after years of hunger and exposure to cold, Xia Lanshi did not look like a ten-year-old child. He looked even younger.
His eyes were lifeless, his body emaciated, his cheeks sunken, and his body covered in overlapping old and new wounds.
On top of that was his abnormal whiteness—
White hair, white eyelashes, pale skin, and those thin red eyes.
His entire person looked like a ghost that had crawled out of the snow rather than a living human being.
If Grand Tutor Xia had not personally entrusted him to Xiao Yuan, given Xiao Yuan’s own precarious circumstances at the time, it would have been difficult for him to take him in.
Xia Lanshi seemed to understand that he was a burden.
He was quiet and obedient, doing his best to fulfill even the most unreasonable orders.
When he was injured or ill, he did not dare to cry out in pain, much less shed tears.
From that point onward, the two of them had practically grown up together, growing under Grand Tutor Xia’s guidance.
Over all these years, Xia Lanshi had given him tremendous assistance, yet had never asked him for anything.
Now, this was the first time he had personally asked for something.
Xiao Yuan had already guessed part of it.
Even if he was unwilling, he would have to agree.
“Tell me.”
Xia Lanshi raised his eyes. There was unmistakable determination in those pale-red irises.
“Please ask Doctor Su to help me confirm one thing.”
He paused.
“Confirm whether Young Master Xiao has a flower-shaped mark resembling a Bianhua beneath his right shoulder blade, extending toward the center of his back.”
Xiao Yuan was silent for a moment.
“You still suspect that he is the person who saved you when you were young?”
“Yes.”
Xia Lanshi answered without hesitation.
Even though Xiao had denied it in his letter, until he had personally seen the evidence, the matter could not be determined.
What he believed in was not words, nor speculation, but that flower-shaped mark.
It was the only thing he remembered.
A mark that could not be forged.
Xiao Yuan asked again, “If it is confirmed that there is no mark on his back, what will you do?”
His voice was light, yet heavy.
At this moment, he was not speaking as a ruler to his subordinate, but as a friend, as a companion who had faced life and death alongside him, concerned about Xia Lanshi.
They had walked through too many dangerous situations together. Xia Lanshi had also repeatedly fallen into danger because of him, even nearly losing his life.
Naturally, he hoped Xia Lanshi could have his wish fulfilled.
But Xiao was far too complicated.
Even though he was connected by blood to Su Muchen, Xiao Yuan still could not lower his guard around him.
That man concealed too many things, like a bottomless well whose depths could never be seen.
Moreover, Xia Lanshi did not know another secret.
Although Xiao could come to this world, he had to pay a price.
Xia Lanshi was silent for a moment.
During this period, he had already considered countless possibilities, so naturally he had also considered this outcome.
“If there is no mark, then I will let go of my thoughts about the past.”
His long white eyelashes lowered. His voice was calm, yet carried an air of finality.
His fingertips touched the white jade peace clasp around his wrist. Its cool warmth seeped into him, as though proving that what had happened that year had not been an illusion.
But Xiao was right as well.
A person could not spend an entire lifetime chasing after a vague shadow.
Since he could not recover it, then he would let the past remain the past.
He would simply allow the beauty of that moment to remain in the deepest part of his heart, sealed away.
Outside the tent, the wind howled. The candle flame gently swayed upon the desk.
Xia Lanshi lowered his eyes.
Actually, even he could not explain whether he was searching for his benefactor or searching for that past that had long since been buried beneath the years.
The memories of his childhood were too vague.
So vague that only a heavy snowfall remained.
A pair of hands that had carried him out of the darkness.
And the scent of burning cold plum wood.
He had once thought that as long as he found that person, everything would have an answer.
Now, as he looked at this letter, he suddenly felt that perhaps the answer itself was not that important.
What mattered was what he himself wanted.
And to some extent, Xiao’s letter had pushed him forward, allowing him to let go of certain things.
Whether Xiao was that person or not—
It was fine either way.
He was Xia Lanshi.
Xiao was Xiao.
Neither of those things would change.
And this final confirmation was merely to bid farewell to the past and confirm the direction of the future.
When he raised his eyes again, there was no hesitation left in those pale-red eyes.
Only determination.
“Your Highness need not worry about me. I have my own plans.”
He thought of what Xiao had written in the letter:
Do not sit for too long and exhaust yourself.
Take your medicine on time.
Do not stay up late.
That tone was truly somewhat familiar.
It was almost exactly like a certain Doctor Su.
Even the way he cared about people was similar.
He would never speak properly, yet his thoughts of others could be found everywhere.
And the sentence If Young Master is still willing to write to me, I will reply looked like something he had hesitated over for a long time before finally writing down.
Xia Lanshi’s fingers tightened slightly.
The unease that had lingered in his chest for so long suddenly dispersed.
In truth, he did not care whether the other party admitted it, nor did he care whether the other party was willing to reveal the truth.
Because those words themselves were already an answer.
It was neither a direct rejection nor an attempt to avoid him.
Instead, he had left behind a door—
A door that had not been completely closed.
Xiao Yuan looked at him and understood that he had already let go and clearly knew what he wanted. He therefore said no more.
He only said, “I will privately ask Su Muchen to confirm it without alerting him.”
“Thank you, Your Highness, for granting my request.”
Although it had yet to be confirmed, Xia Lanshi now felt as though he had already let go of something within his heart.
The white jade peace clasp tied around his wrist with a red silk cord was still precious.
But the thoughts in his heart had changed.
“Huaiyu, are you planning to write back?”
Xiao Yuan’s question was calm.
“I will.”
Xia Lanshi’s answer was soft, yet firm.
“But not now.”
Xiao Yuan did not ask why.
In that letter, Xiao had admitted nothing. He had pushed the questions back into the fog, yet had left a lamp at the edge of the fog.
The light was faint, but it was enough to show the direction.
Xia Lanshi was waiting for the time when Xiao would be willing to say more.
And Xiao, it seemed, was also waiting for the right moment when he could say more.
Only…
Neither of them knew whether that door would give them enough time.
Xiao Yuan rose and lowered the tent flap again.
“Sleep. We’ll discuss the rest tomorrow.”
Xia Lanshi nodded.
“You should rest early as well, Your Highness.”
Xiao Yuan did not answer. He simply walked out of the tent.
His footsteps gradually faded into the distance, blending with the sound of wind and snow until they could no longer be heard.
Silence returned to the tent.
Xia Lanshi sat quietly for a long time, until the candle was nearly extinguished.
He did not hurry to light a new one. Instead, he carefully folded the letter again and placed it inside the hidden pocket close to his body.
Many important things were kept there.
Military orders, secret reports, the Northern Frontier defense map—
Every one of them concerned the life and death of the Prince of Su’s army and could not be treated carelessly.
And now, there was one more letter.
A letter that was neither a military order nor a secret report.
He leaned against the back of the chair and closed his eyes.
Outside, the wind and snow had yet to cease. Inside, the charcoal fire was nearly extinguished.
He suddenly gave an extremely soft laugh.
“Xiao…”
The voice was so quiet that it could hardly be heard. Only his lips moved.
It did not sound like he was calling for someone.
Rather, it sounded as though he were cherishing a secret.
He remembered the last time he had seen Xiao.
That person had walked out of the light, dressed in clothing completely incompatible with Dacheng, his expression cold as though he had merely come to complete a task.
He had retrieved his equipment with swift movements. His tone had been distant, even carrying a hint of impoliteness.
At the time, Xia Lanshi had been provoked enough to lose some of his composure.
But after carefully thinking it over afterward, he realized that beneath that coldness and rudeness was a delicately concealed concern that was almost impossible to detect.
It was like being cared for by someone in a clumsy way.
He would not say pleasant words, yet he would complete every task that needed to be done without missing a single one.
And he would still tell him to cherish his life.
He remembered that Su Muchen was not good at speaking either.
Could it be that all the members of the Su family had this sort of personality?
But…
He lowered his eyes and looked at the letter he had carefully put away. A faint smile appeared at the corner of his lips.
This time, Xiao’s wording had been much more tactful.
There were too many contradictions in this person, too many secrets, making him curious.
He wanted to peel away the other person’s disguise layer by layer.
He was beginning to look forward to it.
What move would Xiao make next?
◆◇◆◇◆
The snowy night was deep and heavy. In the distance, the wooden sign bearing the words “Qingshi Lives On” swayed faintly in the wind and snow.
Xiao Yuan raised his head and looked south.
Thousands of miles of wind and snow lay between them.
And a door.
Behind that door, someone sat behind a counter, cooking porridge for him, bandaging his wounds, organizing evidence into the proper format, and turning red in the ears whenever he was addressed by his courtesy name.
Xiao Yuan murmured softly:
“Muan.”
The two characters fell into the wind and snow and were quickly scattered.
The night in the Northern Frontier was still long.
But some things had already begun to slowly become different.