Lan Ao cherished the sound of poetry, drawn not to its meaning but to its rhythm and flow. Fang Bai, however, …
Lan Ao cherished the sound of poetry, drawn not to its meaning but to its rhythm and flow. Fang Bai, however, delighted in unraveling its depths, often reshaping verses as he recited them.
They were young then, wandering along the narrow paths between fields, whispering melodies beneath the moonlight. When the night grew thick with dew, Fang Bai would see her safely home, and she would sit by the lamp, waiting out the long hours until dawn.
The poetry book lay open before her night after night, its familiar verses etched deep into her heart.
Winter nights, summer days.
After death's long journey, return home.
Fang Bai told her these lines meant that true lovers would find their way back to each other, and that after they died, they would surely be reunited.
Such a beautiful promise.
In those days of tender love, the poem was as sweet as honey to her soul.
Summer days, winter nights.
After death's long journey, return home.
How comforting those words seemed...
But in the endless nights of sorrow and pain that followed, when she finally released those harsh words and refused to look back, the poem turned bitter—like a draught of gall.
Days without you burned like scorching summers; winters stretched endlessly, cold and unbearable.
When I am gone, will you come to my grave? If I lie in eternal rest, will peace find me?
The nights in Hollow Vale were cold and silent; loneliness seemed to envelop all around. She hid her soft weeping in the nightly winds.
Wisteria wove through thickets of yellow spiny bushes; wild grapes sprawled across the deserted graves. My beloved rests here—who keeps him company?
Wisteria wove through thickets of sour jujube branches; wild grapes sprawled across the deserted graves. My beloved rests here—who keeps him company?
I was born into this world—where is pain not found?
His pillow glows with polish; his embroidered cover gleams with grandeur. My love sleeps here—who shares his rest?
I cannot be with you—when, then, is my heart not breaking?
The breeze at Peach Grove Pass was soft, almost tender. Her plan, like the traps she'd woven, was flawless.
Using the secret of Palm Master Fierceness as bait, she drew Fang Bai out—bound him with memories of their past love, subdued him with poisoned needles, and held him at swordpoint.
When Lan Ao finally sheathed her blade, Fang Bai lay motionless on the ground. Perfect. Not once had she wavered.
Yet, she did not claim the Golden Peach.
Fang Bai would never yield. She knew him as deeply as she knew herself.
Their love had been brief, yet it stretched across a lifetime—so intimately entwined, as if they shared the same resting place.
She had failed to seize the Golden Peach, but even that treasure could not save her now.
She was dying.
What is death but cold, loneliness, pain—the utter despair of a future forever lost?
If so, she had already died a thousand times, ten thousand times over.
What was there left to fear?
Alone amidst the peach blossoms, she thought of Fang Bai, who faced death without fear; of her father, burdened by shame; and of her own life, relentlessly hunted by death's shadow.
A flock of birds swept overhead.
Lan Ao told Xiaopan to remember her thus:
When death came for me, I turned toward it, enfolding it in my arms.
I left this world like a bird taking flight from its branch—not swept away by the storm, but standing resolute against it.
The world is a cage, and with my death, I shattered its bars.
Dressed in the robes of the Inkbound Order, she altered her appearance by disguise, ready to attend the banquet in Fang Bai's name.
Even in this fortress, strong as iron and surrounded by foes, where danger lurked in every glance, her chance of success was slim—yet her resolve was unshaken.
Better to act foolishly than to surrender without a fight.
Without you, the winters stretch endlessly; the summers burn with unbearable heat.
I shall be buried with my "Path" and my "Righteousness." Who will stand with me?
Blades tore through her, and in her final moments, she thought she saw Fang Bai rushing to her side.
Days without you burned like scorching summers; winters stretched endlessly, cold and unforgiving.
My beloved will be laid to rest with his "Path" and his "Righteousness."
Who will stand by him?
I will.