Chapter 20: with translation of chapter title

Wind Capital Imperial Palace Ice Spirit City.

"Heavenly Lord, have three months passed?"

"Your Majesty, as of today it has just been three months."

"Is that so?" The blue‑robed middle‑aged man who had been hunched over his desk finally lowered his pen, lifted his head, and showed a faint smile, "Withdraw all protection."

"Your Majesty!" Proud Heaven Lord startled, couldn't help blurting out, "But the young master…"

"Give the order: no matter what method, within one night spread the news that the 'Cold‑Hearted Blade' is none other than Bushā throughout Yin Qi and other states."

"Your Majesty—"

The blue‑robed man gave him a cold glance, then said, "Who is the girl beside Raner? Have you found out?"

Proud Heaven Lord hastily composed himself and said, "I am incapable; the Wind Department has deployed all its informants for months of investigation. Yet regarding this girl, aside from knowing that the young master and Bushā call her Shuǐ Bingyi, I know nothing else about her background."

"Oh?" A flash of light appeared in the blue‑robed man's eyes, and a grim cold smile curled his lips, "Could it really have fallen from heaven?"

"Something unknown is too dangerous; get rid of it."

"Yes."

The blue‑robed man, not knowing what he had thought of, raised his head and gazed into the void, his eyes deep. Suddenly he lowered his head to stare directly at the person kneeling below and said in a low voice, "Go, deliver a message to Lifeng. Tell him, after spreading the net for so many years, it's time to reel it in."

Proud Heaven Lord's face turned deathly white; the hand he had braced on the ground began to tremble uncontrollably. He wanted to plead, but seeing the man's icy gaze, he could only suck in a deep breath, kowtow heavily, and say in a quivering voice, "Yes, Your Majesty."

Watching Proud Heaven Lord's retreating back, the blue‑robed man's eyes gradually showed a hint of pain as he murmured, "Raner, don't blame Father Emperor; after all these years of scheming, you are destined to become the king of Ice Spirit."

Leaving Lakeside Village, I couldn't help feeling a bit wistful, watching the plain villagers—elders leading children, husbands escorting wives—voice after voice urging them to stay, some even weeping bitterly. Someone who originally felt no sorrow of parting now felt a touch of sadness.

I drew a deep breath and glanced at Qiran, who was feigning sleep with eyes closed in the carriage. This gentleman of peerless looks and talent, kind‑hearted, if it weren't for him, I probably would never have felt this mixture of pride, emotion, and a tinge of sadness.

I chuckled; even if I wanted to, I could never match his and Bushā's abilities. I never imagined that, if they wished, two people alone could stir up clouds and rain in the jianghu.

Back then we seemed overly happy, thinking that as long as we were willing, there was no problem in the world we couldn't solve. It was this carelessness that made us—or perhaps just me—forget something vitally important.

I truly underestimated Ice Spirit, and I also underestimated Qiran's promise to an emperor.

Only long afterward, when the truth came to light, did I finally regret my earlier judgment.

After traveling half a day, I felt the heat becoming excessively intense; thinking that the dog days of summer had arrived, it wasn't surprising to be hot. Yet I especially envied Qiran, who appeared completely cool and sweat‑free, as if the very weather favored him.

At noon the carriage finally stopped. Bushā took his tools to look for food, while we waited comfortably to eat what was ready. Uh—actually, only I ate the ready‑made meal, because the ingredients were gathered by Bushā but the cooking was done by Qiran.

Having said that, I can't help bringing up the old topic again: Qiran really makes me doubt he's human at times. What prince could merely watch a chef's demonstration and then produce excellent food? It really doesn't give the old masters who've painstakingly honed their craft for years any face.

What's more infuriating is that after every cooking session he remains fresh and clean, whereas no matter how careful I am I end up disheveled and a mess.

My cooking isn't inedible—at least it's certainly more like human food than what Bushā makes—but compared to Qiran, the genius who grasps things instantly, I'd rather suffer a killer's contempt and obediently be a rice worm.

As soon as I stepped out of the carriage I couldn't help shouting, "How beautiful!"

The lake surface shimmered with blue light, ripples glimmering, reflecting the hills ablaze with purple and red, teeming with life—I couldn't help but stare, entranced.

Qiran smiled and stood beside me, speaking softly, "This is Yin State's famed 'Mirror Moon Lake'; it's even more beautiful at night. Usually many come to admire it, but for the past few months a plague has ravaged the vicinity, leaving it utterly deserted."

I drew a deep breath, feeling the fresh waterside air rush over me, faintly mingled with nature's own subtle fragrance.

"It's truly strange—such a lovely place, yet no one lives nearby."

"Although beautiful, this place is too remote; were it not for a wandering knight who happened to pass by and recorded it in his biography, spreading it widely, few would ever get to enjoy this scenery. Moreover, while it is lovely, actually living here would be rather lonely."

"Is that so?" I pondered a moment, then replied with a hint of disappointment, "But don't you think living lakeside amidst nature would be wonderful?"

As I spoke I grew excited—this kind of natural, unadorned rare beauty, even in modern times with all the money in the world, is absolutely something you can only encounter, never seek!

My cheeks flushed with excitement, yet in my gesturing description I failed to notice Qiran's smiling, indulgent eyes that hinted at hidden sorrow.

"I'll plant willows along both banks of the lake, just like that residence in Changping Town—willows brushing the shore. Then I'll put a few apricot trees around the edges; hehe, though it's a bit of a shortcut, it truly fits Monk Zhinnan's verse: 'Apricot blossoms dampen the clothes they touch, willow breeze brings no chill.'"

I stepped back a few paces, gauged the distance with my feet, then spread my arms and exclaimed happily, "The house will be built right here. First, let me say I don't want a thatched hut—it'd blow over. Nor too big; like that… whatever you call your manor, just the three of us would make it feel empty, more suited to hauntings—maybe I'd scare myself to death waking at night. We just want it beautiful and sturdy. Well—" I rested my chin on my hand, thought, then smiled, "My room must have a large window facing the lake to the south. Inside, keep it simple: a table, a chair, a bed. Preferably a lamp and a bookshelf at the head of the bed for when I'm bored. Of course, one thing cannot be missing—a full‑length mirror. You know what I mean? A big, tall mirror that shows your whole body. Unfortunately here we have no silver‑backed glass, only a bronze mirror, which will have to do. Well—what should I plant by the window? Let me think… yes, a pear tree. 'Suddenly, as if a spring wind came overnight, thousands of trees burst into pear blossoms'—how romantic! You said it's even more beautiful at night, right? Then we three will light a bonfire by the lakeside; if Bushā that ice block doesn't appreciate it, we'll 'raise our cups to invite the bright moon, our shadows making three'—that'll piss him off! And if it rains…" My excitement bubbled over with visions of a wonderful future, but when I lifted my head and saw Qiran's expression, it felt as if someone had suddenly dumped a bucket of cold water over my head, chilling me to the bone.

What on earth am I saying? These three months of rebirth have let me cast off my heavy burdens, yet have they also made me overconfident and careless?

I gave an embarrassed laugh, avoided looking at Qiran's complex expression, went to meet the returning Bushā, and said, "Let me help you."

Bushā dodged my hand with a blank face and said calmly, "There's a hot spring in this woods."

"Really?" I exclaimed delightedly, not waiting for Bushā's answer, gave a strange cry, grabbed my clothes, and rushed into the woods. For the past half month we'd been surviving amidst the plague, never properly bathing, and my whole body was on the verge of turning sour and foul.

Mirror Moon Lake is beautiful, to be sure, but as a sightseeing spot it can't compare to the naturally occurring hot‑spring water that refreshes the body and loosens the muscles.

Qiran watched my retreating back, gave a helpless smile, and told Bushā, "Again so clueless. I'll stand guard; wouldn't want anyone to bump into you."

Bushā nodded and began to fuss with the food.

As soon as I saw the open‑air hot spring I knew it was top‑grade, mist slowly rising; even though it's early summer, the water is warm but not hot. I hurriedly took off my clothes, still aware that this was outdoors and I had no swimsuit, so, reluctantly, I kept on my undergarments and eased into the water, thinking I could strip off later once I was in the mist.

The hot spring's bottom originally had many stepping stones, and the water wasn't deep. But I hadn't realized that this open‑air spring, untouched for years, had its rocks polished smooth as jade. I took two steps, my foot slipped, and I fell backward hard, about to smash into the shore rocks—I couldn't help but let out a shrill scream.

The expected pain never came; instead, a pair of long, strong arms caught me firmly and lowered me into an embrace that exhaled a faint valley‑like fragrance.

"Qi… Qiran?" I stammered, heart pounding, yet for some reason my chest felt warm and moist: no matter the circumstance, he would always shield me from harm. This is Qiran!

But after that scramble, both his and my clothes were soaked halfway, our faces speckled with water droplets—I couldn't help finding it funny.

Suddenly my waist and arms were struck by a wave of scorching heat.

I used to think Qiran's hand was the same temperature as Bushā's—constant all year round. Bushā's is icy, his is cool. So whenever he took my hand, though my face flushed, my heart felt endless warmth and ease.

But now I could feel heat emanating from his hand, as if it wanted to melt me.

My heart leapt in alarm; I hurriedly rose, placed my palm on his forehead, and asked anxiously, "Qiran, are you all right? Is your blood‑worm acting up?"

Water clung to my lashes, blurring his expression; for a moment I forgot to withdraw my hand, merely blinking hard to dispel the mist.

Suddenly I felt a faint damp warmth on my eyelids; when my vision cleared and I looked at Qiran before me, I was somewhat dazed.

His face remained peerlessly beautiful, still translucently white, yet a faint flush tinged it. His blue eyes flickered between bright and dark, as if an unknown fire burned within them.

"Qiran—don't scare me!" Thinking of his blue eyes, which originally arose from the blood‑worm, I grew both anxious and fearful, "I'll go call Bushā… uh…"

My panicked words died completely, sealed away by the meeting of our lips and tongues; all that remained was a pair of eyes staring in disbelief at his face, only half an inch from mine.

Is… is this just my hallucination? Qiran is actually… kissing… me?

Qiran pulled back half an inch, his forehead touching mine; in a daze I seemed to see a flash of crimson flicker in his blue eyes.

His voice was no longer the usual clear, elegant warmth; it was hoarse and faintly carried a self-made quality: "Close your eyes!" he commanded.

This was the first time Qiran had ever spoken to me in this tone.

My head was dizzy, my whole body felt warm as if a warm current kept rushing and surging. My brain was in a state of acute oxygen deprivation, leaving me dazed and unable to react to anything around me, yet my body had already obediently complied ahead of time.

At the moment my vision went black, I felt Qiran's scorching lips cover mine again in an instant. If the previous kiss had been like a dragonfly skimming water, this one felt like it was overturning rivers and seas, engulfing me.

Qiran's left hand gripped the back of my head, leaving me no room to retreat, while his right hand tightly encircled my waist, pulling me close to his scorching body. His kiss was blazing yet still gentle; his tongue softly but firmly pried open my lips and teeth, entwining with mine.

I didn't know how long the kiss lasted, until my lips became scorching and soft, until I was helplessly immersed in Qiran's endless tenderness and affection.

At that moment, it felt as if my mind and heart were no longer my own; only my lips, tongue, and the heat spreading through my body sustained me.

At some point, Qiran's hand that had gripped the back of my head gradually loosened, his long-fingered fingers slipping gently through my hair. His lips remained pressed against mine, sucking and shifting. The hand around my waist seemed to want to fuse me into his body amid the misty vapor, holding me so tight I could barely breathe, tight enough that I could feel his… bodily changes.

But Qiran, why hold me so tight that I could sense a hint of despair?

As the heat in my body kept rising, Qiran's breathing grew increasingly ragged, his kiss deeper and more frenzied. The hand that had been threading through my hair at some point began to slide down.

The scorching heat at the collar of my inner garment snapped my hazy awareness awake, as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over me from head to toe, or as if someone had slapped me hard twice.

I shoved Qiran away sharply, my foot slipped, and I fell backward again. I truly regretted not checking the imperial calendar today—maybe soaking in hot springs isn't advisable.

Qiran steadied me, his face having returned to calm, gentle as before, yet the desire burning like fire in his blue eyes could not be concealed.

(End of chapter)