Gu Wan asked him, “Do you want a birthday gift?”
Xie Ci was still dazed, silent for a long moment. “I want to cook a meal for you.”
He didn’t really have anything he wanted. What he meant to say was, *make me a meal, let’s eat together as a family—that would be enough.* But as the thought crossed his mind, he realized it wasn’t right to ask Gu Wan to cook for him. So the words on his tongue shifted into *I’ll cook for you instead.* That was the path his heart took.
Gu Wan burst out laughing, doubling over. Seeing Xie Ci’s embarrassed face, as if he wanted to bite his tongue off, she laughed even harder. “Come on, let’s cook!”
After her hearty laugh, Gu Wan stood up and pulled Xie Ci toward the inn’s small kitchen.
The ox‑horn lanterns hanging from the eaves swayed, casting a warm yellow glow across the creaking wooden corridor. The long night was quiet as the two crossed the courtyard and entered the small kitchen in the northwest corner.
Gu Wan had rented an upper room this time, with a courtyard equipped with a kitchen and fresh rice, flour, meat, and vegetables for guests to use. Usually such courtyards were occupied by wealthy guests with servants and guards, but tonight it was empty. The moonlight lay cool across the stone steps, and the courtyard was silent.
Gu Wan pulled Xie Ci inside, lit the lamp, and when he rolled up his sleeves to help, she stopped him with a smile. “Birthday boy doesn’t need to work. You rest today.”
Xie Ci was seated on a small stool, watching as Gu Wan hefted the kitchen knife, scrubbed pots, washed vegetables, kneaded dough, and sliced meat. Her cooking skills were actually quite good. In her past life, after graduation, she had lived alone, developed stomach problems, and gradually honed her craft.
Under the dim yellow glow of the oil lamp, the knife tapped lightly and quickly against the cutting board—tok tok tok tok. A sizzling sound rose from the pan, filling the room with the rich aroma of braised meat.
Gu Wan stewed a small pot of tender, fragrant meat, cut noodles into fine strips, cracked two eggs over them, and sprinkled scallions on top.
Before long, she prepared three dishes and a soup, then set a steaming bowl of longevity noodles on the small table. The kitchen also had wine; Gu Wan tasted it—it was sorghum wine, a simple brew—so she poured out a gourd of it too.
In the tiny room, under the single yellow lamp, the two sat together at the warm little table. Xie Ci had thought he wouldn’t enjoy the heavy, oily braised meat, but when he picked up a slice and tasted it, the slightly spicy, smoky flavor burst across his tongue. His palate, dulled by years of hardship, suddenly came alive. His appetite surged, and he felt a powerful urge to eat. It was as if, all at once, he had returned from the cold of hatred and the rush of hardship back into the bustling world of ordinary life.
Xie Ci lowered his head, lifting noodles to his mouth. The hardness in his brows and eyes softened under the dim yellow lamplight, and the warmth on his face seemed to belong to that same pure youth who had once handed her a bun beneath the storm‑soaked corridor.
Gu Wan finished her small bowl of noodles, set down her chopsticks, and smiled at him as he ate so earnestly. After a moment, she asked, “Little Fourth, do you have any wishes? I heard that if you make a wish today, it will come true!”
“Really?” Xie Ci looked at the lamplight for a long while, then set down his chopsticks, closed his eyes, and prayed with solemn sincerity: *I ask for nothing else. Only that my family is safe, that injustice be cleared, and that my father and brothers, my kin beneath the Nine Springs, may rest in peace.*
He prayed three times in earnest. Gu Wan poured three bowls of wine; they spilled one onto the ground, then raised the other two, clinked them together, and drank them down in one go.
The sorghum wine was strong. After draining a bowl, heat spread across their faces and ears. Xie Ci swept the dishes clean from the table, and the two rose to return to their room. As they walked along the half‑open wooden corridor toward the stairs, the cold wind blew against their cheeks, both chilled and flushed.
Xie Ci said with guilt, “I never celebrated your birthday.”
Gu Wan thought to herself, *I forgot too—after all, it isn’t my birthday.* She said aloud, “How would you celebrate it at the Governor’s mansion?”
He fell silent, then asked her, “And you, Wan‑niang? What do you want?”
“What do I want?”
The night sky was bright with stars, glittering in the cold wind. Gu Wan tilted her head, thought for a moment, and said, “Clear skies, peace under heaven.”
Then she burst out laughing. It was her police academy instincts kicking in, a reflex. She herself found it funny after saying it. “Doesn’t that sound pretentious? Empty words, all lofty ideals?”
Red and loyal—oh no, she’d been completely brainwashed.
The wind lifted her loose hair as Gu Wan laughed, her laughter carried away by the cold gusts.
Xie Ci froze for a moment, then shook his head firmly. “No, no, that’s not it!”
Suddenly he thought of his father. Looking back now, every memory of his father was good. As a child, he had both respected and feared him, often defiant, yet deep down always filled with immense admiration. Tonight he suddenly understood—within Xie Xinzhong’s very bones and soul was that shining, radiant quality.
“All right, let’s go, time to sleep!” Gu Wan finished laughing and pushed Xie Ci toward the wooden stairs. But truth be told, *everyone being well—that’s what really matters.*
A land broken, people suffering—that was far too tragic. She only wished to live as an ordinary person in peaceful times. Otherwise, if everyone else were plunged into misery, then even if she herself lived well, eating and drinking fine things, it would be hard to swallow. She patted Xie Ci’s shoulder. “So you’ve got to work hard, brother!”
The two went one after the other, asking the innkeeper to open another room. Climbing to the third floor, at the doorway she said: “All right, sleep early. We’ll take turns keeping watch. I’ll call you in the second half of the night.”
Gu Wan tucked the second letter from Madam Xun and Second Sister‑in‑law into his chest, then pushed him into the room to rest.
The moonlight was bright, draping like gauze over the eaves and rooftops, spilling through the half‑open window onto the floor before the bed.
Xie Ci lay down, opened the envelope, and carefully read the letter. The delicate, flowing script was gentle and graceful, saying that Little Fourth’s birthday was near, and asking Gu Wan to comfort him more. Several sheets of paper lay spread across the pillow in the hazy moonlight. Gu Wan had just said: “Vengeance must be taken, but don’t let the past bind you.”
Xie Ci drew a deep breath, folded the letter, and pressed it against his chest. He recalled her words from the other day: “Hey, Little Fourth, it’s up to you now. You must build a place for our family to stand and live.”
On his seventeenth birthday, beneath the silver moonlit night, Xie Ci suddenly understood the meaning of the phrase: *life still holds many things.* His heart carried a new weight, yet at the same time something seemed to loosen. The complexity of it was hard to put into words. But overall, he felt lighter than before.
Xie Ci carefully wrapped the letters in oiled paper and tucked them into a small leather pouch. Lying back down, he gazed at the crescent moon, its light like silver gauze, and thought again of Gu Wan. He tossed and turned, unable to sleep. At last he pulled out the silver chain at his neck. This time he didn’t look at the note, but at the delicate silver clasp. Lately he felt strange. Whenever he was with Gu Wan, his emotions surged unexpectedly. It was as if he had developed some odd affliction—his heart would suddenly race or skip a beat. He found it awkward, yet at the same time there was a quiet happiness, seeping out from some hidden crack. He toyed with the clasp, snapping it open and shut for a long while, until at some point he drifted into sleep.
In his dream he saw his mother, sisters‑in‑law, younger brothers, nieces and nephews, and even his deceased father and elder brothers. And Gu Wan. She was smiling; they were all smiling, gathered around him, celebrating his seventeenth birthday.
Having drunk a large bowl of sorghum wine, Xie Ci, for once, enjoyed a night of good dreams.
As for Gu Wan, she was at that moment leaning against the window frame, sitting on the sill. Beside her sat the gourd of wine she had carried up from below. She lifted her eyes—the moonlight spread quietly over rooftops and treetops, across streets and alleys, down to the tiles at her feet, a cool, pure silver glow. She stretched out her hand and caught that silver light. Soft, yet real.
Gu Wan sighed. At first, she couldn’t help feeling a sense of unreality, as though she had loaded a new game. But now, she finally realized with absolute clarity: everything was real. She had made her home in this dynasty.
Before, she hadn’t dared think too deeply about it, because in the modern world she had been truly happy. But at this moment she thought seriously: she must strive to let go of the past, to live earnestly and fully, just as before. Now she had a new family too. And she could continue a meaningful, if not ordinary, life. That was good, wasn’t it?
Gu Wan shook her head vigorously, then poured two bowls of wine from the gourd. One she drank herself, gazing at the moonlight like gauze. The other she spilled onto the tiles outside the window. That bowl—she offered to the poor soul who had been struck down by misfortune. She looked up at the moon.
By early morning, a thin layer of dawn gilded the windowsill, and a few sparrows hopped about, chirping noisily.
Gu Wan’s face showed no trace of the previous night. Bathed in the golden morning light, she seemed like the dawn itself, like sunlight. With the year’s end approaching, the streets and alleys were bustling from early morning. After washing and eating, the two left the inn, crossed the alley, and arrived once more at the gate of the two‑courtyard house. Luo Qian already had two bundles strapped to his back, while on the steps before the main hall, Xun Xiao stood coldly watching Xie Ci.
Once, he had been the carefree young master galloping through the streets. Now, dressed in dark blue fitted martial garb, standing by the yellow walls and lingering snow, his brows and bearing had settled into a calm steadiness. He had grown up—so quickly.
Indeed, Xun Xiao sneered, *who can avoid growing up overnight?*
“If you want to know the details of the treason case, follow me.” Xun Xiao spoke coldly. He strode out of the courtyard, past the yellow walls, toward the inn at the alley’s mouth.
Luo Qian had already brought out two fast horses. Xun Xiao took the black one, mounted swiftly, and spurred it into a gallop.
Xie Ci and Gu Wan followed close behind.
The group crossed the Funiu Mountains, circled around the Longzhou Pass, rode beyond the frontier, and looped back outside Suzhou’s Feishan Gate.
The vast ridges stretched in brown and white, patches of withered yellow grass scattered across them. Beneath the slope that lay in the blind spot of Suzhou’s largest beacon tower, Xun Xiao pointed with his whip: “Do you see? Fifty li north of here lies a small stone town called Supo.”
Beyond the frontier, at the border with Beirong, there was a large mixed settlement. Han people, herders, Qiang, Di, and other mixed tribes lived there. They survived off the mountains—some settled, some migrated seasonally, living by herding and hunting. But when war broke out, they fled.
The frontier was not, as imagined, a barren desert of endless yellow sand. In many places, the grass and water were still abundant. Quite a few caravans dared to venture in and out. And because of that, the area provided convenient cover for many unseen transactions.
At the end of the year before last, Xie Ci’s uncle had written a letter, saying he discovered that a northern garrison had secretly traded salt, tea, sugar, cloth—even ironware and weapons—with the Beirong tribes!
The latter was strictly forbidden by imperial decree—equivalent to treason. Such recklessness was outrageous!
Xie Xinzhong was furious. He personally began an investigation, and eventually uncovered a vast, shadowy smuggling network. He obtained solid evidence, came to Suzhou himself, and led troops beyond the frontier to capture the smugglers.
The later events were mentioned briefly in the official case files.
But who could have foreseen that once Xie Xinzhong personally led troops out of the pass, he would be accused of being the mastermind behind the smuggling line—that the net had been opened by him!
In the end, twelve generals testified against him simultaneously, and the charge of treason was sealed.
Xun Xiao knew the background in detail. But before all of that unfolded, he had already been trapped in a sea of fire, his body burned, his mother suddenly dead.
The northern wind was like a blade, cutting across faces and necks, so sharp that Gu Wan could barely keep her eyes open.
Amid the vast whiteness of snow and desolation, Xun Xiao gave a short, cold laugh. His hoarse voice carried bitter mockery: “See? Right here.”
Snow blanketed the endless grasslands; the setting sun bled red. “Your father was gravely wounded here. Your elder brother died on the spot.”
His laughter was harsh, rasping to the extreme. As he recounted the details piece by piece, Xie Ci stood unmoving. He stood upon the windswept northern plain, gazing out at the withered yellow and bleak white snow, lifeless and barren, just like that day a year and a half ago—the day that had shaken him to the core and changed his life forever.
He stood alone for a long time, until he felt Gu Wan come to his side.
Gu Wan hardly dared to speak, waiting quietly. Only when the campfire was lit and the water boiled did she finally carry over the clay pot. “Xie Ci, are you all right?” she asked cautiously.
Xie Ci took the pot but shook his head. “Don’t worry, I’m fine.” He pulled Gu Wan back a few steps, crouching behind a mound to shelter from the wind. It was bitterly cold. He handed her the hot water first. She drank, then said she didn’t want more. Only then did he tilt his head back and gulp it down, tossing the pot into the snow.
“Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.” Yes—Xie Ci had long known things would turn out this way. Now he simply had more details: the background of the treason and smuggling line.
“I already knew.”
As for his elder brother, he said softly, “It couldn’t be worse than being cut to pieces.” At first he had thought Beirong’s attack meant his brother had died honorably in battle—that would have been a good ending.
Xie Ci took a deep breath, quickly digesting the news. His fingers brushed the silver clasp at his neck, rubbing it for a moment. Then he said, “Wan‑niang, I plan to recall the Xie Family Guard.”
His desire to rebuild his power had grown more urgent.
Xun Rongbi had his own close guard. Of course, the Xie family—generals for generations—had their own household troops. When disaster struck, the Xie Guard had been the first to suffer, scattered and broken. But spread across different places, there must still be members left alive.
Before, beset on all sides, he hadn’t dared to hope. But now that the thought of regaining strength had taken root, recalling the Xie Guard came naturally.
Gu Wan immediately brightened. She knew of the Xie Guard! She even knew they were truly loyal, because in the original trajectory, the surviving remnants of the Xie Guard had searched for Xie Ci for years, refusing to believe he was dead—until his dazzling return. Her voice grew excited: “Good! So how will you call them back?”
Xie Ci could not do it openly. Even now he remained cautious. “If they still care, they’ll surely notice what’s happening in Suzhou. They’ll find their way here.”
Gu Wan thought it over. That was reasonable—after all, they didn’t know where the Xie Guard was now.
After saying this, Xie Ci finally showed a trace of worry. He pulled out the two letters he had opened the night before from the leather pouch.
At the end of the letters, Madam Xun and Xie Mingming wrote that even Second Sister‑in‑law, Eldest Sister‑in‑law, and Third Sister‑in‑law all said they would come to the northwest—because family, even if not together, must watch over one another. There was no reason for one to suffer while others lived in peace.
After the matter with Xun Rongbi was settled, Xie Ci and Gu Wan wrote to Second Sister‑in‑law to explain everything clearly, and most importantly, to warn her to be cautious and vigilant.
But Second Sister‑in‑law quickly replied, saying that Madam Xun already knew about Xun Rongbi’s accusation against the Xie family. By now, even storytellers in the streets were talking about it—such things could not be hidden forever. She didn’t go into detail about the family’s internal discussions, but in the end she told them the decision: the family had resolved to move north together, unwilling to let Xie Ci bear everything alone. First, Madam Xun and Xie Mingming agreed, and finally, Second Sister‑in‑law.
The family had thought it would only be a difficult investigation, but who could have imagined it would be like this? It was impossible to picture the shocking dangers and isolation Xie Ci and Gu Wan had endured.
Xie Ci showed the letter to Gu Wan and entrusted it to her for safekeeping. Madam Xun and Second Sister‑in‑law asked him to provide an address, but Xie Ci refused. “I don’t need them. I can do it alone.”
Snow lay thick, the setting sun fading. Xie Ci turned back, his young, handsome face lit by snow and twilight, filled with a breathtaking resolve. He said: “I will manage it! My father and brothers lived their lives with loyalty and integrity, without a single fault that could truly be condemned. I believe I can do it too! As long as the foundation is sound, all of this is slander, all of it false. Given time, I will clear their names and win back justice!”
Gu Wan was about to speak when behind them came the crunch of footsteps in the snow.
Xun Xiao sneered coldly: “The so‑called righteous path always ends in ruin. Justice alone is not enough.”
Xie Ci’s face darkened. He rose sharply.
The two locked eyes, cold and unyielding.
Xun Xiao’s gaze was devoid of warmth as he scrutinized Xie Ci. “I know you want to restore the Xie family’s power. But can you really do it?”
If Xie Ci truly could rally the old Xie forces, then Xun Xiao would finally see value in acting alongside him.
“I didn’t find out who was behind this smuggling line. That kind of thing can’t be uncovered from the outside. But I’m certain—it’s a vast network, involving more than one person’s interests. Behind it must be one or several high‑ranking military figures.”
“Of the twelve generals, six were your father’s trusted men. Among them, three truly betrayed him. One had his only son kidnapped, one was trapped in a honey‑trap, and the last was caught in corruption with evidence against him.”
“Beyond those six confidants, there were still a few who were truly loyal to your father, refusing to yield even unto death. Two of them held considerable military power. But one is already dead, and the other—alive, but not for long.”
Slander and false charges—dragging the Xie family into the mud—had pulled down even those loyal men.
“The Qin family now stands on the brink. If they cannot be rescued soon, they’ll be finished.”
Xun Xiao fixed his gaze on Xie Ci, raising his brows. “If you want to rebuild your power, you must act quickly. Start here. Otherwise, wait too long, and the tide will be lost.”
His scarred face twisted, brows arched like a ghost, terrifying in the twilight. But Gu Wan was not afraid. Instead, her heart skipped. “The Qin family—*which* Qin family?” Suddenly she remembered—wasn’t Second Sister‑in‑law’s maiden family surnamed Qin?
Xun Xiao gave a cold laugh. “Exactly. The very Qin family you’re thinking of.”