Mingyue’s eyes widened in shock. Was he out of his mind? Had he completely lost it? Could the blow have been so great that he’d gone mad—mad enough that he couldn’t even speak properly anymore? A repudiation letter? He dared to give Miss a repudiation letter?
“You’ve just reminded me of something,” Xiao Qingxue’s voice was calm. “I truly shouldn’t have asked you for a divorce letter.”
Pei Ziyan stared at her in silence.
Xiao Qingxue gave a faint smile. “I should have simply left behind a repudiation letter, then taken Mingyue and fled far away. Why waste words with you here?”
Pei Ziyan’s face froze over like ice; he rose and swept his sleeves as he left.
Mingyue lifted her hand, ready to hurl the rice bowl from the table—if only it could smash a hole in that pig-headed crown prince’s skull.
Xiao Qingxue pressed her hand down.
“Miss, your three years of devotion were fed to the dogs!” Mingyue fumed. “How could you… how could you waste three years on someone like him?”
Xiao Qingxue was silent for a moment. “Mingyue, do you remember the dream I once told you about?”
Mingyue nodded. “Miss said she came to Yong because of a dream.”
“The man in my dream was Pei Ziyan.” Xiao Qingxue rose, walked to the rear window, and stood gazing at the lush scenery outside. A trace of wistfulness flickered in her eyes. “If it had happened only once, I’d have dismissed it as coincidence. Strange things appear in dreams all the time—everyone has had bizarre dreams. But for half a year, every single night, I dreamed the same dream.”
Mingyue was astonished, then guessed: “The person who appeared was always Prince Jin?”
“Yes.” Xiao Qingxue nodded. “I didn’t know who he was, but every night he appeared before me—gravely ill, on the brink of death—always looking at me with pleading eyes.”
She could never forget those lifeless eyes, nor the expression of despair that clung to him at the edge of death. Indeed, in her dreams, Pei Ziyan had died dozens of times.
And in dreams, faces are rarely clear.
Yet Pei Ziyan’s face appeared so vividly— from the spirited youth in fine clothes astride his horse, to the silence and withdrawal after the poisoning, to the shattered despair before death— all of it had played out in her dreams.
Xiao Qingxue had once wondered if she and this man were entangled across lifetimes. She wanted to uncover the truth. She didn’t wish to be haunted night after night by a dream without reason. So, relying on her memory of those visions, she sketched his likeness—again and again, because each time she woke, the features blurred a little. It took her a month to complete the portrait. Once she was certain it matched the dream, she sent people to investigate. That search lasted another month.
When the results came back, Xiao Qingxue journeyed to Great Yong. At first, her only thought was to meet this man, cure his illness, and let him live well—so that he would no longer intrude upon her dreams. She was busy, with countless matters to handle each day. Sleepless nights left her drained, her daytime energy faltering, her work delayed. She didn’t want to die young from exhaustion. But the world rarely unfolds as one expects.
A year of treatment stirred feelings in Pei Ziyan.
Xiao Qingxue did not scorn love as something beneath her. Perhaps because of the dreams, she subconsciously believed there was an invisible thread binding them. So she did not resist. Yet she never truly took the relationship to heart. Most of the time, she simply let things run their course. That had always been her nature—calm as still water, unwilling to spend effort on what did not matter. She believed in letting things be. Her true decision to remain in Yong came only when Pei Ziyan entered the palace and knelt to beg for the imperial marriage decree. At that moment, Prince Jin was pure as a radiant sun—his body frail, but his eyes bright, his heart open, free of calculation. Looking back now, it might simply be that at that time, he lacked the means to scheme.
Xiao Qingxue did not regret coming to Yong, nor did she regret falling for the Pei Ziyan of two years ago, nor marrying him—for all of those experiences had brought her joy. There had been no coercion, no force, no pain, no hesitation. But once love soured, she would withdraw cleanly, without lingering. They were husband and wife by formal decree, witnessed by the nobles of Yong’s royal clan. So she wanted a divorce letter signed willingly by him, to mark the end of their brief marriage.
As for leaving behind a repudiation letter… that too required the seal of the authorities. Yet for a royal marriage such as theirs, no ordinary magistrate could decide; only the emperor and empress could approve.
If even a divorce letter was so difficult, how could a repudiation letter be possible?
Pulling herself from her reverie, Xiao Qingxue stood at the window, determined to sever ties with Pei Ziyan completely. Her three years in Yong would simply count as experience—an education in human nature, a tempering of her heart.
The sun sank little by little.
Xiao Qingxue turned to bathe and change, her mood scarcely touched. Meanwhile, Pei Ziyan, after sweeping out in anger, returned to the front hall and smashed nearly everything within reach.
The room lay in ruins.
When his fury ebbed, he collapsed onto the couch, consumed by regret—regret for the reckless words he had just spoken. He had come to reconcile, to talk things through. Why had it ended in discord again?
Clutching his forehead, his mind replayed the two years of closeness, the sweetness they had shared, the gentle warmth in Xiao Qingxue’s eyes. He was tormented and helpless, resentful that she could not understand him, resentful of himself for failing to resolve the impasse. What could he possibly do to soothe her anger, to stop her from ever mentioning divorce again?
Pei Ziyan sank into a tangle of resentment, guilt, and anguish, sleepless through the night.
By dawn, the guards outside Shuangxue Courtyard had doubled. For Mingyue, stepping out was as hard as ascending to heaven. Layer upon layer of sentries stood like iron walls; when she approached the gate, sharp eyes fixed on her, wary yet evasive.
Wary, because they obeyed the crown prince’s order: the princess consort and her maid were not to leave. Evasive, because they felt ashamed before her, uneasy in their hearts.
Mingyue understood, and did not trouble the guards who were only following orders. She simply gained a deeper contempt for Pei Ziyan, that beast.
Xiao Qingxue, however, felt little at all. She had never been fond of going out. Staying in the courtyard, eating well, resting well, reading in her leisure—what did it matter how many men surrounded the gates?