A slender waist and narrow shoulders, a swan-like neck, and raven hair reaching down to her waist. Simply by standing there, she looked infinitely moving.
Song Xizhi walked back to Biluo Courtyard. As soon as he stepped through the door, he saw a graceful silhouette reflected against the curtain.
It was the person he least wanted to see right now—Song Xialan.
Perhaps hearing the sound of his entry, she turned around and lifted the curtain to look at him. Their eyes met. A thousand emotions needed no explanation; they were already clear.
“Sister, why have you been avoiding me lately?” Resentment pooled in the depths of Song Xialan’s eyes.
Song Xizhi felt helpless. He picked up the teapot, poured a cup, and handed it to her, denying it: “I haven’t been avoiding you. I’ve just been busy lately.”
“I recently… heard…” Song Xialan took the tea, her eyelashes fluttering uneasily. “Forget it… I won’t say it…”
Song Xizhi’s hand paused as he drank, but he quickly masked it, looking directly at her. “If there is doubt in your heart, then ask.”
“I heard that you proposed to Father to arrange a marriage between me and the Crown Prince.”
“Yes.”
“I wish you would deny it.” Song Xialan looked up, a sliver of hope flashing in her eyes.
Song Xizhi looked away. “Everyone will be satisfied with such a choice.”
Song Xialan cried out, “But what about me? Did you ever ask for my opinion!”
“What is the point of saying this now?” Song Xizhi’s expression turned cold. “This matter is over, is it not? The one marrying the Crown Prince now is me.”
“You don’t understand my heart at all. From beginning to end, I’ve been performing a monologue!” Song Xialan’s eyes reddened. She bit her lip and said, “I am always the one guessing your thoughts, caring for you, and protecting you—but when have you ever cared about what I was thinking?”
She hesitated, and after a long silence, forced out each word with difficulty: “I don’t want to marry the Prince. I only want to stay by… your side, and Father’s side, forever… do you understand?”
Song Xizhi looked dazed and remained silent. Only the icy night dew remained on his fingertips—damp and dark.
At some point, two cool trails of “snow” had slid down Song Xialan’s cheeks. She reached out to wipe them, only to find them soaking wet. She realized with a shock that they were tears.
“Forever…?”
A flicker of pity crossed Song Xizhi’s eyes, but in the end, he spoke the words anyway.
“Nothing is eternal. Even the sturdiest boulder will decay, let alone us—we are but the most ordinary of people. Fragile as such.”
“No! As long as your heart doesn’t change, we can be together forever.” A dark glint flashed in Song Xialan’s eyes as she grabbed his hand. “It’s you. You’re the one who wants to get rid of me… isn’t it…”
Her grip was strong, her nails sinking into his flesh.
Song Xizhi pried her hand away and sighed. “You have always hated me and envied me, haven’t you… our bond as sisters has reached its end. You… should go.”
It was time for Song Xialan to let go of those childish ideas and release the hem of his robe she had been clutching so tightly. She needed to open her eyes and see the world anew. Even as sisters, they couldn’t stay together for a lifetime. He had his path, and she had hers. They walked together for a while, comforting each other, but when the fork in the road appeared, they had to wave goodbye.
From now on, each would walk their own journey to their own destination.
The night was deep and quiet.
“So that’s how you’ve always thought?” Song Xialan felt that the person before her was terrifyingly strange. Over ten years of companionship, only to be traded for the word “hate” and the phrase “bond has reached its end.”
What was she to him? An insignificant follower? A pretty little doll? Tossed away once he grew tired of her.
Cold—an endless cold, as if a hole had been punctured in her chest, allowing the fierce wind to whistle through. Her faith collapsed in an instant. Amidst the chaos, something new was rapidly growing and surging.
Once the old system crumbled, long-suppressed desires erupted. It was a primal human instinct. A desire for power. A desire for freedom. A twisted strength buried deep in the blood. Even if she didn’t want to admit it, as their codependent relationship came to a close, the immense pain was mixed with a secret sense of pleasure.
She was bidding farewell to a girlhood of attachment, bondage, and self-restraint. From now on, her joys and sorrows would no longer depend on him alone. That pathetic state of mourning when he mourned and rejoicing when he rejoiced was over.
She realized with a start that she shared a striking similarity with Song Ci, whom she had always loathed. Song Ci only cared about himself; she, too, had longed for self-expansion. It was only because the sisterly bond was too heavy that it had crushed her desire, forcing her to suppress herself to please him, fearing his displeasure.
Now that the beautiful surface of this sisterly affection had been pierced by Song Xizhi’s own hand—revealing the hideous, deformed truth of their unequal relationship—the scales tipped violently. It crashed down, leaving her bloodied but completely awake from the dream.
Song Xialan wiped her face. Her eyes were red and tear-stained, but her gaze was firmer than ever before. “You are right. I should go.”
“I already knew the answer, yet I came anyway. Refusing to admit it… how childish.”
“Tears are a symbol of the weak. This is my first and last time being weak.” From today on, the little girl who ran around shouting “Sister” was dead. From now on, there was only Song Xialan—a new, grown-up Song Xialan who had learned how to say goodbye.
“As you wish. Song Xizhi.”
The cold moon was silent, hanging high in the night sky, quietly enveloping the world. It fell on Song Xizhi’s pale, powerless cheeks; it fell on his dark eyes; it fell on his ghostly red robes.
Leaning by the window, watching the girl walk further and further away, Song Xizhi’s expression was blurred and hard to discern in the moonlight.
“So… it is as I wished.”
Night shrouded the earth, the sky was vast, and the Milky Way was immense. The buds of spring were just sprouting their first green, but “Song Xizhi’s” life had already reached its end. He had no better choice than to push her away.
Let her hate him. Let her loathe his fickleness and coldness to her heart’s content. He was just that kind of person. Despicable, selfish, and capricious. He was no god, yet he had the arrogance to arrange her fate.
She had always been a smart child. She had vaguely sensed his hand behind everything, yet she stubbornly covered her eyes, unwilling to face the cruel truth.
Song Xizhi sighed. If pure hatred made her feel better than the agony of tangled love and hate, he would choose to tear away the skin of their peaceful years and destroy her inner hopes. This was the only tenderness he could give her—a cruel, hideous, blood-stained tenderness.
“Creeeeeak—” A harsh, low friction sound suddenly came from the door, enough to set one’s teeth on edge.
The door opened. But there were no footsteps. It was as if a gust of wind had accidentally blown it open.
But Song Xizhi knew it wasn’t the wind.
Leaning against the window, his long red robes fluttering and his black hair veiling half his face, he curled his crimson lips upward. He remained in that position, quietly waiting for the person who entered to come see him.
First to appear in his sight was a pair of red embroidered shoes, their tips adorned with translucent pearls, hidden beneath a bright red skirt like trembling flower buds. Looking up, there was a gold-traced withered plum pattern on the skirt, then a belt embroidered with dark gold motifs.
Finally, a stunningly beautiful face entered his vision. Crimson lips, long lashes, pale skin. A pair of “peach blossom” eyes seemed to smile yet didn’t; behind the misty surface was a bone-chilling coldness.
She smiled slowly, like a field of poppies—more enchanting than flowers, colder than ice.
Song Xizhi reached out. His slender, porcelain-white fingers moved slowly, brushing over her lips, finally resting at the corner of her upturned mouth.
“The angle is wrong. The curve should be a bit smaller. Like this.” Song Xizhi’s expression shifted slightly as his lips curved into a cold, elegant arc. His peach blossom eyes held a fake smile, both glamorous and frigid.
If an outsider had been present, they would have been shocked to find that the expressions of the two were strikingly identical! It wasn’t just a resemblance; it was as if a mirror stood between them. The person in the mirror watched the person outside, painstakingly studying every move—deconstructing and imitating until they became a “copy-paste” image.
The woman’s mouth adjusted slightly, overlapping perfectly with the curve of Song Xizhi’s. And so—the person in the mirror and the person outside became indistinguishable. Shadows overlapped at high noon, becoming one.
They stood face-to-face, two pairs of peach blossom eyes staring at their own reflections in the other’s pupils. It was like a distortion of space, a split image that made one’s skin crawl.
A cold wind whistled between them.
Song Xizhi couldn’t help but cough. The woman watched him for a moment, then turned to close the window. When she turned back, her expression had completely changed. Her lips were pressed tight, her jaw tense, and the smile in her eyes vanished, leaving only a wooden coldness.
She looked like an actor who had stripped away their heavy makeup and the intense emotions of the script, revealing their own plain, wooden face.
Song Xizhi watched the transformation, marveling at her skill. “You can now transition between expressions seamlessly. Ling-er… you are truly impressive.”
It was no exaggeration to say that in terms of pure mimicry, her skills were even superior to Leng Huaping’s.
Hearing his praise, she showed no excitement. Her voice was cold as always: “Master overpraises me. I do not deserve it.”
“Where is Luo Qingfeng now?”
“He was pursued all the way and sustained some injuries. He just arrived in the capital.”
Song Xizhi’s eyes remained indifferent. “Since the actor is in place, it is time for certain things to begin.”
As soon as he finished speaking, Ling-er’s figure turned into a red flash and vanished into the night.