Chapter Fifty-Eight: At Last, They Meet

The mist hung thick in the air, growing heavier with each passing moment. A gentle breeze swept by, carrying with it a biting chill that pricked the skin. In the midst of the swirling fog, a small red fox darted about, its fur a flickering flame in the gloom. The fire danced left and right, as if to guide the way, or perhaps to mislead any followers.

Behind the fox walked a girl clad in a dress of watery blue. Her figure flickered in and out of sight, half-shrouded by the mist, her long black hair unbound and without ornamentation. Against the pallor of the fog, her hair stood out starkly, yet at times seemed to melt into the haze itself.

She followed the little fox, a strange feeling stirring within her. Today, the fox was particularly lively, bounding into the fog as if to show her the way. She turned her head, quietly listening to her surroundings, her calm features betraying no anxiety. To watch her was to think she was merely strolling through a garden, not plotting an escape.

Hidden guards lurked in the mist around them, their presence far from subtle. They did not appear eager to act, instead watching and waiting, observing. Gradually, she picked up her pace to match the fox, her skirt fluttering around her feet like a lotus bloom scattering petals upon a lake.

She ran, a faint hope welling in her heart—perhaps someone waited for her at the end of this path. Perhaps the fox’s odd behavior meant her mother was involved, or perhaps someone else dear to her. The lurking guards sensed something amiss as well and pursued her relentlessly, but the mist thickened abruptly, blocking their way. In a blink, Blood Snow’s figure vanished into the fog, the red fox disappearing with her.

“How strange. The mist lingers and now grows even denser. There must be something afoot,” Gongshen Linger remarked from her perch atop the pavilion, her gaze fixed on the obscured courtyard below.

It was as if a dense white veil had fallen over her eyes; nothing could be seen clearly. The effect only made the figure on the pavilion stand out all the more—dressed in a layered robe of purple, embroidered with butterflies that seemed to flutter and dance when the breeze caught the gauzy fabric.

Her hair was swept up in a lofty cloud bun, adorned with purple jade pins and flowers—regal, mysterious. Unfortunately, a black veil covered the lower half of her face, leaving her features indistinct, save for a pair of cool, clear eyes.

“They’re the Sovereign’s shadow guards,” Qing Shu said, puzzled, watching the mysterious guards hurry past.

“I wonder what urgent matter has occurred. It feels ominous,” Fei Yi murmured, shrinking back from the oppressive aura of the guards. These men were the Sovereign’s confidants, bearing his very shadow. She always felt nervous in their presence.

“It must be that blind girl stirring up trouble again. I’ll go see,” Gongshen Linger frowned, then strolled unhurriedly toward Zuo Qiu Liyue’s chambers.

Fei Yi and Qing Shu remained where they were, neither following nor stopping her. Their mistress could speak before the Sovereign, but they dared not approach lightly, lest they provoke his ire.

Inside, the gauzy bed curtains were drawn aside, the window before the writing desk thrown open, letting the outside scene flood in.

He sat by the window, the wind chilling his face to an ashen pallor, his wide sleeves rustling softly, revealing a pale, strong wrist. His bright eyes gazed without emotion at the thickening mist.

“Sire, what has happened? Everyone’s gone silent,” Gongshen Linger sauntered in, her voice at ease in the calm of the room.

“Subordinate greets the young master,” Yun Wu saluted her with respect.

“No need for formality, Lord Yun. Has your master encountered some vexation? Tell me about it.” She stepped to Zuo Qiu Liyue’s side, finding him as composed as ever, betraying no sign of unease.

“It’s been some time since you practiced ‘Serpent Leaves the Cave,’ has it not? Today might be a good day to hone your skills,” Zuo Qiu Liyue remarked leisurely, a strange smile playing on his lips—seductive as poison.

Gongshen Linger paused in surprise. “I’m afraid I’ll need a moment to prepare. When the serpent strikes, blood is sure to flow.” Her tone was solemn.

“Then make your preparations.” With that, Zuo Qiu Liyue rose, his tall, slender frame and alluring features combining not for feminine beauty, but a peculiar, chilling and bewitching charm.

“But, Sire, what could have provoked you to such… wrath?” She knew well that when he was angry, blood would be spilled.

“I await your ‘Serpent Leaves the Cave.’ Don’t waste time,” he replied softly, his tone leaving no room for further questioning.

“I see—your little Xue has run off, hasn’t she?” Gongshen Linger nodded knowingly and left, her purple skirts trailing coldly behind her.

“No prey escapes my grasp,” Zuo Qiu Liyue murmured to himself. Yet Blood Snow’s identity intrigued him more than ever. He was determined to uncover the truth. Her background could not be simple—why else would the mist suddenly grow so thick? Such a feat must be met with equal cunning.

Lost in the depths of the fog, she ran, only to lose her way at last. The little fox stopped as well, no longer moving forward. It sat by her feet, licking its paws with relish, as if savoring some delicacy.

Who had orchestrated all this?

Now she understood: this was no ordinary mist, but a special smoke—colorless, odorless, indistinguishable from the real thing. She stood still. The answer was plain to see, not a riddle to puzzle out. Yet she could hardly believe it—was it truly him? Had he come for her?

Soft footsteps, unhidden, drew closer and closer.

“Eat,” a voice said.

Someone squatted before her, the hem of his cerulean robe brushing the ground. He set a plate before the little fox, upon which lay a fragrant roast chicken. The aroma ensnared the fox at once.

The little fox whimpered in delight at the newcomer, snatched up the chicken, and scampered off, perhaps to avoid competition or simply to give the two humans privacy.

“Is it Your Majesty?” She didn’t know how the words escaped her lips, only that she had spoken, her voice trembling ever so slightly. Realizing her loss of composure, her lashes fluttered, her eyes flickering.

The man squatted silently before her, looking up. In the mist, his face was striking—exquisite features shining like a beacon, unmistakably handsome yet ethereal.

“Ji Wuqing, it is you. Why do you not answer?” For some reason, she felt a surge of anger.

“Since you know it is I, why ask?” He rose, his cerulean robe patterned with shifting designs, as if the very mist had woven itself into his attire. “Or perhaps you do not wish to see me. Too bad—I have searched for you so long. Willing or not, this time I will take you back…”

He had not finished when she reached out and embraced him.

She wrapped her arms around his waist, tightening her hold, burying her face in his chest.

It truly was him—not a figment of her imagination.

Ji Wuqing was momentarily taken aback before a satisfied smile curved his lips. “Well, after all this time, you seem much more forthcoming.” He placed a large hand gently on her back, stroking her with unfeigned tenderness.

“I was just… surprised.”

She was unbothered by his teasing, finding comfort in holding him, in the warmth of his embrace. It reminded her of their parting—she had clung to him then, but the circumstances were different.

Back then, he had fallen into her trap and lost consciousness; now, both were awake and aware.

“Hush. No need to explain—I understand. Let’s have breakfast first,” he said, rising after a while. He took her small hand naturally in his, his tone light and carefree, as though they were on holiday, not in peril.

Breakfast? They were still in the inn, danger all around…

“What are you worried about? At worst, we’ll be caught together,” he replied with a careless shrug, more like a man courting death than a rescuer.

“Then why did you come at all?” she asked, exasperated.

Yet the warmth of his hand made her recall the night before, a dreamlike moment that echoed this one. All she could wish was that this time, it was not a dream.

“Why did I come?” Ji Wuqing chuckled. “My wife ran away from home. As a husband, it’s my inescapable duty to bring her back. If my wife refuses to return on her own, then it is my responsibility to fetch her.”

His tone was half in jest, the words “wife” and “husband” spoken deliberately, perhaps to tease her.

“But what fault has the husband? All the blame lies with the wife. If she made a mistake, she should bear it alone—why drag her husband into it? In such dangerous times, how can she involve him? No, by involving him, she puts all of the Ji Kingdom at risk.”