Chapter Fifty-Three: Bygone Days

After Qin Ruyan returned to Twilight Palace, she bathed and changed her clothes before beginning to pack her things. She didn’t own much—just a few garments, enough for her needs. She had entered the palace with so little, and now she would leave the same way. Tonight, she had hoped Ling Zeytian would accompany her, for it could be a long time before they met again, perhaps they might never meet at all. But in the end, Ling Zeytian refused to stay with her, and she had nearly decided to slip out of the palace that very night. Yet after the incident at the lake, she had returned to wash and change, and with all the fuss, midnight had already passed. She could only wait until dawn to depart.

When her belongings were in order, she lay down on the bed, eyes closed, but sleep eluded her. She had been in this Twilight Palace for less than a month. On their wedding night, she and Ling Zeytian had slept side by side for the first time, and she had held him in her arms throughout the night, believing he would henceforth belong to her. Little did she know, his feelings for her were gone. Over the month, she had agonized, made efforts, tried to see him, to win him back.

But she could not get near him. He was always in the main hall or his study, handling affairs. At night, he would return to Chaoyun Palace to dine with Feng Qiuji, or visit Anuo, never giving her a chance to meet him, to express what was in her heart.

She understood that Ling Zeytian was no longer the man he once was, nor did he wish to see her again. She could not remain trapped in the past. Sometimes, she wondered what purpose her life served. She had once entered the palace seeking vengeance for her sister, hoping to confront the Empress Dowager, but after only one meeting, she realized she could not do it—she could not kill the Empress Dowager nor avenge her sister. Since she could do nothing, there was no reason to stay.

She did not know how long she lay there, tossing and turning, before sleep finally claimed her.

A torrential rain washed over the world. Thunder crashed and lightning split the sky, rendering the night terrifying and impenetrably dark.

On the pitch-black mountainside, the howls of wolves echoed from the woods, mingling with the rain—distant, muffled, and mournful.

Hearing the sounds, she instinctively gripped the sleeve of Ling Zeytian, who was clad in black beside her.

Ling Zeytian felt her hand clutch his, sensed her fear, and reached out to hold her hand. A gentle warmth spread to her, filling her with strength. She steadied herself, lifted her gaze, and focused intently on the muddy forest path not far ahead.

They lay in ambush in the grass, surrounded by darkness, relying solely on the occasional flash of lightning to glimpse their surroundings.

The rain was relentless; apart from its ceaseless roar, there was hardly another sound in the woods.

They waited for their target, having lain in ambush for nearly half an hour. After so long in the pouring rain, she was nearly spent, but Ling Zeytian’s presence beside her gave her strength to endure.

Their target this time was a group of warriors from Fusang. According to intelligence, they were masterless ronin, hired to reinforce the already faltering Fusang army.

Indeed, at this time Yan Wuying was leading troops to attack Fusang, and Ling Zeytian had been appointed vanguard by the old Emperor himself, who intended him to succeed the throne. To temper him, the Emperor had sent him to war—a test of his fitness to rule Ling Dynasty.

Besides the two of them, Wei Long and Yu Fan were also present on this reconnaissance mission. Their task was to assess the number and strength of these Fusang warriors, so that the Ling army could devise appropriate strategies and avoid unforeseen dangers.

Ling Zeytian did not consider the mission especially perilous, but it was not without risk. He had not wanted Qin Ruyan to accompany him, but she insisted, and he was powerless to refuse.

So they waited, drenched in the rain, the sparse woods unable to shield them from the downpour. Even Wei Long and Yu Fan were beginning to falter, but without orders from Ling Zeytian, they remained quietly at their posts, alert for any movement.

After an indeterminate span, faint lights finally appeared along the forest path ahead, followed by the steady march of heavy, synchronized footsteps. In the flickering torchlight, the leader—a tall warrior in full armor—came into view, followed by a long column of armed men. Each wore armor and carried swords of two to three feet at their waists. Despite the rain, none carried any protection, and the column was utterly silent save for the sound of boots splashing through the downpour, resembling specters in the rain.

Not daring to make the slightest sound, Ling Zeytian and his companions silently observed the procession and estimated their numbers—somewhere between eight hundred and a thousand.

The warrior class in Fusang was long established—skilled fighters serving their lords in times of war. When a lord died and they were left masterless, they became ronin, wandering warriors. Their training made them formidable adversaries.

The sight of so many warriors caused Ling Zeytian to frown. The war was nearly won; soon, they could return home. But with this new threat, things would become complicated, and casualties among the Ling forces might rise if nothing was done.

Having gathered enough information, Ling Zeytian signaled to Wei Long and Yu Fan to withdraw. Just then, Qin Ruyan suddenly let out a sharp cry. Ling Zeytian immediately reached for her—she had slipped in the slick mud and nearly tumbled down the slope.

Her cry alerted the rear of the column. Instantly, the four of them were surrounded by points of torchlight.

Qin Ruyan clapped a hand over her mouth, casting an anxious glance at Ling Zeytian. Her outcry had doomed them. Facing hundreds of seasoned warriors, even if their foes were unarmed peasants, the four of them would stand little chance.

Ling Zeytian knew what she was thinking and squeezed her hand in reassurance, while his right hand went to his sword, eyes locked on the warriors ready to attack.

At a command, the front ranks of Fusang warriors surged forward in unison. Ling Zeytian and the others drew their swords, prepared to fight to the death and carve a bloody path through their encirclement.

The sound of rain mingled with the clash of steel, muffled by the storm. The downpour made it difficult to see, and the darkness of the woods forced them to rely on both sight and hearing, straining to catch every movement of the enemy.

The Fusang warriors fought with a unique style, and Ling Zeytian and his companions, encountering it for the first time, struggled to adapt. Qin Ruyan, in particular, was less skilled in martial arts. Ling Zeytian had to protect her as well as himself, parrying blows meant for her.

After so long in the rain, she was already weakened; after only a short fight, exhaustion overtook her and she could barely hold her sword. Ling Zeytian noticed her distress and moved to shield her, determined to keep her safe.

She hated to see Ling Zeytian risk himself for her, but his tall figure stood before her and she had no other choice. Now she could only pray for rescue—but who would know to save them? Who would come?

Suddenly, the faint scent of blood reached her through the rain. Though faint, she noticed it. Instinctively, she looked at Ling Zeytian and saw a gash on his leg, blood streaming from the wound.

Panic seized her. She wanted to bandage him, but Ling Zeytian was locked in combat; how could she reach him?

Now wounded, Ling Zeytian’s movements grew sluggish. Against so many warriors, even the most skilled among them could not prevail.

In moments, Ling Zeytian was wounded in several places. When another blow struck his leg, he could hold out no longer and sank to one knee. Seeing this, Qin Ruyan rushed to embrace him from behind, tears streaming down her face, mingling with the rain—she no longer knew which was which.

“Aye... Aye...” she cried, desperate for someone to save them.

Wei Long and Yu Fan, seeing Ling Zeytian wounded, grew distraught and soon lost their composure, unable to fend off the Fusang warriors.

“Aye... Aye...” Ling Zeytian closed his eyes in pain, unresponsive to Qin Ruyan’s cries.

Outside Twilight Palace, a maid heard Qin Ruyan calling out inside. Thinking her mistress needed something, she hurried in, only to find her lying in bed, eyes shut, brow furrowed in agony, murmuring “Aye... Aye...” over and over.

“Consort Qin, Consort Qin...” the maid called, but Qin Ruyan did not wake. Placing a hand on her forehead, the maid felt a burning fever and panicked, rushing to summon others and fetch the imperial physician.

This night was destined to be another restless, troubled night.

—Endnote—

Today the story was officially launched. Thank you to everyone who has been reading and supporting my work. This novel has never been popular, but as my first, it brings me joy. Even with few readers or clicks, sometimes I feel like giving up, but I can’t abandon it. No matter the outcome, I want to finish it, especially since a few have always recognized my writing. I will work even harder in the future.