In the third month of spring, amidst the fireworks, I went down to Yangzhou.
This is the most beautiful time of year. Gentle breezes blow through the willows, swallows flit about, and young women shed their heavy winter clothes for their most beautiful dresses. They stroll gracefully along the river, occasionally glancing at their reflections in the water and chatting softly with the women beside them.
In the water towns of Jiangnan, there are waterways every ten steps, with a few small boats floating on the water, drifting with the current, living a carefree life.
Beneath the short bridge, a small boat drifted out gracefully. A tall young man in white stood at the bow, his gaze fixed on the water, his eyes sparkling with a gentler light than the March breeze.
Zha Yadu stared blankly at the slightly swaying shadow on the water's surface.
A year has passed, and he still seems unable to move on from that scene from a year ago. In the dead of night, he always sees her covered in blood, limp in his arms.
He was born into royalty; his father was the emperor's brother. From a young age, he enjoyed everything that came with supreme power, but the number of people who were truly good to him could be counted on one hand.
The king was one who would give him whatever he wanted without hesitation, but there was one exception.
He fell in love with a woman who was flamboyant, unrestrained, and cheerful. Her face always carried a vibrant color that he, a person raised with strict discipline, lacked. Without realizing it, he had fallen for her, longing for her life and for her.
But that was a person with his own thoughts. Even one's own father cannot change a person's true thoughts. His father, in order to make him happy, did not hesitate to use the power of the Seventh Prince's Mansion to force him into marriage.
He didn't want to pressure her, but followed her all the way to the Central Plains, hoping to get closer to her and see her more often.
He happily told her that he had changed his name to Zhao Qiang, yes, her surname.
He felt that since he liked Minmin, he shouldn't restrict her because of himself. She was still free. Even after discovering that she had an ambiguous relationship with that Ming Cult member, he comforted himself that they were just ordinary friends. Minmin had always made many friends, and he shouldn't mind.
Perhaps, the Central Plains truly was his calamity. He saw through the hearts of two women at the same time; one was already used to it, while the other caused him heartbreak.
There is probably no other woman in the world who loves herself as much as she does.
Zha Yadu looked down at the poorly made sachet hanging from his waist.
The sachet was made of poor-quality fabric, and the mugwort inside had long since dried into powder after a year. A single strand of black hair inside became a torment that he found strangely satisfying.
The battle a year ago became his lifelong nightmare. Two thousand elite soldiers, either following him or hiding in the shadows, fought desperately against the three men, risking their lives in his frenzy.
Fan Yao, who delivered the kick, died instantly, while the woman dressed as a man had her face mask torn off in the chaos, revealing her true identity.
Looking at the woman's terrified expression, Zhao Qiang suddenly felt a surge of pleasure.
Zhao Min, when Hebi Weng knocked me and Xiao Xiang off the cliff, were you panicked?
When Xiao Xiang died under the palm of the Bitter Monk, did you see her pain in that glance when you turned around?
One life of Hebi Weng is far from enough; he wants that woman to taste the pain of the woman in his arms.
But then that person appeared, that annoying kid named Xinran.
A large number of Ming Cult members who had been lying in ambush rushed out and desperately tried to rescue their leader.
Zha Yadu sneered at the unusually familiar person and walked through the crowd to stand in front of him.
He wanted to kill him, the man he was jealous of, the man who showed him what possessiveness was.
He seemed to know more about Xiao Xiang than he did, which made him feel a pang of sadness.
The man walked up to him and, in full view of everyone, took out a stack of white paper and handed it to him, saying, "I think you need this."
Do I need this? What do I need? All I need right now is for the woman in my arms to come to life and call me "brother."
He scoffed and was about to issue the kill order with great disdain when he heard the man say again, "She left it for you."
He was startled and eagerly snatched the papers from the other man's hand, unfolding them one by one. They were incredibly childish portraits; if it weren't for the name written on each one, he would never have guessed who they were.
"She said she was afraid that if you left, she would forget what you looked like after a long time, so she wanted to draw a portrait of you now. Unfortunately, she can't draw and her right hand can't hold a pen."
"She said that her brother has now returned to Dadu, where the people who love him and the people he loves are. He must be living a very happy life."
"She said she wanted to travel all over the country with her brother, to see the misty rain of Jiangnan and the yellow sand of the desert."
“She said she keeps dreaming that her brother is killing people, and she wakes up in fright every time. She is very worried and wants to go to Dadu to see if he is okay and tell him not to commit murder.”
“She said she didn’t want to wait anymore. “Look, I can’t draw my brother’s likeness anymore. I want to see him one more time. I want to go to Dadu.”
He remembered everything that man said that day. He no longer cared whether those words were true or false. At least he knew that after he left, she still had him in her life and in her dreams.
He let go of the woman he had followed for over ten years, coldly watching her and that Ming Cult brat leave in a sorry state.
His beloved woman begged him not to commit murder, but what if he didn't listen and she stopped dreaming about him?
He held the person in his arms tightly, as if trying to meld her into his body.
He buried the person in his arms in a place on the back mountain of Da'an Village that was said to have good feng shui. He erected a tombstone, named Zayadu and the tomb of his beloved wife Wenxiang, and carefully selected the best-looking wildflowers to decorate the tomb.
He left himself a spacious place so that when he could take her all over the world, he could return to this special spot that was rightfully his.
The feng shui master said that if they were buried together here, they would meet again in the next life, which made him very happy.
The world is too vast, so he carried this sachet with him wherever he went, thinking that she would surely see what he saw.
He was busy telling his wife about every inch of land he had traveled, and had no time to pay attention to the people he had met in the past. He only occasionally heard about them when he was resting in a teahouse.
The Prince of Ruyang and his entourage were demoted to commoners. Zhao Min's true identity was exposed, and she was regarded as a traitor by the entire Yuan Dynasty. She could only stay by Zhang Wuji's side.
Yang Xiao obtained the Wumu Manual from who-knows-where, and it shone brightly in the fight against the Yuan army.
Zhang Wuji's prestige in the Ming Cult was once again undermined by Yang Xiao, and he dared not abandon Zhao Min at this time, lest he be branded as a heartless man who started something and then abandoned it. The two still appeared to be in love, but the woman who practiced the Thousand Spider Poison Hand and the current leader of Emei were often staying at the Ming Cult, for reasons unknown.
He just smiled, paid, and left. These things were no longer relevant to him; he had more important things to do now.
Fifty years later, on the back hill of Da'an Village, an old man with white hair, who was fishing by the river, peacefully closed his eyes. The adopted son he had found by the roadside buried him in the grave on the back hill, according to his wishes.
In my life, I have had regrets and moments of madness. I have been very happy these past years, but I will never taste that kind of pastry again.
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