Rapid, uneven breaths startled the stars and moon above, slipping through the thin, drifting clouds. Soft rays of light filtered through the jagged branches, casting dappled shadows upon the ground until they found the source of the restless murmurs. Huang Beishuang's face was covered in sweat, her lips a pale shade of ashen, and her brows furrowed deeply, as if gripped by a nightmare that held her in its vice. Her teeth clenched slightly, her tormented groans unceasing.

"Ah—!"

Suddenly, a terrified scream tore through the night, and she jerked awake, cold sweat dripping down her cheeks, tracing a line to her neck. How many times had this happened? Every time she closed her eyes to sleep, nightmares would come for her. She exhaled heavily, looking down at the hand that had slipped so brazenly beneath her clothes, pressing tightly against her skin. No matter how she tried to move it away, it remained there, against her chest, feeling her heartbeat as easily as if it were his own, chaining her within the prison of her sleep.

She furrowed her brows, shifting slightly, perhaps in an attempt to reduce the pressure of his hand. Yet as soon as she managed even the smallest escape, she was pulled back. Inches away were Ruo Wen's deep violet eyes. His hand began to caress her slowly, from her chest to her back, gradually pushing away her garments.

His gaze fixed on the sinister scars across her shoulder—unhealed, far from recovering.

"What was it this time?" he asked, his hand trailing heavier, expanding across her body.

Having just emerged from a nightmare only to be subjected to his impertinent advances, Huang Beishuang's gaze darkened, her lips pressing together, determined not to make a sound. But after a long while, she realized that Ruo Wen's hand on her back was generating warmth. Despite the cold night, when the wind and sand couldn't reach her, the frigid air could still pierce her lungs, making her feel as though her very dreams were frozen. But that searing heat on her back slowly began to melt into her, trickling gently into her heart.

Suddenly, a different feeling welled up inside her.

"What did you dream about?" Ruo Wen, seeing her unwilling to answer, clutched her spine, adding pressure as he repeated his question.

Huang Beishuang pressed her lips together before letting out a sigh. "I dreamt of quicksand—real quicksand."

Ruo Wen chuckled softly at her response. He tightened his grip, pulling her closer. "Do you know? Watching you, I can't sleep." After speaking, almost as if to prove his point, he leaned back, gazing at the cold, distant woman. "I've had many women. In terms of physical pleasure, you're no better than Ruolan Feiwen, but..."

But what? He couldn't finish. Holding her in his arms, he felt an inexplicable sense of infatuation, as though a faint fragrance had permeated the air, calming everything around him.

Huang Beishuang, bathed in moonlight, had a beauty that seemed ethereal, delicate, her serenity quietly affecting him. She had begun to grow accustomed to his kisses; her sweetness was now within easy reach. But the joy that stirred his heart remained elusive, impossible to grasp with mere words.

"Ruo Wen, you were once married, weren't you?" Huang Beishuang awkwardly leaned against him, sensing a subtle change in Ruo Wen. She immediately sobered, one hand supporting herself on the ground while the other brushed the disheveled hair from her ear. She looked at him, almost like guiding a child, and asked, "What kind of woman was your wife?"

"I don't remember. She was arranged by Manhu," Ruo Wen answered disinterestedly, seeming to have no attachment to the woman who once bore the title of his wife.

"And Ge Xinwei? She truly loves you. What do you think of her?"

Hearing this, Ruo Wen laughed lightly, pulling her into his lap. His hands tightened around her waist as he mocked, "Women are merely for amusement. What else are they good for?"

Huang Beishuang raised her eyebrows at his words. "You look down on women, yet you can't live without them."

Ruo Wen's expression turned cold. "Desire is natural. Why fight it? Indulgence in pleasure is all I want. Needing women doesn't mean there's one I can't do without. When I'm bored, I replace them."

She stared into his dark, violet eyes—eyes that seemed capable of swallowing everything, where human vulnerability was laid bare. Her gaze shifted slightly as she asked, "Have you ever thought, perhaps one day you'll meet a woman you'll never tire of?"

Ruo Wen looked at her, puzzled. "If I don't tire of her, I'll keep her by my side for the rest of my life. After all, a lifetime is only a few decades. Why overthink it?"

"But what if she doesn't want to stay with you?"

"If she's stronger than me, she's free to leave." Ruo Wen smiled, and without warning, kissed her deeply, his coarse lips and tongue, carrying the salty taste of sand, sought her sweetness again and again. Their breaths grew so deep they seemed to pierce their souls. Under the moonlight, she fainted several times, while he kept smiling ambiguously—an overbearing flirtation mixed with inexpressible desire and passion. His hand, almost by instinct, pressed against her left breast, beneath which was a wildly beating heart.

"Huang Beishuang, you're my prey. If I never tire of you, you'll stay by my side forever. If you wish to leave, you must defeat me first. Only then can you go."

Huang Beishuang shook her head. "Yes, I followed you, let you use me as you pleased. If you tire of me, you'll throw me to others. If you don't tire, I must serve you without dignity and hope to die before you, lest my end be too miserable. But if you die first, whether by assassination or other means, I'll still end up a plaything for others."

Ruo Wen looked at her, silent for a moment. Under the starry sky, his wild laughter nearly roused the slumbering oasis.

Huang Beishuang looked at him, bewildered. He was laughing again.

When he had laughed enough, Ruo Wen spoke coldly, "Huang Beishuang, in the end, you're just trying to say that a woman's happiness depends on her man, and her misery is also his fault. Then why was she even born? Do you still want to deny that women are only meant for pleasure? If I die, someone else will take you—that’s just your fate, Huang Beishuang. Don't think I love you. Love doesn't come at birth, nor does it go at death. Love is a falsehood, merely an excuse for a woman to depend on a man. I don't need it!" He looked into her cold gray eyes, searching for her panic, almost expectantly.

But there was none. She simply gazed back at him, her demeanor so calm and elegant it could bring the world to its knees.

At that moment, dawn began to break, the golden red light spilling from the meeting place of desert and sky, gradually driving away the frigid darkness of the night. Ruo Wen held Huang Beishuang as they sat on the ground, her lips only centimeters away from his. In that small distance, they could see the rising sun, blooming like a flower in the sky.

"Ruo Wen, I doubt you've ever made a vow for any woman in your life."

After a long while, Huang Beishuang smiled—a mocking smile, almost haughty.

Ruo Wen stared at her, his deep violet eyes slowly turning to crimson, as if stained with blood.

"Let's go!"

He abruptly hoisted her up, striding toward the woods. His expression was grim, a hint of urgency and confusion crossing his face. Huang Beishuang knew all too well what was about to happen, but no matter how she kicked and struggled, she couldn't stop Ruo Wen's iron-like steps. The long spear was tightly gripped in his hand, and he muttered almost through gritted teeth, "Let me understand it—what exactly do I want to do to you?"

Countless loves and hatreds in this world are but fleeting moments, Flowers blooming are but dreams of spring; Amid chaotic encounters, yearning for the scent of a beloved; Clasping hands, love's desires bring ultimate sorrow!

Forsaken in the world, a lone soul with a withered heart; The tides of passion stir, yet only between two can it find release...

The rolling yellow sands of the desert must mean a mass of galloping horses. From a distance, it looked like a dragon coiling across the land, charging toward its target.

A white horse galloped, leaving deep hoofprints behind, always the fastest, always leading the others, carrying its master to where he most desired to be. Its breath came heavily, nostrils flaring like jade, eyes moist with vapor. It ran as if an icy blade pressed against its brow, yet it yearned to meet that blade with every stride.

Qingyun gripped his whip tightly, his eyes as dark as Ruo Wen's, yet lonelier. He stared ahead unblinkingly. In the sky, the kingly paradise bird soared with graceful majesty, its cries echoing through the air. The paradise bird had an innate sense of direction, and now, like the galloping steed, it knew how deeply its beautiful master yearned to see the one he loved. Even an animal could feel that unbreakable bond, profoundly, intimately connecting two hearts that could embrace the entire world.

Finally, a small oasis appeared on the horizon of golden sand. Qingyun's heart leaped; he looked up as Hong let out a jubilant cry and flew toward it. It was there—Qingyun's excitement curled into a smile. She was there.

He reined in his horse, and the nearly two thousand cavalry behind him also came to a halt.

"Miaojing!"

Miaojing responded and stepped forward. "Your Majesty!"

Qingyun's fierce gaze locked onto the lone oasis. His gray lips pressed into a thin line as he ordered, "Send the death squad to assassinate Ruo Wen. He is too dangerous. If we all rush in recklessly, it will backfire. Meanwhile, have the archers set an ambush and block the oasis' exit."

Miaojing nodded, turning to a line of fourteen men in white armor and commanding, "Go to your deaths, and bring one with you on the path to the Yellow Springs—Ruo Wen!" With that, he raised his hand to the sky and shouted, "Death squad, move out! Bring me Ruo Wen's head!"

The fourteen men dismounted swiftly, kneeling before Qingyun. Qingyun, still dressed in his black robes, sitting astride his white horse, glanced at them briefly before turning his gaze back to the oasis.

The fourteen men rose without a word, weapons in hand, and dashed towards the oasis like the wind. There would be no return from this journey, but there were such men in this world—those who killed without fear of death, seeking nothing but the promise of their care after they were gone.

The fierce wind swept Qingyun's black dragon robes, yet it could not mar his imposing aura.

Years of deeply rooted disdain for humanity and emptiness had dried his heart like a desolate wasteland. If he wasn't drowning in floods of blood, unable to breathe, he would be left parched, cracking under the burning sun. Intoxicating wine had once been his best fuel, burning away all the shackles and entanglements within him, propelling him forward.

But now, after meeting Huang Beishuang, he began to feel his life becoming whole. He started to fear a return to his past. She was like an unparalleled treasure that effortlessly captivated him. Wherever she was, he wanted to be. No matter where she might lead him, no matter what awaited at the end of the path, he would follow, willingly and joyfully.

To him, that flourishing lotus of an era, that love that etched itself into his very bones, had become an inseparable part of his existence. To ask him to let it go—impossible!

Now, defying Ji Hua's objections, abandoning tens of thousands of troops on the snowy plains, he had come for her without hesitation. Was it not because of the deep regret rooted in his heart? Regret for letting her go, regret that she didn't know—as long as she stayed by his side, she would have nothing to fear, nothing to worry about, and whatever she wished for, he would fulfill.

He remembered a night when she had said, "A stranger, and yet they can make your heart ache unbearably—that means you've started to love." At the time, he had laughed. They had gazed at the same bright moon, but with different sentiments. Holding her, how could he have felt pain? It was sweet—like the Milky Way in his arms. It was happiness.

If one had never possessed something, then even the greatest beauty of the world meant nothing in the passage of time. But once something had been gained, the moment it was lost again, even the world's most splendid wonders could not compare to that fleeting, irreplaceable loss.

Fate on the left, love on the right, and between them lay his heart, vast as the sky. To conquer the world, one could lose and regain it; to find a companion, each fleeting separation was an irreversible loss—a kind of loss that tormented him endlessly, one he could no longer bear.

Love was a universal blade... Possession brought the fear of loss; losing brought the fear of eternity. And eternity, it was far too lonely.

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Ruo Wen carried Huang Beishuang deep into the forest. Dawn had barely broken, and the dense woods remained shrouded in darkness. He carried her until they reached a serene lake. This was, perhaps, Ruo Wen's greatest show of respect for a woman—not indulging in carnal desires in front of others, but instead bringing her to a place of beauty, personally undressing her, tending to her wounds.

It was a calm before the storm, like a beast licking its prey before the kill, storing up primal instincts. The gentler Ruo Wen's touch, the more terrified she felt. He laid her discarded clothes neatly on the grass. After tending to the wounds on her shoulder, he gazed at her vacant expression for a moment, his eyes suddenly flashing with a hint of defiance. Then, he clenched his hands and began undressing himself.

Calmness—so strange indeed. Ruo Wen undressed while staring at Huang Beishuang. He knew she wouldn't run, couldn't run, nor would she seek death—for she had already died once. It was he who felt strange; for him, seeking pleasure with clothes on was commonplace, yet now he found it repulsive. The first thing he wanted with her was direct skin-to-skin contact.

The truth of the body far surpassed the void of emotions. And true pleasure would inevitably transcend illusory desires.

This was what Ruo Wen thought of her.

Huang Beishuang could no longer bear it. Ruo Wen's body, sturdy and dark, covered in countless scars from years past, bore witness to a life soaked in blood. Uncontrollably, she covered her eyes.

"Don't cover them!" Ruo Wen lunged at her, forcefully pulling her hands away.

Her red lips turned pale with fear, her enchanting face—so many times he had dreamed of it, even Ge Xinwei's satisfaction had never matched the intensity of this moment.

A woman was but a bed—he had slept on countless ones, yet never before had he felt this sense of anticipation.

"Perhaps..." Ruo Wen held her close, pressing her heart against his chest. "You aren't just a bed, but a storm." With that, he pushed her down heavily, his kisses falling like drifting snowflakes. "You are a storm."

In that moment, Huang Beishuang closed her eyes, biting her lip tightly, making no sound.

Ruo Wen smiled, suddenly in the mood for jest. He took her hand and placed it on the scar on his waist, saying lightly, "Kiss me."

Huang Beishuang opened her eyes, glaring at him with resentment, and sneered, "Go on, do whatever you want! But don't ever expect me to kiss you! Even if you kneel before me, I will not! Never!"

Hearing this, Ruo Wen's mouth curved, and he forcefully sealed her lips. Her tongue was like a cool spring.

"Women all react similarly to force, and you're no exception," he whispered between breaths. "Struggle, then pretend to struggle, then enjoy it. The smart ones tend to do just that, while the foolish ones suffer greatly. Do you want to suffer? Expecting me to kneel for a kiss—how absurd. Did your gentlemanly lover never teach you that some desires destroy all dignity? You'll soon find out."

...

How parched must one be to be unable to continue?

How starved must one be to be unable to suppress?

What kind of man desires a storm?

What kind of heart is filled only with one name?

...

Ruo Wen's hands were rough, his heated palms leaving marks across her skin—marks both shallow and deep, each filled with an aching pain that brought tears once again to her eyes. In his crimson gaze, the same passion raged on, a flame that could not be extinguished.

Ruo Wen looked down at her, and her tears had never ceased. In that moment, how unwilling she must have felt.

Yet he knew that was all—just unwillingness.

He smiled, clasping her face tightly in his hands. "If you need to cry, cry. Restraint only makes it more interesting. You understand that."

But she ignored him. She knew all too well that human instincts would bow to desire, and that resistance against Ruo Wen was futile.

Her expression remained blank, her clear gray eyes shedding tears continuously. The tears flowed down onto Ruo Wen's hand. She looked at him, and in that instant, she truly wanted to ask him—why had his obsession with her never wavered? Why was his possessiveness so resolute? Could he not let her go? Could he not release her from this torment? Could he not leave such a heavy scar upon her heart, one that, regardless of whether she lived or died, would forever prevent her from being carefree again?

Tears are a sin...

If they accidentally seep into your heart, they become a swamp, slowly consuming you. From that moment on, they become a lifelong sin—a debt you begin to repay.

Ruo Wen gathered some of her warm tears, brought them to his lips, and tasted them—a mixture of bitterness and salt, like an unsolvable mystery. He had never cared about what a woman's heart felt, because he wasn't curious, and even less did he care. But now, why did he feel so lonely and powerless? He knew whom she was thinking of, and he didn't care. No matter how brilliant that man was, as long as she was in his grasp, she would never belong to anyone else.

He pulled her legs apart effortlessly. Whatever he wanted to do to her—he wouldn't stop wanting it in the future. Only by doing it would he know. And in this lifetime, there was but one question that truly confused him—a compulsion that could not be relinquished.

Swish! Swish!

Fourteen men, their steps as sharp as blades, seemed to long for their final footprints to leave an indelible mark. The murderous determination had already rung through the oasis like the morning chime of a bronze bell. After the gust of wind, there came the soft rustling of leaves, gently swaying.

The fourteen men charged into the depths of the forest with a resoluteness that turned the morning light into something gray and menacing, the scattered rays breaking apart even more. Suddenly, Ruo Wen's eyes grew cold, as if he sensed something. He glanced at Huang Beishuang, hesitated for a moment, then roughly withdrew his hand from her. He pulled her up and haphazardly dressed her before binding her to a tree trunk with torn strips of cloth. Spitting into his hand, he rubbed his palms, hefted his spear, and cast her a deep glance. "Stay here. I'll be right back."

With that, he leaped, disappearing into the underbrush in an instant.

Huang Beishuang stared in disbelief at Ruo Wen's retreating form, her pale face showing a hint of something else—a slight relief mixed with confusion. What could have made him stop so abruptly?

Suddenly, a sharp cry echoed from above. She looked up to see her seven-colored paradise bird, Hong, diving through the thick canopy.

"Hong!" she cried out, her voice full of excitement. If Hong was here, then Qingyun had come for her.

Ruo Wen moved swiftly, his hunting and defensive instincts springing to life at the faintest sign of danger. These men were formidable, he mused, their aura like Hong's—fearless and determined. They must have undergone rigorous training, which meant they were after him. Who knew he was here? No matter who they were, if they thought they could capture him with a handful of men willing to die, they were gravely mistaken.

He crouched low, watching the white-clad figures spread out and search. One of them approached, cautiously inspecting the surroundings, just a few paces from where Ruo Wen lay in wait. The man took another step forward, and then, in a flash, he vanished.

Ruo Wen's hand covered the man's mouth as his spear pierced through the enemy's body. The white-robed soldier barely managed to bite into Ruo Wen's hand before collapsing, silently.

"Pathetic." Ruo Wen licked the blood from his hand, withdrew the spear, and quickly vanished into the undergrowth.

Moments later, a sudden, agonized scream broke through the forest, startling the birds into flight, their cries echoing eerily.

Another figure, dressed in white, was impaled on Ruo Wen's spear, blood blooming across the snowy fabric like toxic flowers. Those who drew Ruo Wen's attention never stood a chance—his lethal strike was always faster than anyone could react.

The scream finally alerted the death squad to the danger. The largest of them gestured, and the scattered white figures began to converge on his position.

"Come out!" the large man rasped. "Come out, you wretch!"

A strange silence followed his words. Then, a sudden gust of wind swept through, parting the dense underbrush, revealing Ruo Wen at the far end—his eyes bloodshot, a cold smile playing on his lips. He stood in a half-crouch, holding his spear, blood still dripping from its tip, his gaze radiating a chilling bloodlust. With a low laugh, he lunged forward without warning.

The twelve remaining men formed a half-circle, facing the charging Ruo Wen. Twelve swords were raised high above their heads, and in that fleeting moment, they struck.

Blood sprayed like a rainbow.

Qingyun sat atop his horse, watching as the refugees of the small oasis fled in disarray. He surmised that the death squad had already engaged with Ruo Wen. He had never expected them to be able to kill Ruo Wen, nor could he be sure that Ruo Wen wouldn't use Huang Beishuang as a hostage. Miaojing had already instructed the fourteen men: if they couldn't take his head, at least they had to lure him out alone.

Once he was out, there would be no escape.

As Qingyun pondered, a white-robed soldier suddenly burst from the trees. He didn't even bother clutching at the wound on his shoulder but kept running until he reached the archers' perimeter. He finally stopped, looked back for a long moment, then let out a laugh before collapsing heavily, never to rise again.

The cold wind carried the scent of blood. Ruo Wen's expression was grim, his eyes wild with rage. He stepped out of the forest, one deliberate step at a time, his right hand gripping the spear, his left holding several severed heads. Behind him, a trail of blood marked his path, like the wheel tracks of a cart.

The archers, lying in ambush, froze at the sight of him. Their hands, clenched tightly around their bows, began to tremble involuntarily. They had all seen battle, all seen bodies shattered and broken, but never had they seen anything like this. Could a single man truly be capable of such a thing?

...

The wind and sand paused between the locked gazes of Qingyun and Ruo Wen.

Qingyun looked at Ruo Wen, his voice cold. "We meet again."

Ruo Wen sneered in response. "You've been in my way from the beginning."

"And you in mine." Qingyun's eyes flared with anger, but he quickly suppressed it. "Where is she?"

"She?" Ruo Wen twirled his spear lightly. "She's asleep, hasn't woken yet."

Then came the silence—his and his alone. A silence brought by a woman, one achieved, one not, and between gaining and losing was the rivalry of men.

"Then, you shall sleep as well," Qingyun said, his gaze ice-cold, each word deliberate. "And never wake again."

"Hahaha!" Ruo Wen laughed aloud. "With just you?" With that, he hurled the severed heads in his hand.

Qingyun watched the mockery without anger, sighing softly as he stroked his horse. "Don't think you can still use the citizens of Ruoshui City as shields." He smiled faintly. "Ruo Wen, you no longer have the Huang Tian Mad Army. Their heads could stack to form your tomb. It's time to rest, Ruo Wen. This world has no place for you."

Ruo Wen's face showed a flash of shock. "What do you mean?" he demanded.

"They're waiting for you." Qingyun's smile widened. "They're waiting for you in hell."

Ruo Wen's blood-red eyes suddenly cooled, returning to an icy violet. He stared at Qingyun. "You did this?"

"I did," Qingyun replied with a smile. "Destiny. I let you get this far, and you dared take my woman. Now, it's time for you to pay."

That, perhaps, was the most silent moment of Ruo Wen's life. Years of marauding flashed before his eyes, fighting alongside countless brothers across endless battles. Even now, cornered by Qingyun, he felt no fear. Bandits were wanderers—they had long understood that death could come at any moment. As long as they lived freely before then, they would die without regrets.

"Dismount! Face me in a duel! Stop hiding!" Ruo Wen pointed his spear at Qingyun, shouting loudly. The moment he was lured out, he knew escape was impossible. At the very least, he genuinely wanted to face off against this man who had opposed him from the very start. So many times, Qingyun had taken her from him. So many times, she had called Qingyun's name. So many times, they had clashed, yet never had they fought to the death.

Miaojing was startled at these words, quickly turning to check Qingyun's expression, fearing he might truly fall for the provocation and dismount for a duel, especially with the injuries still left by Zhan. But unexpectedly, Qingyun let out a hearty laugh, waved his hand, and his soldiers raised their bows, each aiming mercilessly at Ruo Wen. Hundreds of arrows, each locked onto their target.

Qingyun did not dismount, nor did he draw his sword. There was no intent of preparing for battle in his eyes. He simply said, "It's time for you to rest, Ruo Wen."

With that, the first rank of archers let loose, arrows flying.

More than three hundred arrows pierced Ruo Wen, volley after volley, arrow after arrow, yet they could not bring him down. His blood flowed steadily into the yellow sands beneath him, like the last rays of a crimson sun, burning upon this sorrowful land. Death came, accompanied by darkness, unhurried, inevitable.

Everyone dies. He was not afraid of death.

A wave of dizziness overtook him, and Ruo Wen looked down at the countless arrows protruding from his chest. Suddenly, he began to laugh—an unrestrained, mad laughter. He had killed countless people in his life, yet he never imagined he himself would end with a heart full of arrows. He never thought he'd be killed by nameless soldiers, and never imagined he wouldn't die amidst his debauchery and crime. The more he thought, the more absurd it seemed, and the more he laughed, the wilder his voice became.

The archers, seeing him still standing, covered in blood, laughing to the sky, were stunned. They turned in unison to look at Miaojing, who then looked to Qingyun.

But Qingyun remained silent, as if there was nothing left to say, or perhaps everything had already been said.

"Ah—!"

Suddenly, both Qingyun and Ruo Wen heard a shout. They both turned their gazes toward the oasis's entrance.

Somehow, Huang Beishuang had freed herself from the bindings of the torn cloth, her tattered clothes barely clinging to her as she rushed out.

The first thing she saw was Ruo Wen pierced by countless arrows and Qingyun, whom she had yearned for day and night. That moment left her truly terrified—severed heads lay strewn about, the yellow earth stained a bloody crimson like the setting sun.

There stood Ruo Wen, and there, Qingyun, looking at her.

It all seemed like a dream—a dream too unbelievable to accept.

So many times she had prayed that Ruo Wen would die without a place to be buried, yet seeing this scene, she felt a pang of bitterness. She knew that, at least, whatever he had done to others, he had never truly harmed her.

Ruo Wen turned and looked at her, and something seemed to come to mind, making him smile. He struggled, step by step, toward her.

"Ready your arrows!" Miaojing shouted upon seeing this.

"Stop!" Qingyun immediately commanded coldly. "You might hit her. Do not move. Ruo Wen is finished."

Huang Beishuang stood still, watching Ruo Wen approach, each step more arduous, as if he might collapse at any moment.

The wind began to blow again, lifting her thin garments, as if they might fly away with it.

Finally, he stood before her, his violet eyes closing and opening, over and over again. He must have been so tired. She saw him open his eyes for the last time, and she thought he must have something to say. Instinctively, she stepped forward to support him, but Ruo Wen suddenly stepped back, staring at her deeply, and said, word by word, "If I kneel, will you kiss me? It seems... that was all I wanted."

With that, the sky seemed to suddenly darken. Huang Beishuang's heart skipped a beat, her throat tightening painfully. The light in Ruo Wen's eyes slowly faded, from violet to gray, yet they remained as defiant and dangerous as ever.

He stood there, staring at her, as if he would look at her forever.

He stood there, unmoving, as if he would never fall.

He stood there, like a statue.

And she would never kiss him. Never.

Though once enchanted by beauty, there was no bending of knees before iron will; even in death, the allure did not fade, but sank into the marrow.

What need for a tragic hero? A thousand laments end in ruin.

The sun's blood, the wild sun's blood, myriad loves and hates reduced to a single dust of red.

Morning light painted the sky as if it were dusk, red hues spreading across the earth. The shadow cast long upon the ground—a figure covered in arrows, standing there, unseeing eyes piercing life and death, grasping eternity in a fleeting moment.

In the astonished silence, Qingyun dismounted, walking to Huang Beishuang's side. She continued to look at Ruo Wen, as if waiting for the moment he might kneel.

"Why are you crying?" Qingyun asked, his voice calm. "Are you standing here waiting to catch him as he falls, or to kiss him?"

Huang Beishuang shook her head, saying nothing. She simply looked at Ruo Wen, as if even she had become confused.

"He will not kneel," Qingyun said as he lifted her in his arms. "Let’s go. No matter what happens in the future, I will never let you go again. How can I endure such loneliness? Whatever mark Ruo Wen left on your heart, whether pain or not, I will one day fade it away. As long as you are by my side, I will find peace, and never feel weary again."

Huang Beishuang leaned into his embrace, unable to hold back her tears any longer.

Perhaps we may never find a place of peace in our lives, yet we cannot extinguish this persistent pursuit.

People are, in truth, far too lonely—lonely to the point of madness, despair, tears.

So, we remain foolish, we remain confused, and in the end, we always weep.

We always ask:

Whom do I love? Who loves me? For how long? How deeply? How deeply?