Zhiyong's fury flared, his grip tightening on his sword. The taste of blood and defeat burned in his throat, but Xian Lian's voice—calm, resolute—cut through his rage.
"A noble's honor is not upheld through reckless vengeance."
She placed a steady hand on his arm. His muscles were still tense, but the fire in his eyes dimmed, her words sinking in. He sighed, reluctantly lowering his blade. The heavy tension in the air seemed to lift as his anger ebbed. Meanwhile, Xian Lian turned to Ruqi, kneeling beside her, offering silent comfort with a soft touch to her trembling hand. Despite the simmering storm within Zhiyong, he stood close, a quiet promise of protection.
That night, as the cold moonlight filtered through the windows, Zhiyong sat beside Ruqi, his voice low and steady.
"Master Gin has passed."
The words cut through the silence like a knife. Xian Lian's breath caught, her fingers curling into her lap. The weight of not having been there for his final moments pressed down on her chest, suffocating. Guilt filled her like a heavy stone, a crushing reminder of her absence at the end.
Zhiyong, ever attuned to her grief, placed a hand over hers.
"It was his choice to protect you. He returned alone, knowing the risks."
She nodded slowly, her heart heavy with regret, a shadow that wouldn't lift.
Hao Jian's erratic behavior had grown too dangerous, and it was time to leave the village. As they prepared to depart, Zhiyong sought answers, and Ruqi revealed the root of Hao Jian's actions—his relentless obsession with possessing Xian Lian.
Far away in Joseon, King Hyun Yeol, now forty-three, lay on his deathbed. Once an imposing ruler, he had shaped the kingdom with an iron grip, but now each breath was a struggle. Shadows clung to his hollowed features, his strength worn away by the weight of time and regret. His dim yet searching gaze found Eunuch Lee, the one constant throughout his turbulent reign.
"I wish to see her," he whispered, his voice fragile as wind through brittle leaves.
Eunuch Lee lowered his head, his throat tightening. He did not need to ask who.
Concubine Yoo Ha rushed in, her silk robes trailing in frantic disarray. Falling to her knees, she grasped his frail hand, her fingers trembling. "Do not leave me, Your Majesty. We still have time together."
Her words were a plea against the inevitable. But Hyun Yeol had already begun to drift, his eyes slipping past her, seeking something—someone—who was not there.
Crown Prince Lee Jae entered quietly, his steps measured, his face a mask of composed grief. The weight of impending kingship settled heavily on his shoulders.
"Your Majesty, you must endure," he urged, though his voice lacked conviction. "There is still much to be done."
A faint, broken smile ghosted across Hyun Yeol's lips. "I hope you succeed where I have faltered. Reign with strength and wisdom beyond mine. May you… do better." His words faltered, growing fainter. The burden of his reign, the ghosts of his failures, pressed upon him. He exhaled slowly, each breath weaker than the last.
Then, with the last of his strength, he murmured, "Your mother… Queen Seo Yeon… will guide you."
A final breath. A final silence. His head tilted to the side, and the room stilled, as though the palace itself held its breath.
Concubine Yoo Ha's wail shattered the hush. "Your Majesty!" Her voice rang through the halls, raw with grief, but the man who had once ruled with absolute authority could no longer answer.
Beyond the chamber, the news spread like wildfire. The court, bound by decorum, knelt in solemn mourning, but behind the bowed heads, calculations had already begun. The throne was never just an inheritance—it was a battlefield.
And at its center stood Queen Seo Yeon.
For years, she had been a shadow cast out of power, a ghost lingering at the palace's edge. Now, with no queen to claim the position, her return was inevitable. The court was divided—some welcomed her wisdom, others whispered that a dethroned queen had no place in power. But there was no question: she would be the guiding force behind the new king.
As Concubine Yoo Ha wept over the lifeless body of the man she had fought so desperately to hold onto, Seo Yeon stood at the palace gates, her carriage approaching with quiet finality. The world of the court had shifted once more. And this time, it would be hers to command.
With no queen crowned after Seo Yeon's exile, her return to the palace as Queen Dowager was inevitable. Though Concubine Yoo Ha seethed with animosity, Seo Yeon remained composed, carrying the weight of the court with measured grace. She oversaw the coronation of Crown Prince Lee Jae, guiding him through the years of mourning with wisdom and care.
Yet, beneath her poised exterior, grief carved deep wounds. Her son, Lee San, had once brought light into her life, his laughter filling the palace halls. She had tried to shield him from the ruthless tides of court politics, arranging a marriage for him with a low-ranking noblewoman, believing it would protect him.
But Concubine Yoo Ha saw Lee San as an obstacle. When King Lee Jae named him as his successor, her hatred solidified into something far more dangerous. She conspired, ensuring that Lee San was killed at thirty—leaving behind his five-year-old son.
When the news reached Seo Yeon, she did not wail. She did not fall apart. Instead, she stood frozen, the world around her hollowing into silence. The air thickened, as though the very room itself felt the weight of her grief. Slowly, she walked to her son's chamber, untouched since his last visit. Her fingers hovered over the childhood toys he had once cherished, tracing the edges of a carved wooden crane that he had once held so dear. Each movement was heavy with the memory of him.
Her grandson, barely understanding the cruelty of the world, clung to her robes. "Where is Father?"
Seo Yeon knelt, pressing a trembling kiss to his forehead. "He is gone," she whispered, the words tasting like ash on her tongue.
That night, she sat alone in the quiet of her chambers, staring at the flickering candlelight, watching the flame dance as though it, too, sought solace. She had suffered loss before—her husband, her place at court—but nothing compared to this. A mother should never outlive her child.
And yet, she did.
Meanwhile, in the distant Ming dynasty, Xian Lian and Zhiyong built a life far from the reach of political turmoil. Their days were filled with laughter, the rustling of leaves, and the warmth of family. Zhiyong, a playful father, taught his sons the art of the sword, his discipline softened by affection. Xian Lian devoted herself to their young daughter, Yuyu, who was nearing her second birthday.
At thirty, Xian Lian embodied grace and quiet strength, her heart attuned to the rhythm of their peaceful life.
Before Zhiyong departed for a journey, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I will return soon."
Xian Lian smiled softly, tucking a bundle into his pack. "Yuyu will be two soon. Don't forget the days, my love."
Zhiyong chuckled, the warmth in his eyes belying the urgency of the task ahead. "No road can keep me from you, not even time itself."
With one last glance, he disappeared into the night, his silhouette swallowed by the darkness. Xian Lian stood in the doorway, watching him vanish, her heart heavy with a mixture of longing and quiet certainty. Even as distance stretched between them, she knew—no force in this world could sever the bond they had built.
As the first light of dawn filtered through the trees, Xian Lian moved with quiet determination, each step carrying the weight of her promise to her children. The air was thick with the scent of pine and earth, but she barely noticed. Her focus was absolute—every movement precise, every breath a silent prayer to the forest for her family's survival.
She gathered her game swiftly, each catch a small victory in the ongoing struggle to provide. The knot she tied around the bounty was simple, but in its simplicity, it was a testament to her resolve. A bond unbroken, despite the chaos of the world around her.
As she began her journey home, a shift in the air caught her attention—a subtle disturbance, like a whisper against her skin. She wasn't alone. Instinct prickled at the back of her neck, and her hand moved toward her side, though the sword remained sheathed. Her eyes darted across the shadows, but the forest was still—too still. The usual rustling of leaves was absent, the air thick with something unfamiliar. Her skin prickled, every instinct screaming she was not alone.
Her pulse quickened, but she pushed the unease aside, silencing the dread that crept into her bones. There was no time for fear—not now, when so much was at stake.
Her steps quickened, heart pounding as the weight of the unknown pressed down upon her. Strength wasn't about avoiding danger; it was knowing when to face it—and when to protect what mattered most.
Then, a footstep. A figure materialized from the trees, his sneer cutting through the still morning like a blade.
"My Xian Xiaojie," Hao Jian's voice dripped with cruel familiarity, sending a shiver down her spine.
Xian Lian's pulse spiked, recognition mingling with dread. She had sensed something earlier, but this—this was worse. Much worse. Her stance didn't falter, though her eyes narrowed, studying the man before her with a steady gaze.
Days passed, but the unease remained. The woods felt different now, more hostile. Every rustle of leaves was a warning. Her sword, always at her side, felt heavier than before, its cold steel a constant reminder of the dangers lurking.
When she returned that afternoon, the figure near her door made her skin crawl. He stood there, unmoving, like a shadow she couldn't escape. She pretended not to notice him, the act a defiance in itself. His presence meant nothing, or so she told herself.
"Xian Lian..." Hao Jian's voice floated toward her, smooth as silk—but there was nothing gentle about it. Her skin prickled with an urge to flee.
She turned slowly to face him, and his smile, so warm yet so cutting, struck her like a blow. The look in his eyes stirred memories of a time long past, of a man she once knew, though this one was not the same. The warmth was a mask, worn too thin to fool her.
"Sir?" The thought flickered, confusion clouding her thoughts, but the answer was already clear. This man—the one before her now—was not the one she remembered.
"It's been a while," he murmured, his voice a soft threat. "You left without a word."
Xian Lian steadied herself, taking a deep breath. "Sir Lui, I seek no further bond with you. If your heart desires more than friendship, I cannot return it. I am bound to another."
Her words landed with the finality of a closing door, but Hao Jian's smile faltered, a shadow darkening his gaze.
His fingers dug into her wrist, the grip punishing and sharp, dragging her toward him. The game fell from her hands in a cascade of forgotten life, but she barely noticed—her focus on the man who had once meant something... and now was a threat.
Her body tensed, but there was no hesitation in her. The sword was in her hand before he could take another step, the cold metal an extension of her will.
"Speak not in threats," she warned, her voice low, dangerous.
Hao Jian's smile twisted, though his eyes gleamed with something far darker. "Xian Lian... You are my love. Only you, forever. I would cast aside my wife for you. You will be my one and only. Please... stop rejecting me."
His desperation was suffocating, madness dripping from his words like poison. "I will never," she said, each word deliberate, unwavering. "My husband stands by me. And I stand by him."
At the mention of her husband, his face contorted, his hands clenching into fists so tight the knuckles turned white.
"If my father is the obstacle..." he sneered, his eyes glittering with malice. "Know that he is no more. I've ensured he will never stand in our way again."
Xian Lian's breath hitched, her stomach twisting with a sickening realization. "How dare you? You killed him?"
The words barely left her lips before fury surged through her veins. "You would kill anyone who stands in your way? Even your own flesh?"
Hao Jian's laugh was hollow, manic. "Of course! To deny our love is to defy nature itself. I will kill anyone who refuses it—even my own son."
Xian Lian recoiled, repulsed and terrified, but her resolve hardened. "You will never touch me," she spat. "And I will never let you harm my children."
At that moment, the door creaked open. Little Qian'ai stepped into the space between them. Time seemed to freeze, the air thick with impending disaster. Hao Jian's eyes locked onto the child, a new cruelty igniting in them.
"Is this... a child without me?" His voice slithered toward them, each word laced with venom.
"LiAi, go hide!" Xian Lian shouted, pushing the child back into the house. But Qian'ai was already running, his tiny feet scrambling for safety.
Xian Lian turned to face Hao Jian, her sword held steady. "Stay away from him," she commanded, her voice sharp, unwavering.
Hao Jian's eyes burned with madness, and his sword was in his hand in an instant, his movements deliberate and chilling. "He goes, no matter what..." he spat.
The air grew thick, oppressive, as Xian Lian stood firm, the weight of her protection bearing down on her. Then, with a flash, Hao Jian lunged for the child.
There was no thought, no hesitation—only instinct. With a final, desperate burst of strength, Xian Lian hurled herself between Hao Jian and her son. The blade cut deep, pain detonating across her chest like a thunderclap. Blood spilled, staining the earth, and her vision fractured. The world slowed, and for a moment, she felt like she might slip away into the shadows—leaving everything behind.
With a final, desperate effort, she shoved the child away. "Mom..." he whispered, his voice breaking, filled with raw fear.
Her breath came in shallow gasps, the words tasting like ash as they left her lips. "I will always protect you…" She struggled to hold onto the warmth of his hand, but the darkness was closing in, her grip slipping, her life draining away like the last rays of the setting sun.