In the twelfth year of Dà'ān Hào Yuán, at the Ruìjǐng Palace in Yúnzé Rèjǐng. A sudden imperial decree shattered the five-year peace of the palace. Just moments before, life had been tranquil and serene; now, the Ruìjǐng Palace had become a battlefield of warring emotions—killing, crying, screaming, groans, and the sharp clash of blades rose and fell in unending waves across the blood-streaked courtyard until dawn broke with a silvery light. Then silence settled, as if time itself had ceased to move. By the next morning, rumors spread through the city streets that Prince Huò'ér Chí of Ruìjǐng intended to rise against the imperial command and was swiftly sentenced on-site. Within a single night, the once-grand palace—its gardens blooming with spring flowers—had fallen into ruin: gates bowed under weight, bodies scattered like leaves in winter snow. The blood had frozen into ice beneath the falling snowflakes. Out of over one hundred and thirty souls within the palace grounds, not one survived. Prince Huò’ér Zhēn of Ruìzhēn—the younger brother of King Huò'ér Chí—and his consort Yún Zhī Hán were summoned to the capital yesterday and have since vanished without a trace. The Ruìzhēn Palace has been sealed; both of their children remain unaccounted for. Across the entire capital city, Chengzhong, imperial guards patrolled every street, gates stood closed, and households were searched throughout the night. Ordinary citizens lived in fear—no one dared speak aloud without hesitation. In contrast to this unrest within the city, beyond the snow-covered mountains—the outer lands—was still calm and serene. The cold wind swept through the forest canopy, carrying a crisp, biting chill that seemed to seep into every breath of air. On the first day of winter when the mountains were sealed by deep snow, one small figure staggered forward through the thin blanket of white. With each slow step, she left behind footprints stained with blood—deep and shallow—and scattered drops that fell like tears from her own body. Her hands, frost-bitten and red, clutched tightly at a pale silk robe tied around her chest. A young face, fragile and fresh beneath the bloodstains, emerged only through her eyes—large, clear, and wide with both surprise and alarm. Then, suddenly, she stumbled as a thick root from the ground caught her foot. Her small body wavered, hands flailing in panic as she tried to regain balance—but could not muster enough strength. She rolled like a snowball across the frozen terrain, drawing a crooked line of blood beneath her. Only when she struck against a tree stump did she stop moving. A sharp pain surged from her back—the first time since childhood that such a gentle girl had endured such agony—and she lost consciousness. "Wǎn Wǎn, stay with Lady Xīyuè and keep company," "Wǎn Wǎn, your mother will be back shortly—just wait for her here," "This Princess stands here! Whoever dares harm the Prince of the Duchy shall be cut to death on the spot. I’ll fulfill my father’s command!" "Wǎn Wǎn, hurry now—there’s someone with me who won’t let you suffer!" Familiar voices rang out in the darkness, echoing amid the sharp sounds of blades piercing flesh. She reached out her hand, desperately trying to catch one of those voices. Her cold fingertips brushed something soft and cool—the sensation made her grip tighten automatically. With her eyes closed, she struggled to open them against the weight of exhaustion. Before her was a snowy, soft silk cloth—her gaze rose along it until it met a pair of dark, clear eyes—unfamiliar yet serene, like still waters at the summit of a mountain, calm and untouched by wind. He looked at her steadily, his brows slightly furrowed, but otherwise motionless. "Save… save me…" Her voice came out in a mere whisper, strained from blood loss and the night-long escape. Her throat felt dry as dust. Tears gathered at the edges of her eyes—hesitant to spill—but she stared at him with wide, desperate gaze, full of both pain and fear. He didn’t respond. Even his expression remained unchanged. Only the silk in her hand stirred slightly—as if it were trying to slip away from her grasp. The fabric brushed against her palm, prompting an instinctive tightening—her entire body grew rigid as she concentrated all strength into her arms. Veins stood out on the backs of her hands. "Please… save me," Her voice cracked with emotion, her tears shimmering in her eyes without falling. She simply watched him, wide-eyed and trembling, truly aching, truly afraid. At last, he moved—slowly bending down until his elegant silk robe covered her stained hand. His gaze lingered on her face before shifting to her back. His calm eyes softened slightly when they encountered the bright red stain on her snow-white garments—the vivid blood now dried and crusted at the edges, yet still oozing from the wound that stretched diagonally from shoulder to waist. The flesh beneath was mottled and raw. "Yi—" He glanced at her, as if about to speak, but before he could utter a word, she collapsed under the weight of her own body—her consciousness drifting into darkness once more. When she woke again two days later, she found herself in an unknown cave nestled deep within the mountains. Outside, snow pressed against branches and wind whispered through the trees; inside, flames crackled with occasional bursts as dry twigs burned. Everything else was still—a silence so profound it stirred her unease. She reached to sit up, only for a hand gently pressing her shoulder. "Stay still," A stranger’s voice spoke softly—clear and soothing, like water flowing over stone, warm yet distant, with an underlying depth of calm. Though pressed, the sudden movement strained her back—the burning pain from her wound radiated through her body like embers, and a faint tingling spread beneath her skin, as though ants were crawling across it. Without thinking, she raised her hand to rub it—only for another hand to intercept. "Tolerate it," The voice said gently. "Pain…," She murmured, blinking back tears with a child’s embarrassment. Her mind still felt foggy and disoriented. "It will pass in two days." He replied simply, pulling her hand down again. She looked up at his steady gaze—memories from before she lost consciousness surged to the surface—and blushed slightly, then lowered her eyes. "Thank you!" The voice was still dry, yet her brows tightened with effort due to back pain—she truly hurt—but dared not cry out. He looked at her once more, didn’t answer, only glanced toward the cave’s entrance. "The snow has held fast—mountains are sealed. We’ll stay here and rest." Then he rose, as if preparing to leave. And almost instinctively, she grasped his hand—a faint trace of red lines appearing where her fingers pressed into his palm. He paused slightly, then turned back. "I’ll just fetch some food—return shortly." His words only made her hold on tighter. She watched him with wide, luminous eyes—tears glistening at the corners, though she tried to hide them. His quiet presence seemed to steady her. He gently furrowed his brows, watching her closely as if reading her thoughts. "I won’t abandon you." His voice remained calm and distant—but somehow, it settled her like a lullaby. She managed a small, shy smile and withdrew her hand. Indeed, he never left her side—day after day, he stayed in the cave, changing her bandages, yet said little. He asked no questions about who she was or why she had been wounded. She never dared ask his name or how he had appeared on that snowy mountain. She simply held onto gratitude. Every morning, while he meditated and practiced martial arts, she sat in silence—her thoughts scattered with wonder and fear. After several days of continuous snowfall, the wind finally subsided. When the first rays of sun broke through the clouds, her injuries had healed significantly. He possessed an exceptional skill in healing—she felt it deeply every day. "I’ll go gather some herbs," He would say each afternoon, then vanish into the distance. This time, however, when he returned, he brought with him a young woman—her features and age nearly identical to his own—like someone stepped straight from an ancient painting. "You are the little girl who was injured, aren’t you?" The woman said, stepping forward and crouching beside her. "You look so small—I’m sure you’re younger than me by several years. Just call me Zi Mò, sister. Oh, and what is your name?" The woman’s warmth made her feel awkward—hesitant at first—but finally managed to speak: "Sù… Sù Wǎn." "Sù Wǎn?" The woman appeared startled, her voice lifting slightly, only for An'zǐ Yuān to calmly interrupt. "Zi Mò, take this wild chicken outside and wash it." He glanced at the chicken still struggling in the corner. Caught off guard by his interruption, Zi Mò rose and stepped closer to him. "But why me?" She pouted softly. "I’m just idle here!" "Here’s where you’re most useful," An'zǐ Yuān replied—his tone calm, yet subtly different from usual. This quiet warmth carried a gentle fondness, revealing the strong bond between siblings. Zi Mò smiled, her eyes bright with admiration, and turned to watch her go. As she disappeared into the distance, she gave a cheerful wave: "Little sister, just stay here while I’m gone—I’ll have Brother Zǐ Yuān roast this chicken for you!" With her voice fading away, silence returned once more. An'zǐ Yuān didn’t look at Sù Wǎn—his breath steadied as he settled into meditation, his body now still and composed. Sù Wǎn quietly lowered her gaze toward the cave’s entrance where Zi Mò had vanished—she dared not disturb him, only sitting in silence, like always. He spoke little; she followed suit. Soon after, Zi Mò returned—not with a washed chicken, but breathless, rushing through the door, face flushed with exertion. "Brother! Sù Wǎn—there’s someone searching for us—they’ve begun to march up the mountain!" Sù Wǎn paled and quickly rose. An'zǐ Yuān swiftly extinguished the fire in the cave, then turned toward her, pulling her hand as he stepped forward—"Come!" He said firmly to Zi Mò. "We must go!" Yet it was too late. Before them stretched a growing line of imperial troops—ever-increasing, forming a dense chain along the only path leading down from the mountain peak. Though young and agile, Sù Wǎn had grown accustomed to such upheavals through days of travel and escape—and now understood the unfolding crisis. She quietly drew her hand from An'zǐ Yuān’s grasp and lowered her gaze—"You go on," she said softly. "Thank you, Brother." Her hand slipped again—this time caught by An'zǐ Yuān as he gently pushed her toward Zi Mò. "Zi Mò, take her—and go!" His voice was calm, yet carried a quiet determination that could not be challenged. "But…" Zi Mò hesitated, clearly reluctant to comply with his decision. An'zǐ Yuān looked at her—then turned back with a steady gaze. "Listen." "Oh," She nodded, slightly pouting, as she pulled Sù Wǎn and began moving toward the peak. Sù Wǎn hesitated again—"Brother…" Her words were cut off by Zi Mò’s urgent voice: "You’re safe now—he won’t let you be a burden if he saved your life. And he has guards with him—no one can reach him." Though her tone wasn't entirely kind, it was true. Sù Wǎn understood—she had no martial training and would indeed slow them down. Aware of her earlier stiffness, Zi Mò softened: "Just hold on—I’ll make sure you’re safe," she said, pulling Sù Wǎn’s hand firmly. With renewed resolve, Sù Wǎn followed along with her. The path to the mountain’s base was now blocked—only upward movement remained possible. By this time, An'zǐ Yuān had gathered several guards in dark robes adorned with golden qílín masks—all dressed in deep purple silks—fighting off waves of imperial troops. Though nimble and skilled, their numbers were dwindling under relentless pressure from the steadily advancing forces. The imperial soldiers were determined to capture Sù Wǎn alive and bring her back. Within moments, when they reached the peak, both had just found a path leading upward—only to find the imperial troops encircling them in a half-circle formation. An'zǐ Yuān and his guards held firm at the front; Sù Wǎn clung to Zi Mò’s hand as they slowly retreated—her gaze fixed on her protector, fully aware of the growing pressure around him. She did not notice that she was now facing a vast cliff below. Watching several times as blades narrowly grazed his body, Sù Wǎn felt both anxious and uncertain—though still rooted in confusion. Yet deep down, she knew: if she could give up her life to save others, then the lives of those around her would be secure. Zi Mò held tightly onto her hand—"Don’t think about it," She said gently. "Just stay quiet—and watch." Sù Wǎn nodded, and they stepped back a little—only for the stones beneath their feet to have loosened over time from wind and weather. As they shifted slightly, the balance of the rocks tipped—"Rumble!" The ground shook, followed by a landslide. Zi Mò pulled Sù Wǎn with her, attempting to use her skill in acrobatics to leap upward—yet still only managed to avoid falling blocks and held on as both caught onto protrusions along the rock wall. Their feet now hung suspended over a deep chasm, swaying gently under the wind, their hands gripping tightly against the crumbling stone. At that very moment, An'zǐ Yuān sensed the shifting of the ground—the sound of the falling rocks reached him clearly—his eyes widened in alarm. Without hesitation, his sword sliced through the air in a long arc, and with calm authority, he commanded: "Guards!" Using the momentum from the strike, he turned and surged forward to the cliff’s edge—he planted his sword straight into the ground, one hand gripping the hilt firmly while extending the other toward them. Sù Wǎn, positioned slightly behind An'zǐ Yuān, instinctively raised her hand as he approached—her fingers barely touched the back of his hand before it swiftly passed by and reached for Zi Mò instead. "Zi Mò," He said in a calm yet tense tone, "Hand me yours!" She blinked—she had expected him to reach out first—but now saw his eyes express both surprise and compassion as he looked at her. Still, his hand moved swiftly and firmly toward Zi Mò’s. "You wait," He said, addressing Sù Wǎn. Sù Wǎn smiled softly—relieved—and felt a quiet pride in the moment. She had instinctively reached out to save him—only to realize that it was Zi Mò who had been saved by her very gesture. Now, An'zǐ Yuān had one hand steadying himself against the cliff’s edge while using the other to hold on to Zi Mò—one task at a time. He could no longer extend another arm to assist. After all, in such moments, even kinship would always come before duty. The sudden fall and her unstable footing caused her already healing wound to reopen—intense pain surged through her back as cold sweat poured down her face. Her hands lost strength, and she trembled slightly against the rocks. The surrounding stones began to shift under her grip—as if they were about to collapse. Zi Mò was swiftly pulled up by An'zǐ Yuān’s powerful arm—her hand released from the stone—and as soon as it did, Sù Wǎn’s fingers lost their hold. The stones beneath them cracked and fell in a thunderous crash. "Thank you!" Before she could fall, she smiled and whispered gratitude—not just for saving her life—but for giving her days of life beyond what had seemed possible. "Wǎn Wǎn!" He called out—his voice rising with emotion. And then, with a sudden push, she felt herself spring from the depth of sleep. Her eyes opened slowly in the quiet room bathed in moonlight. The familiar balustrade and embroidered drapes—her own rooms—had been scenes of memory long ago. It was ten years since he had first saved that small girl—and now, here she was, suddenly awakened to this moment again. Ten years. Perhaps by then, the young girl he had once rescued had grown into a simple household life—settled into quiet peace. Her lips curved gently in the dark as her fingers rested on the thin blanket. Just before lifting it to get a cup of tea, she sensed an unusual stirring in the air—a presence moving unseen within the room. The first girl to dare enter his chamber at night!