Chapter 3

A warm darkness descended.

Yun Miao found herself with her eyes covered by Xie Yuan’s hand.

She couldn’t see his face, but she could feel his words brushing lightly past her ear, carrying a hot, erratic breath.

She realized how weak he still was.

The air he exhaled was disordered and rapid, his heartbeat pounding against his chest like a drum—irregular, chaotic.

“Hold me,” he said softly by her ear.

He held her tightly not for any other reason but because, without leaning on her, he simply couldn’t stand on his own.

Blood seeped through his fingers; when he grabbed that blade, it injured him.

Yet he seemed impervious to the pain. He casually flicked the blood off his hand, tightly holding the girl in his embrace with one arm, and slowly straightened his back.

With a flick of his blade, his dark eyes lifted, coldly fixing on the wolf pack ahead.

A silent standoff.

His robes flew like clouds, his figure standing firmly in the roaring mountain wind like a sharp blade piercing the night.

He was gambling.

The wolf pack was gambling too.

Man, and beast stood facing each other, probing each other’s limits. If Xie Yuan revealed even the slightest flaw, the wolves would pounce. But in his current weakened state, he had no strength to resist.

Thus, he had to exude absolute power—enough to cow all before him.

After a long standoff, the wolf pack finally retreated.

The lead wolf let out a reluctant low growl, took one last look at the corpse of its fallen companion before the boy, then led the pack away into the mountain winds step by step.

The ink-black night gradually swallowed their retreating figures.

In the next moment, with a clang, the blade fell to the ground.

Xie Yuan released his hand, suddenly seeming to lose all strength. His weight collapsed onto Yun Miao, forcing her to stagger back a few steps as she frantically caught his falling body.

“Let me rest for a while,” he murmured, closing his eyes.

Amid the crimson carnage, the boy leaned in her embrace, silently passing out.

A sliver of moonlight escaped from the clouds, illuminating the ground in brilliant frost-like white, as though a serene and luminous lake had formed.

She sat amidst the blood-soaked ground, holding the sleeping boy, listening to his steady breathing as dawn’s first light began to rise among the mountains.

The sky was about to brighten.

Perhaps it was the release of tension that had been strung too tight for too long, but Yun Miao belatedly began to feel the pain.

She loosened her hold on Xie Yuan, lowered her gaze, and saw her hands covered in blood.

It was from holding his blade—her hands were wounded.

The intense pain climbed up from her fingertips like countless fine needles pricking her hand, throbbing and excruciating.

Pain, pain, pain!

Tears nearly fell from Yun Miao’s eyes, and as she felt the pain, she suddenly realized—

The pain meant this wasn’t a dream.

Could it be that she had been transported into some strange and terrifying alternate world?

… And then Yun Miao really cried.

Amid the chaos, she held the unfamiliar boy in her arms and cried her heart out.

“Hey.” A soft sigh came from beside her. “Why are you crying?”

The boy in her arms had woken at some point and was now looking at her with a serious expression.

As the sun rose in the east, a single bright ray of light descended, resting on the boy’s brow and eyes like a feather-soft veil.

His clear gaze held curiosity, as if he genuinely wanted to know why she was crying.

Yun Miao sobbed uncontrollably, unable to respond.

“Is it because of the pain?” Xie Yuan pondered for a moment.

He gently took her hands, holding them in his palm, and examined the wounds on her hands. His warm fingertips meticulously wiped away the blood.

“It’s actually just a shallow cut,” he tried to comfort her, looking up. “The rest is my blood.”

Yun Miao didn’t care; she continued crying.

Xie Yuan sighed. He tore off a corner of his inner robe, bit it to tear it into strips, and patiently bandaged her wounds.

His fingers skillfully moved between hers, and soon her hands were wrapped in white cloth, leaving only her slender, fair fingertips exposed, like the fresh shoots of bamboo in spring.

“There, all better, right?” Xie Yuan rested his chin on his hand, watching her. “Stop crying. We need to get moving.”

But Yun Miao stayed put.

“What’s wrong?” Xie Yuan looked down at her, a flicker of impatience in his eyes, though his tone remained gentle.

“I’m upset,” the girl’s voice was still tinged with sobs. “I want to go home.”

Out of her sight, the boy’s expression turned cold for a moment, his brows furrowing in frustration. But he quickly concealed it, plucking a small leaf from a nearby tree.

“I’ll play the leaf flute for you,” he said, sitting down beside her with one hand propped up and his long legs bent casually under the tree. “Once you’ve heard it, you won’t feel so bad.”

The clear sound of a leaf flute filled the air. The boy held the small leaf to his lips and played gently.

The melody was crisp and pleasant, winding and delicate, echoing through the valleys. It harmonized with the summer cicadas’ chirping, the orioles’ songs, and the gurgling streams.

The sound of the mountains was everywhere—tranquil and soothing. The boy suddenly paused his flute and, tapping a bamboo twig, began to sing softly:

“Bright is the Cowherd Star, bright the Weaving Maiden fair.
Between them flows the river clear, silently longing they despair.”

His clear voice drifted with the falling petals, merging with the rustling of the leaves, disappearing into the distance.

Yun Miao, calmed by the song, listened to the sounds of the mountains. Only then did she realize that the world was filled with lush greens and tender yellows. Long-tailed birds flitted through the treetops, and the scenery was like a paradise beyond this world.

The mountains stood verdant; their hues painted like a masterpiece.

“I just sang casually…” Xie Yuan scratched his head. “When it comes to music, I’m not very skilled. Both of my older brothers are better singers than me.”

“It sounded lovely,” Yun Miao shook her head. “Where did you learn it?”

“My mother taught me this song. I just followed along,” Xie Yuan shrugged. “I don’t really know what it means…”

“I know!” Yun Miao raised her hand enthusiastically. “That’s from Three Ancient Poems for Sixth Grade Students…”

Xie Yuan had no idea what “sixth grade” was, but he didn’t care. He obediently nodded, showing he was listening intently to her explanation.

“‘Yingying yishui jian, maimai bude yu’ — it means…” Yun Miao rested her chin in her hand, thinking. “Two people separated by a river, unable to meet no matter how much they long for each other. All they can do is gaze at each other from afar, full of wistful longing…”

“A distance so close, yet as vast as an unbridgeable chasm.” She spoke softly, “A river’s width, yet a distance impossible to cross in a lifetime.”

The wind swept up from the mountain, carrying a cascade of peach and plum blossoms. Yun Miao looked up to see the young man across from her lost in thought.

Under the tree, he tilted his face slightly, the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves falling into his eyes, shimmering with a clear, radiant glow.

It was like flowing light. Like still water.

---

Their journey to Chang’an took ten days and nights.

At first, it was arduous, but after they descended the mountain, everything changed.

They stayed in the finest inns, hired the best carriages, and Xie Yuan treated Yun Miao to every delicacy imaginable. He seemed to have an endless supply of silver, spending money as if it were paper, utterly lavish, embodying the phrase “squandering wealth like dirt.”

Under his guidance, Yun Miao gradually became familiar with this new world.

This dynasty appeared to be a time of peace and prosperity. The common people lived in comfort, free from hardship, and had not known war for over a decade. Everything had a vibrant, harmonious charm. Streets and alleys were safe even at night, and in the morning’s hazy smoke, street vendors pushed carts selling sesame cakes and biluo pastries.

Beyond the mundane lives, there was also a world of swords and heroes. White-clad swordsmen and grassroot knights roamed the streets on horseback, veiled lady warriors dashed past, and Taoists and cultivators blended seamlessly into the bustling cityscape.

Martial artists were everywhere. Although Xie Yuan, the son of an official, wasn’t part of the martial world, it wasn’t surprising that he knew martial arts. However, he asked Yun Miao to keep his skills a secret, and she agreed.

Xie Yuan told her many things about Chang’an: the majestic Tai Chi Palace, the straight Zhuque Avenue, the chimes of the temples for literature and martial arts, the lively markets, the noisy taverns of the martial world, the intrigues of the court, literary feuds, and the prominent position of the Yun family of Yin Chuan among the Five Surnames and Seven Clans of Chang’an.

He seemed to know everything and could discuss anything. Whatever Yun Miao asked, he would answer—except when it came to himself.

When night fell, he never left the inn, often leaving Yun Miao to explore alone. Gradually, Yun Miao realized that the terrible state he had been in that night on the mountain wasn’t an anomaly. Every evening, he endured some kind of intense suffering.

Sometimes, late at night in a quiet inn, Yun Miao would hear coughing from the room next door.

Once, she couldn’t resist asking why he was in such pain every night.

At that moment, Xie Yuan was gazing out the window at the bustling street. Without turning his head, he casually replied, “I can’t stay away from Chang’an for too long.”

If she pressed further, he would say no more.

After ten days, they finally arrived in Chang’an in a grand carriage drawn by an ox and a horse.

Before taking her into the Yun residence, Xie Yuan spent an entire day dressing her up. He led her to a garment shop, threw down a jade worth a fortune, and instructed the seamstresses to bring out their finest and most intricate clothes.

Rows of flowing garments were brought out. Surrounded by the seamstresses, Yun Miao tried them on one by one. Xie Yuan would clap and laugh if it suited her, or sigh impatiently if it didn’t, stepping forward to adjust the delicate silks himself. Like a meticulous child, he was intent on dressing up a beautiful doll.

When she emerged in a golden dress made of twelve panels of Shu brocade, the layered skirts bloomed like petals, accentuating her slender figure and porcelain-like skin. She lifted slightly onto her toes, revealing a neck as graceful as frost.

The young man smiled faintly in front of her, politely taking her hand and leading her to the carriage heading to the Yun residence.

At the grand Yun residence with its overhanging eaves and artificial mountains, Yun Shangshu and Madam Mu hurried out to meet them. Madam Mu embraced Yun Miao with tears streaming down her face, while Yun Shangshu folded his hands and bowed deeply to the young man behind Yun Miao.

“My humble gratitude to Your Highness, the Third Prince,” the elegant yet hoarse-voiced middle-aged courtier said. “I have only this one daughter, lost and adrift for over a decade… Now that she has been found, I am eternally grateful and pledge my life to serve Your Highness.”

…The Third Prince?

Yun Miao blinked in Madam Mu’s arms.

She suddenly remembered why Xie Yuan’s name sounded familiar.

Before she was transported here, she’d been reading a novel before bed. There was a minor character in the story.

The third prince, Xie Kuan, styled Zhi Yuan—a quiet and obedient individual obsessed with mysticism and divination, depicted as a somewhat eccentric little fortune-teller.

…So, she had transmigrated into a book?

At that moment, a system prompt echoed in her mind: “Greetings, host. You have been bound to System No. 001. Task One: Locate the antagonist.”

And so, Yun Miao found herself transported into the world of a novel, bound to a rather useless system. The system assigned her the role of the only daughter of the Yun family and informed her that completing a series of tasks would enable her to return home.

---

…Back in the present, Madam Mu was still fussing over her, nagging endlessly.

In the late spring at Qujiang Pond, the children of noble families were gathered for leisurely outings. Madam Mu had brought Yun Miao here to observe these famous young men of Chang’an and select the most suitable candidate for a future husband.

In Madam Mu’s eyes, Yun Miao, already two years past coming of age, should have been married by now. But to Yun Miao, getting married at this age was outrageous. Even if the events in this book seemed unreal, she had no intention of becoming a child bride.

Thus, their conversation on the boat went like this:

“What about Zhao Gongzi?” Madam Mu fanned herself with a jade fan, nodding toward a white-clad gentleman on a nearby boat. “Dignified and composed like the breeze beneath the pine, said to possess the demeanor of Songshan.”

“Too old,” Yun Miao didn’t even lift her head.

“Then what about Su Gongzi?” Madam Mu gestured toward a scholar in blue on a painted barge nearby. “He achieved top honors in both the provincial and metropolitan exams before the age of twenty. Truly a prodigy.”

“Too short,” Yun Miao replied lazily.

Madam Mu sighed silently, somewhat frustrated. She turned to look at a young general in white by the lakeside. “What about General Jiang? I heard he shone brilliantly at the recent polo match, singlehandedly turning the tide and earning a golden chrysanthemum from the emperor.”

“Too dull,” Yun Miao said without even listening.

Madam Mu scanned the scene at Qujiang Pond, her gaze landing on a young man in crimson robes leaning idly against a tree on the far bank. Suddenly, an idea struck her.

She fanned herself slowly and smiled warmly at her daughter. “What about the Third Prince?”

Yun Miao paused and looked up.

Amidst the willows shrouded in mist, a boy in a splendid robe lounged lazily beneath a flowering tree. He half-heartedly listened to the guests’ chatter, idly tossing a few copper coins to divine his fortune.

Sensing her gaze, he looked up, meeting her eyes. He tilted his head and smiled gently.