The antique shop owner set down his silverware and dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin.

Across the table, the doctor gripped his steak knife with the same precision as a scalpel, neatly slicing into his medium-rare steak. “Hey, don’t tell me you’re done already? That’s a waste!”

“I’m not accustomed to Western cuisine,” the owner replied, lifting his wineglass for a measured sip. “You should have brought someone else.”

The doctor promptly speared the owner’s untouched steak and transferred it to his own plate. “This place just opened, and the discount coupon a friend gave me was for two people. You think I wanted to drag you here?”

Dressed in his signature black Zhongshan suit, the owner drew more than a few lingering gazes—not just for the exquisite embroidery of the crimson dragon coiled along his left arm, its head resting near his nape, but also for the simple fact that two men dining alone in such a romantic setting was unusual enough to turn heads.

The doctor was beginning to regret it. He should’ve come alone.

The owner’s phoenix eyes narrowed slightly. “Don’t tell me you have no one else to ask. How pitiful.”

“With my insane work schedule, when would I have time for a girlfriend?” the doctor grumbled, “and if I just asked some random woman out to dinner, she’d get the wrong idea. Women are such a hassle.”

The owner arched a brow but said nothing, merely swirling his wine with idle grace.

The doctor smirked and lowered his voice. “You don’t believe me? Look at that couple to our left. The girl’s smiling like she’s in a romance novel, but the guy looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. I’d bet they’re on the verge of breaking up.”

The boss continued to swirl his wine, as if more intrigued by the motion of the blood-red liquid than the thought of drinking it. He was already considering calling it a night.

Before the doctor could say more, a loud slap cracked through the restaurant, louder than the soft music playing overhead. All heads turned upon the commercial.

The man in the suit reeled from the blow, face twisted to one side, then hastily tossed down his napkin and fled in embarrassment. The girl who had just been smiling sat frozen, and after a long pause, collapsed into her chair as though all the strength had drained from her.

The doctor winced at his own jinx. The owner, however, studied the woman for a long moment before turning back with a faint smirk. “Well. Here’s your chance to play the hero.”

“What?” the doctor frowned in confusion.

“That young lady likely didn’t bring her wallet. The man who came with her just left. I doubt he paid—otherwise she wouldn’t be sitting there like that.”

He swirled his wine again, seemingly more captivated by the blood-dark liquid than the idea of drinking it.

The doctor followed his gaze. Sure enough, the girl in the cocktail dress sat stiffly, clutching her phone and clearly debating whether or not to make a call.

“But why do I have to pay? How about you play the hero this time?” the doctor protested.

“Heh. Because I didn’t bring my wallet either.”

“…”

“Now what?” The doctor tugged at his tie, casting a helpless glance at the girl who was still sobbing quietly.

What he’d assumed would be a simple good deed had spiraled into this—help someone out and call it a night. He hadn’t expected the girl to keep crying all the way through. It was late, and leaving her alone on the street felt irresponsible, so he and the owner had reluctantly brought her back to Ya She.

“Let her calm down first,” the owner said casually.

“Calm down? It is just a breakup! Why act like the world has ended?” the doctor grumbled, louder than he intended.

“I-I’ll pay you back…” the girl murmured between sniffles.

Dressed in a pale mauve cocktail dress, her eyes were red and swollen from crying. The makeup she had so carefully applied earlier had long since run, leaving her looking utterly wretched.

“You’re still in school, aren’t you?” the doctor said, arching a brow. “I saw the student ID in your wallet. Forget it—call it my treat. It’s just a breakup. The next guy will be better.”

The girl dabbed at her tears with a tissue, her voice trembling. “There won’t be anyone better. I only want Xi. We grew up together since we were 4. Why would he break up with me?”

Hearing the incessant complaints, the doctor knew there was no point in persuading further. Matters of the heart were something outsiders could never truly interfere with.

To his surprise, the owner spoke up. “Do you want him to change his mind?”

She nodded desperately.

The doctor watched as the owner stepped behind the jade screen, rummaging through his collection. A shiver ran down the doctor’s spine—he knew all too well that the owner was about to retrieve something peculiar once again.

Sure enough, he soon returned, holding a small box in his hand. He opened it and placed it gently before the girl.

For a moment, the girl forgot to cry, staring blankly at the delicate wooden figure resting inside the brocade box.

It was a puppet, small enough to fit in one hand. No one could tell what kind of wood it was carved from, but the faded lacquer hinted at its age.

The figurine was carved entirely of wood—a male effigy with sharply defined features. Its hair was arranged in a traditional chignon falling down the back, dressed in layered inner garments beneath flowing wide-sleeved robes tied with a broad sash. The eyes were lightly closed in repose, the delicate face bearing an expression of serene refinement. 

Though merely a wooden carving, every subtle detail had been rendered with remarkable precision. The blade work showed classical restraint, the proportions perfectly balanced—simple yet exquisitely executed, clearly the work of a master artisan.

It looked like a sleeping young man, beautiful and strangely lifelike, as if he might awaken at any moment. There was an eerie, inexplicable allure about it.

“This is Chen A’Jiao’s witchcraft effigy.” The antique dealer’s lips curved into a flawless arc. “Liu Che made his pledge to Chen A’Jiao at just four years of age: ‘If I may have A’Jiao as my wife, I shall house her in a golden house.’ The phrase ‘a golden house to keep one’s mistress’ carries none of its modern romanticism—it was a boy’s sacred vow to his childhood companion and future empress.”

“But in the end, Liu Che, who would become Emperor Wu of Han, betrayed Chen A’jiao.”

This piece of history was well known to all. The woman, lost in thought, seemed to recall her own experiences. A wave of sorrow flickered across her expression as she murmured softly.

“Liu Che fell for Wei Zifu. In desperation, Chen Ajiao turned to witchcraft to win back his love. Yet she was cast aside, banished to the Changmen Palace, and died alone.”

The owner spoke succinctly. “The spell Chen A’jiao used was never meant to hurt Liu Che. It was a plea for him to return to her side. The effigy in this box is the very tung-wood cursing doll that Empress Chen used.”

“How much is it?” the girl asked.

“Take it with you for now. If it does not work, you may return it. But if it does, then treat us to dinner at that Western restaurant.”

His smile deepened. “This effigy is hollow. Simply thread a strand of his hair through the small opening at the base, seal it with cinnabar, and place it in a dark corner facing true north.”

Clutching her tissue, the girl bit her lip. After a long silence, she picked up the box and stood. She gave the doctor and the owner a grateful nod. “Thank you, both of you. I will repay the money I owe you next time.”

As the door swung shut behind her, the doctor finally found his voice again. “Wait—didn’t you say you hate Western food?”

The owner nodded—he truly had no taste for Western cuisine.

The doctor stared at him with a face that clearly said, “Then why tell her to treat us to Western food if it works?”

Then, realization struck. “Are you saying that… the doll doesn’t actually work?”

The owner poured himself a cup of tea, raising it to inhale its fragrance with closed eyes before smiling faintly. “Did Chen A’jiao ever reclaim Liu Che’s affection?”

Of course not… Well, that sure made the doctor speechless.

***

It seemed that he had been asleep for far too long.

So long, in fact, that he no longer remembered his own name.

Too long…

“What do you wish for, woman?” He stretched his still-forming body in the air, looking down at the girl with a surprised expression.

“I… I want him to come back to me,” she said at last, steadying herself after the initial shock.

The words struck him like an echo. Somewhere in the recesses of memory, another woman had pleaded the same.

He let out a heavy breath, not knowing why his mood had suddenly turned sour. “My power only binds the one who awakens me; it holds nothing over anyone else.”

The girl fell silent.

He snorted silently through his nose. Foolish woman, forever lost in the fantasy of romance.

He yawned into the air, his translucent form resembling a cloud of formless haze. The girl remained silent, and he waited with considerable patience, taking the chance to experience the world he now found himself within.

So… he had slept for 2,000 years.

His expression darkened. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t recall what had transpired before his slumber. The past had eluded him completely.

Why was that?

Just then, the girl lifted her gaze and spoke with sudden clarity, “I want to return to the life I once had. Can that wish be granted?”

He rested his chin against his hand and looked down at her. In her eyes, hope shimmered with a trembling light.

For a brief moment, he found her amusing. Very well—he had slept for far too long. Boredom had lingered like dust in still air. A diversion, however fleeting, wouldn’t be unwelcome.

With a soft puff of air, the ethereal mist that clung to him began to dissipate, revealing a figure of tall and refined stature as it slowly alighted on the ground. He knelt with an air of courtly grace, reached out to gather the delicate hem of her skirt, and placed a feather-light kiss upon it.

Then he looked up, a faint smile playing at his lips. “My master, your wish shall be fulfilled by me.”

As he had expected, the woman’s expression shifted from panic to sheer horror, her delicate features now consumed by disbelief.

That expression delighted him, and the smile on his face grew even more unrestrained, brimming with a sense of indulgent satisfaction.

After all, the face she saw was identical to the one she loved.

He accompanied her on a walk in the park. She wore her favorite pale green dress with a radiant smile under the gentle autumn sunlight. “Xi, look, how pretty this flower has bloomed!”

He smiled warmly and nodded just when it mattered.

Yes. His name now was Mu Xi, and he was Pei Ying’s boyfriend.

Pei Ying—the girl who now smiled so radiantly beside him—was a university sophomore, living alone off campus due to family circumstances. And the role he was currently playing was that of her boyfriend.

She had awakened him. Her wish was to return to what once was, so he would oblige.

He understood the reason for her strong devotion to this relationship. It wasn’t solely due to the fact that she and Mu Xi had grown up together as childhood sweethearts.

Pei Ying’s parents had divorced early in her life and subsequently started new families, each with their own children. This rendered her the redundant child, her sole monthly provision being the alimony transferred to her bank account. Against this backdrop, Mu Xi’s presence in her life became exceptionally precious.

They began dating in high school, and from that moment on, Pei Ying poured every fragment of affection into him. However, this completely sincere love, in its excessive purity, manifested into overwhelming pressure.

Mu Xi had his own life to lead, yet Pei Ying clung to him like a vine, thread by thread, drawing from him the very air he breathed. Slowly, he suffocated.

Time, as ever, was a silent blade. Even the deepest bond will wear thin under the strain of small and constant wounds.

Ultimately, Mu Xi reached his breaking point and ended it.

And just like that, she awakened him.

A faint smile played on his lips as these thoughts crossed his mind. These memories were all gleaned through the single strand of hair residing within his being. As a spirit bound by witchcraft and sorcery, his inherent purpose was to fulfill his master’s desires within the realm of his capabilities.

“Xi, do you remember? It was right here that you celebrated my 18th birthday for me.”

Her voice drifted to him as she turned with a gentle smile. In that instant, a half-buried memory stirred. Someone had once smiled at him in just the same way—gentle, yet lonely.

Yet that smile, too, had never been meant for him.

“Of course I remember. I gave you that necklace, did I not? Yingying, have you been wearing it properly?” He smiled faintly.

Now that Mu Xi’s memories had been drawn from the depths, every moment he had once shared with her lived again within him. If what she longed for was a life of happiness with Mu Xi, then he would have to play the role of Mu Xi perfectly.

The Mu Xi who had once loved Pei Ying with all his heart.

“Look.” She pulled a necklace from her pocket, the pendant a sweet and charming silver angel that sparkled brilliantly under the sunlight.

“It’s beautiful, just like you.” He repeated the words Mu Xi had once said, his tone natural and filled with affection.

A smile of pure contentment graced her lips as she reached out and entwined her arm with his, utterly disregarding the startled expressions of those around them. She nestled sweetly against his shoulder as they proceeded forward.

Bathed in golden autumn sunlight, she failed to notice that behind them, only her shadow stretched along the path.

Indeed. In this world, she was the only one who could see him.

No—perhaps there was another woman.

Suddenly, he remembered.

2,000 years ago, in the distant era of the great Han Dynasty, there had been a palace named Pepper Chamber. Its walls were coated with a paste of ground pepper to keep out the cold and perfume the air. 

That had been the residence of the empress of Han—a symbol that once represented the zenith of the imperial harem’s hierarchy. Yet when he awoke within the Pepper Chamber, all that remained was the hollow splendor of gold and jade, and a woman who had long since fallen from imperial favor.

The woman they called Empress Chen.

“A’Che, do you like this outfit?” The woman twirled before him, sleeves and skirts flowing like water. Her skin gleamed pale as snow beneath the lamplight, and a luminous smile lit her face.

A’Che? 

Who was she addressing?

He cast his gaze around, discovering himself within a cavernous palace. The delicate tendrils of sandalwood incense wafted from a bronze Boshan censer featuring a coiled dragon at its side. Everywhere, gold-leafed walls shimmered beside jade-inlaid doorways, while rafters of magnolia wood and beams of wenxing apricot timber arched overhead.

The palace’s vastness ensured even the slightest utterance would echo.

Despite the intricate craftsmanship of every visible furnishing and decoration, the vermilion and ebony drapes cast a gloomy and frightening pall over the space, illuminated only by the dim flickering of a few palace lanterns.

Where was this place?

Though unfamiliar, a long-lost sense of familiarity surged from deep within him.

“It suits you, A’Jiao,” he heard himself reply. “With a gown in crabapple-blush, you should wear the phoenix-crest jade hairpin.”

A gentle smile graced the lips of the woman called A’Jiao as she took his hand and settled before a bronze mirror. She slid open a drawer, selected a jade hairpin, and presented it to him. “A’Che, would you help me put this in?”

He stared blankly at the face in the bronze mirror, a charming smile playing on her lips, unable to refuse as he took the jade hairpin from her. In that moment, as he lowered his gaze, he noticed a shadow stretching across the floor, elongated by the flickering light of the palace lanterns.

It was her shadow, yet beneath his feet, there was nothing at all.

He gripped the jade hairpin tightly, the coldness seeping through his palm and rapidly spreading through his body, causing him to shudder and snap back to reality.

“…Xi, Xi?” A voice, distant yet near, called out to him. He shook his head slightly, the bustling sounds of voices crashing in like waves, sweeping away the solitude and desolation of the cold palace.

“…Xi, Xi? Are you listening? Does this outfit look good on me?” The voice asked again.

He blinked and found himself staring at Pei Ying. The noisy chatter surrounding them threw him momentarily off balance.

They were now in a specialty store at a large shopping mall, the air conditioning set so low it was almost biting. Gone were the ancient, grand palaces, the ancient garb, replaced by the noisy chatter of people and the strange stares around them. The bustling mall only made him long for the quiet palace even more.

For a moment, he almost thought he could still smell the lingering scent of sandalwood. Then, just as quickly, it was obliterated by the Lancôme perfume emanating from Pei Ying.

Suppressing the hollowness in his chest, he forced a smile. “It looks great. Let’s get this one.”

She beamed with a nod and hurried back to the fitting room.

He let out a long breath, knowing he was perfectly inhabiting the persona of Mu Xi, his every mannerism and word choice precisely echoing their interactions, leaving no room for suspicion. He even suspected that if the real Mu Xi were present, she might not discern the illusion from reality.

Mu Xi, who deeply loved Pei Ying, would naturally accompany her to the mall to buy clothes. However, as their feelings had grown more distant over time, Mu Xi no longer accompanied her here.

Therefore, this ought to be a straightforward wish. All he had to do was convincingly portray the devoted Mu Xi and construct the fantasy she needed.

Yet, why was he lost in another scene?

And what was the source of the sorrow that surged from his chest?

“Xi, let’s go. We’ll have dinner at my place tonight, I’ll make your favorite curry beef.”

She emerged from the fitting room, swiped her card at the counter, and returned with a bright smile, looping her arm through his.

He steadied himself, returned her smile, and said, “Mm, let’s go.”

They walked side by side past the fitting room mirrors. The mirrors, impartial yet honest, solely reflected Pei Ying’s singular smile. She naturally linked her arm with empty air, oblivious to the astonished gazes of others in a strange posture.

“A’Che, it’s time for you to attend the court meeting in the Hall of Audience,” she said, sitting gracefully in the pavilion. Though her words implied he should leave, her eyes clearly revealed reluctance.

He smiled faintly. “What? Didn’t you ask me to accompany you to admire the flowers? Look at how splendid these peonies are.”

She pouted, sighing with frustration. “I’ve already kept you here for so long. Soon, the censors will report that the Empress is indulging herself.”

Her complaint amused him, and he couldn’t help but repeat words buried deep in his borrowed memories. “An emperor loses virtue when he overly dotes on a concubine. But to love his empress? That is the harmony of lute and zither—the foundation of a prosperous nation.”

Her expression changed, her smile freezing at the corners of her lips.

A feeling of annoyance welled up within him, for he knew that the one who had uttered those words in the past was at this very moment on the opposite side of this sprawling palace, showering excessive affection on some imperial concubine.

She lowered her gaze and murmured, “Go on, then. I want to be alone.”

Suddenly, he felt a dull weariness creep in—a disinterest in continuing this charade. He brushed his sleeves aside and strode away from the pavilion.

He was, after all, nothing more than a puppet she had summoned—meant to act out a role. Both actors and spectators knew the truth, no matter how beautiful the story. In the end, it was merely a performance.

As he descended the pavilion steps, he passed two palace maids stationed in the corridor, catching snippets of their quiet conversation.

“Look, Her Majesty ordered two cups of tea again. She’s waiting for His Majesty.”

Hah—what a joke. One of those cups was meant for him. The only problem was, no one else could see him.

“But how could His Majesty possibly come? They say Lady Wei is already with child.”

He froze, unable to resist turning back.

The lone figure in the pavilion picked up the opposite teacup to pour out the cold tea, then refilled it with fresh, fragrant hot tea.

He stared blankly as the wisps of hot steam dissipated, silently clenching his fists.

So, she truly was waiting for him…

She could distinguish. She knew which was her illusion and which was the man she loved—Liu Che.

He couldn’t help but sigh softly. Before him, everything seemed to dissolve like thick fog.

“Xi, Xi? Why are you zoning out again?”

He snapped back to reality, noticing that the magazine in his hands was upside down.

Calmly, he closed the magazine and looked up at Pei Ying, who was busy in the kitchen. He stood up and said, “You don’t need to worry about dinner. I’ve got something to take care of tonight. I’m leaving now.”

His task was to play Mu Xi perfectly, and that was in line with Mu Xi’s personality. In truth, for Mu Xi, Pei Ying was once a part of his life, but over time, that part had shrunk to something small—almost insignificant.

In the end, it was even dispensable.

She hurried out of the kitchen, quickly wiping her hands on her apron. She grabbed his arm and pleaded, “But don’t you love curry beef? You haven’t had it here in so long. If you’re in a hurry, I can pack it for you to take with you.”

He looked down, seeing in her clear eyes the reflection of a stranger’s face.

She wasn’t Chen A’Jiao—she couldn’t tell the difference. Between the illusion she had created and the Mu Xi she had once loved.

He froze. The words of refusal that had been poised on his lips swirled for a moment, but in the end, he merely nodded.

Her smile, in that instant, bloomed like the peonies beneath the sun in his memories.

A smile he had never seen on that woman’s face…

“Your Majesty…”

Startled, he turned around and saw a woman kneeling on the ground. Hastily, he reached out to help her up. “What did you call me?”

Her gaze flickered with hesitation before she let out a bitter smile. “You told me… never to call you A’Che again. Only Your Majesty.”

He stiffened. She was speaking of the real Liu Che.

A dull ache rose within him, like tiny insects gnawing away at his heart. He understood, with absolute clarity, that he was nothing more than a substitute.

So be it. The duty of an actor was to play the role the audience wanted to see.

And his audience… had only ever been her.

“There’s no need to call me Your Majesty,” he whispered, drawing her into his arms. “You know this—there is no one else in this world who may call me A’Che, but you.”

He murmured the words beside her ear, just as he had whispered them the night he ascended the throne ten years ago.

She leaned gently against him, the scent of her hair lingering between them.

“A’Che… why do you not love me anymore? Why must you love someone else?” she asked in a soft voice. “Did you not once promise to build me a golden house?”

He stood motionless, unable to answer further.

Because her question wasn’t meant for him.

He was only capable of portraying the voice, the mannerisms, even the memories of the man she loved—but he could never reproduce that man’s heart.

He had tried so earnestly to become the person she longed for.

Was it still not enough? 

He never wanted this. 

At the very least… not this time. 

He refused to lose again.

He clenched his jaw silently, unaware that Pei Ying had already put down her bowl and chopsticks, and was now looking at him with subtle concern.

“Xi, you’ve been acting differently lately.” She frowned slightly, a hint of uncertainty in her voice.

“Oh? How so?” He shifted his expression seamlessly, his lips forming an impeccably perfect smile.

She lowered her head and nervously fidgeted with the edge of the tablecloth, muttering almost to herself, “You’ve been… a little too good to me lately…”

His smile deepened.

He understood what she meant. By Mu Xi’s standards, visiting her twice a week was already generous. But lately, he had been here almost every day.

In the past, Mu Xi would avoid accompanying her on shopping trips; now, he was willing to walk until her legs were aching. Previously, Mu Xi would decline to stay and share a meal; now, he was happy to not only eat but also take on the task of washing the dishes. Mu Xi once shunned her complaints; now, he was prepared to listen to her endless speaking…

He knew he was overdoing it. What she needed wasn’t simply kindness, but the life she once cherished—an identical replica of the Mu Xi she had known.

He, indeed, had gone too far.

“What’s wrong? Am I treating you too well now?” His tone carried a trace of mock grievance, though deep down, he couldn’t suppress his sense of triumph.

This time, he wouldn’t let go so easily. He refused to be Liu Che—refused to be Mu Xi.

If trying so hard to be someone else still doesn’t lead to happiness, then let him revert to his true self and claim his own joy from the roles he had once performed.

“It’s not that… It’s just too much happiness… I don’t know what to do with it…” she murmured, her eyes dazed and uncertain. As if something had come to mind—but she was trying not to think of it.

He stood up and gently pried apart her interlaced fingers, one at a time.

“Don’t be overwhelmed. From now on, think only of me, okay? Don’t talk to anyone else. I’ll always be here with you, okay?”

Lifting her head, she fixed her gaze on his eyes and gave a slow nod.

The more time he spent at her side, the more curious he became.

How could that A’Che have so easily left her behind, alone in the boundless silence of the palace, without so much as a word or a glance?

For several nights, after she fell asleep, he silently made his way to the Hall of Audience, standing in the shadows to watch the man seated high upon the dragon throne.

Despite sharing an uncanny resemblance and possessing every identical trait, watching him meticulously examine the endless bamboo slips daily—the very act of transporting them enough to weary several palace eunuchs—and saw the man laboring without rest, day after day, through nights of sleepless governance, he began to feel… lost.

He watched as that man commanded the empire and dispatched troops against the Xiongnu, seeing him summon virtuous and upright individuals who spoke frankly to offer their utmost counsel and personally question them, observing him extend benevolence and implement virtuous governance while simultaneously using strict laws and severe punishments to govern the country…

The man in Weiyang Palace was no longer the youth who had once flipped tables in frustration after court, railing against ministers who had slighted him. Now, a single cold glance from him was enough to silence an entire hall.

Nor was he the boy who had once clung to her and insisted on painting her brows himself. Now, with the mere curl of a finger, a host of palace maids would rush to attend him.

This man was now a true emperor.

A sovereign above all, alone in the world.

How goes the night? The night was endless.

In Weiyang Palace, the lanterns never ceased their glow.

The one who once vowed to build her a golden house had grown up. His world had expanded beyond measure, while she remained trapped in the memories of long-lost happiness.

Ah, what a foolish woman… She knew the real him would never return, yet she still woke him——for the sake of trading reality for a beautiful illusion.

But perhaps that wasn’t so bad after all. Since that Liu Che had chosen a grander destiny, then he would be the one to stay behind and keep her company.

With this thought, he strode briskly from Weiyang Palace back to the Pepper Chamber, eager to return to her.

Yet, as he swung open the grand palace doors, a cold inquiry was the first thing to meet his ears.

“Where have you been?” she sat within the hall, casting a faint glance his way with those phoenix-like eyes.

It was the very gaze of an empress who held sway over the world, the look she would direct towards her ladies-in-waiting or her entourage—a look imbued with lofty condescension, surveying all with an air of supreme dominance.

The moment her emotionless gaze met his, a chill ran through him. She was looking at a man who appeared identical to Liu Che, yet her eyes were frighteningly clear.

It wasn’t she who had been living in an illusion. It was him.

“…How can you tell the difference?” he asked bitterly. 

He had performed flawlessly, hadn’t he? 

He had Liu Che’s face, his stature, his memories. Aside from the absence of a shadow, aside from being invisible to others, he should have been indistinguishable from the real Liu Che in her eyes.

She walked up to him, stopping only inches away, and said quietly, “He refers to himself as Zhen now, though he never did before.”

[朕 (Zhen): The imperial first-person pronoun, reserved solely for emperors after 221 BCE.]

“Then I too—I mean, Zhen also…” he blurted out, trying to recover.

She lifted her gaze, her eyes carrying a sorrow he could neither decipher nor penetrate. Then, unexpectedly, that sorrow softened into something gentle.

She raised a finger and pressed it lightly against his lips, her voice trembling slightly. “Don’t change. Don’t correct yourself. I know the truth… He has changed. But I don’t want you to change, too. You only need to remain as he was… and that will be enough.”

A heavy silence fell over him. Now he understood.

He was merely mimicking the Liu Che she had once loved. However, she had never stopped hoping for the real Liu Che to return to her.

In a quiet, wistful voice, she said, “You and he are easy to tell apart… When he looks at me, there’s never that unguarded passion I see in your eyes…”

He wanted to reach out, wanted to pull her into his embrace.

Yet he couldn’t.

Because he knew—he had never truly been the one she wanted.

It was for this very reason that this time, he wanted the “him” within Pei Ying’s heart to be wholly and truly himself.

The ringing of Pei Ying’s phone pulled him back into the present. She picked up, speaking to someone on the other end. After a brief conversation, she set it down, hesitated, then looked at him uneasily. “Xi…”

“What’s wrong?” He leaned back into the couch, gazing up at her. This uncharacteristic timidity was never seen on A’Jiao’s face. She had always possessed a proud spirit, a clear mind, and a ruthless nature.

2,000 years had passed since he failed to secure her love. But with Pei Ying, this delicate and seemingly powerless girl, he felt an overwhelming sense of assured success. 

In recent days, his presence in her life had become even more pervasive—deliberately monopolizing her every moment, preventing her from attending lectures or socializing with friends, ensuring that any outing she made was solely with him. 

No wonder her friends were growing suspicious.

“They… they said I might be… mentally unwell. They told me I should see a doctor…” she mumbled uneasily.

“Nonsense. What right do they have to say such things about you?” He frowned.

“They say… you’re just something I made up.” Her voice was uncertain, and she dared not move closer.

That’s because your foolish friends can’t see me! 

He scoffed and pulled her into his arms. “Made up? Then pinch your own face—see if it hurts.”

To his surprise, she did exactly that, giving herself a hard pinch. She winced in pain, then looked at him with an embarrassed smile.

“Good girl. Stop overthinking it. Your friends are just jealous of how happy you are,” he said smoothly, lying without hesitation.

If she couldn’t tell the difference between reality and illusion, then why force her to? 

Wasn’t his task simply to ensure she lived happily?

“Do you think so?” A hint of skepticism lingered in her voice, just as the phone resting on the coffee table began to chime with a graceful melody.

He picked it up, and his gaze fell upon the name displayed on the screen—Mu Xi. 

So the rumors had finally reached her ears.

But what of it? 

Who had pushed her away in the first place?

Why reach out now?

Without hesitation, he pressed the decline button and removed the battery. The melody cut off abruptly.

“Forget about them. Didn’t you say you’d cook something delicious for me today?” He smiled brightly.

“Hehe, that’s right! I’ll get started right away.” She leapt up without the slightest suspicion, tied on her apron, and headed for the kitchen.

His face broke into a smile, but then the landline phone next to them started to ring. He lifted his hand and, his expression unwavering, pulled out the phone cord.

“Who was that?” she called from the kitchen.

“Wrong number,” he replied casually.

“‘The Empress has acted against propriety, deluded by witchcraft and sorcery. She is unworthy to bear the Mandate of Heaven. Let her imperial seal and ceremonial ribbons be surrendered, and let her be deposed to reside in Changmen Palace.”

The voice of the edict announcer echoed mercilessly in the empty palace, the echoes reverberating wave after wave, making it seem even more desolate. She remained kneeling, her gaze still directed upwards, holding onto the final vestiges of her dignity as the former empress.

Years of waiting—repaid with nothing more than a single decree. 

Years of love—yet he never even granted her a final farewell.

Why?

He saw the silent question burning in her eyes.

He knew that her question had never truly been directed at him. She had looked through his face, as though seeing past him—to the emperor who wasn’t present.

He could have offered a litany of justifications: her spoiled disposition, her failure to produce an heir, the overreaching influence of her extended family… Nevertheless, that emperor employed the charge of witchcraft as a convenient falsehood to appease the empire.

How laughable. 

Was it truly his existence that had led to her exile in the Changmen Palace?

This wasn’t what he wanted… His only intention was to make her happy. But… no, this was also quite acceptable. From now on, her world would no longer contain that emperor. There would only be him.

“Yingying! It’s me, Mu Xi! Are you home? Yingying, please come out—everyone’s very worried about you!”

The relentless knocking snapped him out of his memories. Pei Ying was curled up beside him on the couch, watching TV. When she heard the pounding at the door, she lifted her head in confusion.

“Xi, you’re here… then who’s knocking outside?” Her face was filled with bewilderment.

“Shh. There’s no one—it’s just your imagination.” Seeing her unease, he smiled at her gently.

“Really? But that person sounded so much like you…” She tilted her head, listening carefully.

“You’re not well. Skip your classes tomorrow. Stay home and rest, okay? I’ll be here with you, always.”

“…Okay…” She closed her eyes contentedly, the corners of her lips curving in a soft arc—yet a lone tear shimmered at the edge of her lashes.

He held her in his arms, his touch tender as he muffled her ears with his hands. Should she wish it, he could remain with her for all of eternity.

“The night stretches year-long; My sorrow cannot be unwound. Motionless, I await daybreak—The barren horizon brightens anew. This cast-off woman grieves alone: Through all years, I dare not forget.”

She lay in bed, her youthful face pale and fragile, like a flower that had withered before its time.

He set aside the scroll of Lament of the Changmen Palace, the poem he had acquired at a great price. It had earned only the emperor’s praise for its verses—never once had he come to see her again.

He reached out and brushed her cold cheek, wearing the face of the man she had loved most.

She could no longer smile. Or perhaps… she had never truly smiled in his presence at all. It had been so long since joy last touched her eyes.

He had thought that monopolizing her would bring her greater happiness, yet she knew with certainty that it was all merely a deceptive illusion.

Descended from a distinguished lineage and indulged from her earliest years, she had never stooped to ingratiate herself or relinquish her pride, nor had she ever endured such treatment. In the five years of her confinement in Changmen Palace, she had been melancholic and despondent, and despite his every attempt, he was unable to restore her joy.

“A’Jiao, witchcraft is not only about illusions. At its core, it is a curse,” he whispered, gazing softly at the empress whose life now flickered like a dying flame.

“I know you would never wish harm upon him. Even though he has treated you this way, you have never once thought of hurting him.”

Though physically frail as she looked at him, her gaze remained startlingly clear, a clarity that tugged at the heart.

“Rest assured. I will not curse him with an early demise. May he live a long and enduring life, only to be a witness to the betrayal of every soul he holds dear. He will also be the instrument of death for all those he cares for, ultimately succumbing to solitude, much like your own fate…”

“A’Jiao… you still don’t know my name…”

His figure slowly faded, dissolving into the air, spreading an unsettling presence throughout the vast palace.

In his final moment, he leaned forward and tenderly bestowed a kiss upon her forehead. “A’Jiao, my name is Yan Sheng. Should… fate ever allow our paths to cross once more, I implore you, do not call me by the wrong name…”

In the darkest corner of the palace, a wooden effigy toppled silently to the floor, though there was no wind to push it.

At the same moment, a soul of lingering fragrance dissipated into the cold silence of the deserted palace.

“Xi, why did you bring me here? Wasn’t it perfectly fine at home? I really don’t feel like going out.” She squinted against the brightness, clearly uncomfortable beneath the dazzling sun.

“It’s good to go out once in a while.” He walked with her toward the bustling shopping street. 

According to his calculations, the other Mu Xi’s allotted lifespan would end today. If he could seize the moment when that soul departed, and claim the body before it cooled, then he would truly become Mu Xi—legitimately and entirely.

He didn’t believe there was anything base about what he was doing. He wanted her to be happy, wanted to bring her happiness; that was all.

In his past life, he had missed his chance. In this one, he would never let go again.

Everything looked so perfect under the sunlight. He walked beside her, watching her shadow stretch across the pavement.

Soon, he would be standing beside her in truth—a living, breathing Mu Xi, one who would love her forever.

Lost in this thought, he suddenly felt her arm wrench free of his.

“Xi!” Her desperate cry sounded otherworldly. She wasn’t calling for him; instead, she was running towards Mu Xi, who was in the path of an oncoming truck.

He stood frozen in the sunlight, watching his world crumble piece by piece.

History was repeating itself in an endless loop. In her previous life, A’Jiao had failed to win back Liu Che’s heart. In this one, Pei Ying had likewise failed to reclaim Mu Xi’s. Yet she would rather die herself than let harm come to him.

Everything unfolded just as it had before.

He would always be a substitute, forever an effigy, forever an actor in a play that only he was watching. It dawned on him that the one lost in the illusion all this time wasn’t her, but him.

“Huh? Why is this doll back?” The doctor behind the counter blinked in surprise as he spotted the tung-wood doll inside the brocade box.

He leaned closer and gasped. “It’s cracked! Did that girl not take proper care of it? My god, this is a Han Dynasty antique! How could she have been so careless?”

The owner was polishing an underglaze-red vase when he glanced over and remarked, “Heard there was a car accident. This witchcraft effigy took the blow for her, then split right open.”

“A car accident?”

“Yes,” the owner replied calmly. “I heard it was another spoiled heir drunk driving—ran a red light. Fortunately, no one was hurt. Both of them came out safe. Only the witchcraft effigy was damaged.”

“What a shame…” The doctor didn’t know why, but he felt an unexpected pang of sorrow. Maybe after spending so much time in Ya She, he had come to believe that the antiques here held lives of their own.

When the witchcraft effigy had first been brought out, he had distinctly felt a tremor, like the pulse of history pressing against his fingertips. However, now, it was gone—vanished without a trace. All that remained was a sorrow he couldn’t name.

Yet there was someone beside him even more heartbroken than he.

Leaning on a cane, the museum Director sighed deeply. “That was Chen A’Jiao’s witchcraft effigy! A craftsmanship rivaling the Han Eight-Knife jade-carving technique! It was carved from 2,000 tung-wood! It was—”

“It’s yours,” the owner interrupted bluntly, cutting short the curator’s excited rambling.

The Director’s face lit up at once. Ever since the incident with the Sword of Goujian, he had made a habit of visiting Ya She in the hopes of discovering hidden treasures.

“Ahem… such a shame about the crack, of course,” the Director muttered, though his hands were already eagerly cradling the box. “But once it’s mended, you can hardly tell at all. Look here, on the back of the effigy—Liu Che’s birth characters are engraved… Oh my, we shall have to make room in the Han Dynasty gallery for a full display case just for this piece…”

The doctor could no longer bear to listen to his rambling. He turned to the owner in confusion. “You’re really donating the doll to the museum? But didn’t you once say… that this doll was far from ordinary? That it even had a name? What was it called again?”

The owner lowered his gaze slightly. In a quiet tone, he replied, “Its name was Yan Sheng. But now… It’s just a doll.”