During the Yuanxi Festival, a time of celebration for all, when the moon hangs over the willow branches and lovers meet after dusk, it should have been the perfect season for romance. Pei Rusong had ascended the Pagoda with precisely such amorous thoughts in mind.

He never expected that the moment Wen Chan opened her mouth, she would elevate the topic to a much more distant and unattainable height.

Under the dazzling brilliance of "righteousness for the realm," his trivial thoughts of love and romance seemed like the dim, dying embers in a burnt-out pile of firewood, able to flicker back to life for a moment only when the wind blew over them.

But then again, it was precisely because the Princess was always so resolute, no matter the circumstance, that one couldn't help but rely on her, unable to let her go.

Pei Rusong met her gaze and demurely lowered his eyes. His brows, eyelashes, and even the strands of hair on his forehead curved into a perfectly gentle arc. Half his face was bathed in moonlight, as translucent as white jade. "I know that Your Highness still holds the matters of our past life to heart, blaming us for indulging in personal feelings and acting on impulse, for not prioritizing the nation and the state, and for failing to live up to your painstaking efforts."

Wen Chan: "Well, not really..."

"I've said it long ago. As long as it is Your Highness's wish, I will do anything." A light mist rose in his eyes. "But Your Highness must also promise me that no matter what happens in this life, you will strive to live, to keep living, and not abandon me again."

"Every year from now on, I will accompany Your Highness here. This Pagoda has room for two people. Among the countless lights of the myriad homes we see, there will surely be one that belongs to Your Highness."

He was actually very tall, so much so that Wen Chan had to tilt her head up slightly to see his face clearly as he stood there. Yet, he held himself with such a low posture, like a small cat or dog rubbing against one's leg, making one irresistibly want to reach out and pat his head.

"You've improved, Young Master Pei."

Wen Chan raised an eyebrow and teased softly, "I wonder who it was last time who was making a fuss about wanting to die with me. Now you've learned to say such pretty words."

Pei Rusong covered half his face as if to hide, turning his head to give a faint cough. "Your Highness is joking."

Wen Chan's eyes were sharp, and she immediately spotted the red mark on his knuckles. Though the light was dim, she could still make out signs of swelling. "What happened to your hand? Are you injured?"

Caught off guard for a moment, Pei Rusong immediately pulled his hand back, concealing it within the cascading layers of his sleeves. "It's nothing, probably just frostbite from the cold."

A pampered young master like him, whose ten fingers had never touched common water and who rarely practiced riding or archery, usually had very well-maintained hands. Aside from the calluses from playing the zither and writing, there would be no other injuries.

"Frostbite? A burn?" Wen Chan guessed. "The injury is on the back of your hand and your knuckles. Did you get into a fight? Who was it, to be worthy of you getting involved personally?"

Pei Rusong: "..."

His image as a delicate Little White Flower was on the verge of collapse. Seeing that he could barely maintain it, he hesitated, unwilling to answer. The amusement in Wen Chan's eyes was so full it was about to overflow, yet she feigned a mischievous tone of comfort, "It's alright, what's there to be embarrassed about? We're all young and reckless. Who hasn't lost their head at some point? Acting on impulse is understandable... hmm, and how is being over forty not considered the prime of one's youth?"

Pei Rusong: "..."

"It wasn't on purpose..."

"Mhm, mhm, I understand. The fist has a mind of its own, we all get it."

"They were just saying awful things," Pei Rusong said sullenly. "Unspeakable things, disrespectful towards Your Highness. I really couldn't listen to it anymore, so I cornered that person in the alley behind the restaurant... and beat him up."

Wen Chan asked humbly, "And that person was?"

"Zheng Hengyu." Pei Rusong was still angry just thinking about it. "One of the three prince consort candidates Your Highness picked out."

After leaving the palace last time, Qin and Zheng had already spoken offensively. At the time, Pei Rusong lacked the proper standing to confront them directly, so he could only make a mental note of it, to be settled at a later date. Who would have known that this evening, when he was meeting a friend at a restaurant, a noisy crowd of richly-dressed young masters would swarm in shortly after he sat down, bringing with them three or four alluring and charming songstresses.

Those men were clearly used to being arrogant. The moment they sat down, they began shouting for wine and boisterously congratulating Young Master Zheng, praising him for becoming a prince consort candidate and making an appearance before the Emperor. Now his good name was known throughout the Capital City, and a brilliant future was just around the corner.

Zheng Hengyu exchanged toasts with everyone, so flattered he was floating on air. Finally, with his arm around a prostitute, he slurred with a drunken smile, "What are princesses and noble ladies? None of them can compare to my darling Yun Fang. I couldn't care less..."

Hearing this, Pei Rusong finally exploded with rage. His friend was also one to fan the flames: "Want to sort him out? It's simple. Send someone with a message, say you've heard of his fame and wish to invite him to a private room for a chat. Then, you can throw a sack over his head, shove him out the back window, and he'll be gone without a trace. You can do whatever you want with him."

His friend took on the task of luring the fish, while Pei Rusong took his guard Chang Feng to wait in the alley behind the restaurant. Before long, a window above opened, and Zheng Hengyu, with a sack over his head, was thrown out. He landed in a pile of junk and began cursing loudly as he staggered to his feet. Pei Rusong sent him flying with a kick to the chest, and before he could collapse like a pile of mud, he hauled him up and landed a punch on his head.

At first, he was still shouting, "Do you know who I am? Do you know who my father is?" but Pei Rusong remained silent throughout. Only when the man could no longer form a complete sentence and could only whimper and beg did he finally let go, allowing him to crumple to the ground.

Chang Feng stared dumbfounded at his young master, who had never so much as raised his voice in anger his entire life. He felt that ever since his master had pretended to be a zither player, he was no longer "as gentle as jade," but had become someone who "does as he pleases."

Pei Rusong didn't go into too much detail, and fearing she would overthink it, he carefully assured her, "Rest assured, Your Highness, my friend is a reliable person. This was done very discreetly. Even if it's investigated later, it won't be traced back to me."

"Han Yan just loves to watch a commotion. It can't be traced to you, but would it be so glorious if it was traced to the son of the Vice Minister of the Court of Judicial Review?" Wen Chan scoffed. "Stop hiding it. Let me see your hand."

Only then did Pei Rusong remember that Wen Chan probably knew about his friendship with Han Yan, the second son of the Han family, from their past life. Hiding the name was pointless, as she could guess who it was anyway. He obediently raised his hand to her.

Hitting through the sack, his hand wasn't bloody or broken, but the surface of the sack was so rough that he had scraped it countless times without holding back, which was why it was red and swollen.

Wen Chan tsk'ed. "Such a young miss."

Pei Rusong's ears burned slightly. "...The rules at home were strict before, so I didn't have many opportunities to practice martial arts."

"Go back and put some medicine on it. In the future, if you hear this kind of talk, just ignore it. Do I still need to teach you this?" Wen Chan said. "There are rumors everywhere, and there will be even uglier ones in the future. You can't possibly fight your way through all of Zhaojing with just your two fists."

"I know." Pei Rusong sighed. "It's just that it happened right in front of me, and it was hard to quell my anger without doing something... Your Highness can't be completely indifferent either, right?"

Wen Chan nodded and turned her face to look out the window. "But I usually think that the higher you stand, the fiercer the wind. It's unavoidable. Only when a person is buried underground will they be safe from the wind and rain."

Pei Rusong was stunned for a moment, then let out a low laugh. He followed her gaze out the window into the boundless night, standing shoulder to shoulder with her, watching the magnificent full moon and the fireworks of the mortal world on this festive night.

"If we can't escape it, then let's get drenched in the rain together."

On the eighth day of the fourth month of the Twelfth Year of Yanshou, Princess Chiming was married to Pei Rusong. The Prime Minister Yuan Shuye served as the Master of Ceremonies, the Prince of Dan blocked the carriage, and a Scholar of the Zhaowen Academy served as the groomsman.

The marriage of the Son of Heaven's beloved daughter caused a sensation throughout the city, and the streets were empty as everyone came out to watch. Several thousand palace attendants and Imperial Guards cleared the way and escorted the procession. The groom, in red robes on a white horse, led the Seven-fragrance Carriage out from the palace gates. Both sides of Chengtian Avenue were packed with commoners who had come to watch the ceremony. Countless eyes were fixed on the magnificent procession. The setting sun and the torchlight spread across the sky, seeming to dye the entire city of Zhaojing in an auspicious crimson.

The procession moved slowly through Changle District when, at that moment, disaster struck—

Dozens of feathered arrows suddenly shot out from the residential buildings along the road, striking down the palace maids and guards surrounding the carriage. Several figures in gray clothes leaped from all directions, lunging towards the groom and the wedding carriage in the center. Their long sabers flashed like white silk, and wherever their cold glint passed, blood splattered in an instant. The crowd suddenly erupted in terrified screams!

"Help!!"

"Assassins!"

An assassination attempt during a princess's wedding procession was something unheard of in history. No one could have been psychologically prepared. Even the Imperial Guard responsible for security failed to react in the first instance. Moreover, the overly crowded and chaotic mob hindered them, leaving them constrained and unable to act. They could only be pushed and shoved while watching helplessly as an assassin's blade swung towards Pei Rusong.

'Are the assassins after him, or after the princess?'

Only one question had time to flash through Pei Rusong's mind before the gleam of a blade was upon him. He leaned back almost instinctively, pulling on the reins with one hand, causing the white horse to rear up. With astonishing reflexes, he snatched the saber from the waist of the nearest Imperial Guard and, in the nick of time, met the assassin's blade head-on with a fluid motion.

The blades clashed with a sharp "clang"!

In that brief moment of suspension in the air, the stark white back of the blade reflected a pair of beast-like, cold, and ferocious eyes.

Pei Rusong narrowed his eyes almost imperceptibly. The assassin's first strike had missed, and he immediately retracted his saber to adjust his stance. But by then, Pei Rusong's blade had already caught up to him. A swift and fierce diagonal slash from top to bottom, whistling through the air, directly tore a long, deep gash in the leather armor hidden under the assassin's chest.

That was the reaction and force of a battle-hardened soldier, one accustomed to using a long saber on the battlefield.

Pei Rusong had no intention of getting entangled in a fight. When his one strike failed to be fatal, he immediately turned his horse and charged towards the wedding carriage. Because the street was crowded, the horses were blocked and startled, and the wedding carriage was shaking violently. The four coachmen were desperately pulling at the reins. The fastest assassin had already leaped onto the carriage shaft, and the tips of the other assassins' sabers were about to pierce through the walls of the Seven-fragrance Carriage.

The distance of a few steps felt like an insurmountable chasm. The sound of the wind from his pursuers grew closer and closer. Pei Rusong had no other choice. Gritting his teeth, he flung his hand, and the long saber flew through the air—

Whoosh—

A wide black cloak was blown open by the wind, and a black gauze veil fluttered as a dark figure landed lightly on the roof of the carriage.

The Crow, against the setting sun, spread its wings that blotted out the sky.

The nearly four-foot-long horizontal saber was pitch-black all over, with only the blade emitting a faint, cold light. Like a long, dark feather drifting down from the heavens, it nonchalantly swept aside the wild rats surrounding the wedding carriage with a single slash.