As long as it is you.

“When did you first see him, Chuxue?”

Chuxue broke into a joyful laugh and replied, “The first time I went out, I wore a mask. A young boy told me I’d dropped my brocade pouch, so when I turned around, I happened to see him on the other side of the street. Not a moment too soon or too late—it was just fate that I saw him. But he certainly didn’t know who I was. The second time was just a few days ago, when I deliberately took my painting out to look for him. But he rejected me. Father, haven’t you always said I’m the most beautiful? Then why did he ask you to find someone more suitable for me? How does he know he isn’t right for me? To send me away, he even claimed he already had wives and concubines…”

She unfurled the painting in her hands and spun around the King of Qi and the others, her arms outstretched as if dancing.

The King of Qi’s eyes flickered with both astonishment and worry. Indeed, what father wouldn’t be concerned to see his daughter like this?

Chuxue stopped spinning, ran to the King of Qi, and clung to his arm, pleading, “But Father, I like him and I want to see him—what am I to do? Please help me?”

“No! From now on, you must not see him again. He’s right—he’s not suitable for you. Your father will issue a decree to find you a suitable husband,” the King declared, sweeping his sleeves as he left, leaving several attendants to restore order in the bedchamber.

Chuxue was utterly unconcerned. She threw herself onto the soft brocade quilt, her laughter spilling over.

Zihua, guarding the scattered paintings on the floor, asked, “Princess, do you truly like him so much?”

“Of course,” Chuxue nodded. “As long as I can see him, I am happy. It makes me happier than any treasure I’ve ever had.”

“But he and His Majesty both say he isn’t right for you.”

Chuxue shook her head. “They’re not me—how would they know what’s suitable? I’ll make him accept me. Once he agrees, what do wives and concubines matter?”

Zihua pressed her lips together and quietly rolled up all the paintings into a tube. As expected, that very night Chuxue slipped out of the palace again, hugging several paintings as she vanished through a secret passage.

Mingyue clicked her tongue and sighed, “Crawling through dog holes for him again and again—what a sacrifice.”

This time, Chuxue went straight to the same street where she’d last seen the Emperor of Que, but she did not find him. Fortunately, the capital was well managed. Passersby only approached to ask her a couple of questions, or advised her to go home—no real danger. Each time, Chuxue stubbornly shook her head, but before long, drowsiness overcame her and she fell asleep in the corner of a wall.

Mingyue could only stay by her side, ready to help with Qin Shi should trouble arise—just in case a real thief appeared.

But in the end, it wasn’t a thief who came, but the Emperor of Que, the one Chuxue’s heart longed for.

In her uneasy sleep, Chuxue curled up, hugging her arms tightly. The Emperor of Que stood before her for a while, then finally bent down and carried her away step by step. He might not have known her identity before, but now it was impossible not to.

When Chuxue awoke the next day, the unfamiliar surroundings did not frighten her. Upon seeing the Emperor of Que enter, all fear melted away, replaced by a smile brimming with joy.

“Princess.”

Her smile faltered. “You found out so quickly?”

He nodded. “Yes. I met your father just days ago.”

“Then who are you?”

“Perhaps it’s best if your father tells you himself. I’ve already sent word to the palace—they’ll come to take you home soon.” With that, the Emperor turned to leave, but Chuxue caught his little finger.

She gazed up into his eyes and asked, “Then can you at least tell me your name?”

“…Ziqi.” After a brief hesitation, he softly spoke the two syllables, then withdrew his hand.

Before long, Zihua and the others arrived. Though Chuxue was brought away once more, her spirits remained high, laughter dancing in her eyes and on her lips. The moment she returned to the palace, she threw herself before the King of Qi and demanded, “Father, tell me who he is.”

“Chuxue, he is the Emperor of Que—the ruler of the neighboring country. Do you still yearn for him so?” Perhaps angered by Chuxue’s repeated escapes from the palace to seek the Emperor of Que, the King’s usual patience snapped, his shout echoing through the hall.

Chuxue pouted but remained undaunted. “Que is our neighbor, and much stronger than Qi. If I marry him, wouldn’t Qi become strong too? I was worried before that his status wasn’t high enough, but now that he’s the Emperor, it’s perfect. Father, hurry and discuss a marriage alliance with him…”

Before she could finish, the King’s slap landed across her cheek. Silence fell. All the maids and guards dropped to their knees, holding their breath. The King glared at Chuxue, his anger mingled with helplessness, while Chuxue stared back in disbelief. At last, she burst into tears and ran out.

The King of Qi slumped onto the cold floor, turning to the Prince of Qi and Zihua. “Have I sheltered her too much? Has my care made her blind to reality? But how am I to tell her that the Emperor of Que is here to urge me to surrender?”

“Take care, Your Majesty.”

“Father, don’t worry. There must be a way. If the Emperor of Que truly has feelings for Chuxue, then perhaps he’ll show mercy to Qi for her sake. But as things stand, it doesn’t seem he intends to marry her.”

The King shoved the prince away, furious. “You call yourself my son? Am I, a king, to use my daughter to save my people?”

“Father! You know Chuxue’s nature. Has she ever changed her mind about anything she set her heart on?” Tears filled the prince’s eyes as he argued with his father.

The King fell silent, clutching his head in his hands, the lines of worry deepening on his brow. He sobbed, “It’s my fault—all my fault! Her mother wanted her to live a simple life, so I protected her, kept her from all court intrigue. But in the end, this innocence has only harmed her! What good would it do to marry her off? A man like the Emperor of Que would never give her his whole heart.” In that moment, Mingyue saw not a king, but a father—an old man, grieving for a daughter who loved the wrong man.

“Father, according to the spies, the Emperor of Que will soon return home. His troops are already at the Shu border. We must try again. If, in this time, we can change Chuxue’s mind, all the better…”

Unwilling to remain, Mingyue dragged Qin Shi away to find Chuxue.

In her bedchamber, Chuxue wiped away her tears, found a box of ointment, and covered the mark left by the King’s hand. She added some rouge until her face in the bronze mirror showed no trace of tears or hurt. Smiling at her reflection, she whispered, “Chuxue, don’t give up.” With that, she slipped out the secret passage once more.

This time, she went straight to the house where the Emperor of Que was staying, arriving just as his party was preparing to leave.

Chuxue ran toward him.

But suddenly, the world around her began to collapse. Mingyue had thought these scenes were memories of Chuxue’s, but the figures in the illusion remained unfazed, continuing with their roles.

Mingyue shook Qin Shi’s arm. “What’s happening?”

Receiving no answer, she looked up in alarm, only to see Qin Shi pull away and shove her back with force. The world around them crumbled rapidly, fragments drifting in the air. Only then did Mingyue realize the truth: this wasn’t the effect of Chuxue’s narrative, but the result of someone interrupting her story—the illusion of Canglan could no longer sustain itself, and so collapse ensued.

She tried to drag Qin Shi with her to escape, but his form receded into the distance. A blinding white light burst forth and Mingyue closed her eyes, remembering only the shape of Qin Shi’s lips as he spoke something she could not hear.

She could not make out his words.

With a violent start, Mingyue’s eyes flew open and she began to cough uncontrollably.