Chapter Ninety-Seven: Epilogue

Twenty years ago, on New Year's Eve in the capital city, the crackling of firecrackers filled the air incessantly. The ground was blanketed in pure white snow, symbolizing a bountiful harvest for the year. For most, New Year's Eve marked the end of the old year and the beginning of the new, a time for joy more than any other.

But for eleven-year-old Wei Zhuang, nothing had changed. Poverty, loneliness, hunger, and the ever-present shadow of death were his only companions.

In this world, he had no family.

No one cared for him.

He possessed nothing.

When others were at their happiest, he endured his deepest suffering.

Lying battered and bruised before a household door, he vaguely remembered being caught and beaten for stealing a sesame cake. How he ended up here was a blur; all he felt was exhaustion and cold, with no desire to move.

He thought he might die but felt no sorrow—death seemed a relief since no one would mourn him anyway.

The firecrackers continued to crackle. His consciousness grew faint. Someone spoke nearby, but his eyelids were too heavy to open. With his last shred of awareness, he heard a deep, middle-aged voice say, “Housekeeper, bring something for the boy. It’s New Year’s Eve; the child is pitiful.”

Then another voice, brimming with celebration, chimed in, “Master, master, the lady has given birth to a daughter. Congratulations, master!”

A hearty laugh followed. The middle-aged man said to the housekeeper, “Today is a good day.” He glanced down at the dying boy at his feet and sighed, “The Ye family has reason to celebrate today. His coming here must be fate. Give him some food and money so he can have a good New Year too.”

Someone pressed something into his arms. The man said, “Little beggar, consider yourself lucky today. The master has just had a daughter, so join in the joy. Take the money and leave quickly.”

He survived against all odds. When he awoke, he found wrapped food beside him and a gold ingot in his arms—the first time in his life he had ever possessed so much wealth.

Clutching the food, he stood before the Ye estate’s gate for a long while before finally turning away.

Later, he drifted to Shandong.

On New Year's Eve at twenty-two, he was still alone. By then, he had become Jinan’s leading wealthy merchant. Sitting by the window, drinking alone, he suddenly recalled the little girl who had unknowingly changed his fate when he was eleven.

He sold all his properties and returned to the capital.

In his life, he had never truly been kind to anyone. He helped that middle-aged man in his darkest hour purely out of gratitude, wanting nothing more than to repay a debt and leave it at that.

He hated owing others.

Yet that man regarded him with great favor and gave him endless support.

The first taste of happiness was what?

He was cold, ruthless, and heartless, but in front of that middle-aged man, he became docile.

Willingly so.

The only warmth in his life.

When he met that little girl, she was fifteen; he was twenty-six.

She was naive, innocent, pure—love and hatred so clear-cut—always quick to anger, meticulous to a fault.

He was mature, calm, worldly, and smooth.

He had many women—beautiful, graceful, gentle, understanding. He wanted what he had never been able to attain.

Yet he never expected to fall so completely for a fifteen-year-old girl.

So utterly lost.

His only regret in life was returning from Shandong.

Coming back, he met her.

Though beautiful, she was hardly exceptional compared to others, even possessing the spoiled temper of a noblewoman. He had seen women more beautiful, more gentle, even more understanding—but their faces grew dim in his memory, while hers remained vivid and clear.

Time and again, he left the capital, only to return again and again.

He indulged himself, sinking deeper into obsession.

Yet she paid him no mind—neither close nor distant, always aloof.

The deepest betrayal he could never tolerate became trivial because of her.

She was his lifelong curse, an inescapable fate.

She transformed him into the kind of man he despised—the powerless fool who cannot have nor let go.

If he could choose, he would rather never have met her, remaining a carefree wanderer, heartless and free.

But why, when lying in her arms at last, did he feel no regret? Seeing her cry tears for him, he thought perhaps everything had been worth it.

After all, in this lifetime, the person he cared for also hurt for him.

Unlike another woman, whom he sought for ten years only to be denied a single glance.

It was fine; he never liked to force things.

Let this life be as it is.

Let it be.

Let it be.

——————————————

Ten years later, accompanied by palace attendants, Ye Qianzhi ascended to Xuandu Temple on the outskirts of the capital, hoping to see her elder sister, Ye Qianran, who was living a life of seclusion and cultivation. Ye Qianran replied simply, “Your kindness is appreciated, and all is well now. I have found peace and am content. As for everything else, I have let it all go. Please, you may return.”

Ye Qianran stood atop the mountain watching the magnificent ceremonial procession descend. Her younger sister, sent to the music bureau at age nine, had met her destined man, Liu Teng, at seventeen. He was once the heir of Prince Jingjiang, now the emperor of Dayuan, and had once been a servant in the Ye household.

The Ye family had regained its former glory. Their father and brother had been summoned back to the capital; her brother had swiftly risen to become Minister of Personnel, ranking highest among all officials.

That was another story.

Her story had ended the moment that man collapsed in her arms.

Ye Qianran watched the drifting clouds in the sky. The green mountains remained unchanged, the white clouds still floated, the birds continued to fly.

And she remained the same.

An autumn leaf fell—the season’s first. Ye Qianran bent to pick up the pale yellow phoenix tree leaf, holding it between her fingers.

She turned and closed the temple door, shutting everything beyond it.