The Mirror of Startling Beauty: Her courtiers are everywhere

"Thank you for your concern, Regent," Pei Yanchuan said, lowering his eyes to open the vermilion register on the sandalwood table. His fingertips traced the four characters "Yun Chuan Empire," his voice calm and even. "Since your delegation is already registered, if there is nothing else—"

He raised his eyelids, his gaze as still as a cold pool.

"Please don't delay my official business."

The boy's silhouette, holding a pen, appeared as thin as paper in the candlelight, yet his tone carried an unyielding detachment:

"If Your Highness wishes to see my mother, please follow protocol and submit a formal letter to the Imperial Palace. This is a sacred place, where only guests from all corners of the world are received, and personal relationships are not permitted."

The last bit of warmth in Qi Si's eyes froze completely.

He gave Pei Yanchuan a deep look, his gaze like an icy blade scraping across the boy's thin spine, before finally turning away, his crimson python robe tracing a cold, hard arc in the air.

"Praying for forgiveness." Reaching the palace gate, he suddenly stopped, his voice as deep and resonant as metal striking the ground, "Thirty strokes of the cane."

"..."

Qi Wang, the God of War of Yun Chuan, who was being forced to kneel on the steps, suddenly looked up, his phoenix eyes filled with disbelief.

It was Pei Yanchuan who angered the Imperial Uncle, so why was it he who was being punished?

Seeing that the situation had eased, Tang Xixue was unwilling to stay any longer.

She gently brushed her wrist with the silver in her bosom, as fine snowflakes drifted in from outside the eaves, wetting the hem of her snow-white cloak.

"Ah Lin," she said, turning back as she reached the door, her gaze reflecting the swaying palace lanterns in the corridor, "we'll meet again at the Plum Blossom Banquet."

Pei Yanchuan suddenly stood up.

Outside the window, the wind and snow raged fiercely. He noticed the glistening white snowflakes clinging to the tips of her hair, and suddenly spoke softly, his words like butterfly wings brushing against the candle wick:

"Your Highness, look, the snow tracks are slanted—the wind is urging you to return."

He took out a book of poems carefully wrapped in plain silk from his bosom, his fingertips turning slightly white from the force, yet he presented it to her with utmost steadiness:

"And I... am looking at you against the wind."

After speaking, he quickly took three steps back, his wide sleeves drooping, and performed a very solemn bow.

All the unspoken admiration, all the emotions that tossed and turned in the dead of night, are now sealed in this manuscript of poems that still retains its warmth.

He wrote it for her, word by word, with the moonlight and the scent of ink.

Tang Xixue was slightly taken aback, then reached out and took it.

Beneath the plain silk lay his clear and elegant handwriting, the ink as fresh and vibrant as ever.

"As the year draws to a close and the weather grows cold," she said softly, tucking the poetry book into her sleeve, "you should also go home soon."

"Respectfully seeing off Your Highness."

Pei Yanchuan maintained his bowed farewell posture until the snow-white figure completely disappeared at the end of the corridor.

As he lowered his gaze, he suddenly noticed a silver note with strong, vigorous ink strokes pressed under a heavy, black jade paperweight—worth a full thousand taels of silver.

The figure, silhouetted against the evening chill, vanished like ink stains in the shadows of the beams and pillars, leaving only lingering echoes like snowflakes gently tapping on the windowpane.

"His Highness has recovered the compensation for you. Young Master Pei, you should focus on your studies."

"This task of governing the land... should not prevent those who should be writing to bring peace to the world from being trapped."

Pei Yanchuan suddenly looked up, only to catch a fleeting glimpse of a black-clad figure under the distant palace lanterns.

Mu Liang held an umbrella to protect Tang Xixue as they walked through the snow, the umbrella always tilted towards her side, while his own shoulders were already covered with a thick layer of white.

The boy looked down at the silver note, his eyes suddenly welling up with hot tears.

As I ran my fingertips along the edge of the ticket, it felt as if I were touching some distant yet warm expectation.

Moss-covered leaves quietly nurture snow, while a red stove silently simmers the night.

Inside the Mirror Night Snow Pavilion, Tangxi, having washed away the chill from the snow, had her black hair cascading down her pillow like a waterfall.

Silver Sky curled up on the brocade mat, its tail tip occasionally swaying slightly.

As she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, the snow outside the window illuminated the unopened manuscript of poems on her desk.

If we are together in the snow someday, then we can be considered to have grown old together in this life.

However, at the foot of Beichen Mountain, a hundred miles away, the scene is quite different.

Qi Si reined in his horse and stood at the foot of the seventy-two white jade steps of the Lintai Terrace, looking up at the view.

The eaves, like swords, pierced the snowy night, and the glass lanterns meandered along the mountain path like a galaxy. At every turn, golden-armored guards stood with halberds, their imposing presence even surpassing that of Beichuan Yunting.

"Slender and graceful..."

He whispered the name that lingered between his lips, and the white mist he exhaled was instantly dispersed by the cold wind.

The old scar on his palm, left from when he tied a red ribbon for her to pray for blessings, was now faintly burning.

"Isn't it too late to pick you up now...?"

The wind whipped up snowflakes, which lashed against his suddenly thin shoulders and back.

This man, who once stood before a vast army without flinching, now resembled a weathered stone statue, every inch of his features bearing the marks of impending destruction.

At the same time, in the side pavilion of the Yanlan Palace.

Qi Wang lay sprawled on the sandalwood couch, his back crisscrossed with welts from the cane, the blood soaking through his plain gauze undergarment.

Pei Yanchuan was silently applying medicine to him. The ointment was cool, but it couldn't mask the bitterness that permeated the air.

"Ying Lin," Qi Wang buried his face in the soft pillow, his voice muffled, "Is there something wrong with my uncle...?"

He pointed to his forehead with his other hand.

Pei Yanchuan paused slightly as he dipped the medicine in his hand.

"Whether the Regent has any hidden illness is not something I can determine."

He looked down at the hideous wound on his friend's back, his tone so indifferent that it revealed no emotion.

"But if you speak disrespectfully to His Highness again—"

The medicine spoon tapped lightly on the porcelain bowl, producing a crisp sound.

"This brother is better off not doing it."

"..." Qi Wang fell silent instantly.

After a long silence, he finally managed to squeeze out a sentence through gritted teeth: "For whom did I suffer these thirty strokes of the cane?"

For whom have they secretly destroyed all the tracking intelligence over the years?

For whom did they repeatedly feign deafness and muteness when questioned by the Regent?

And for whom did the Regent incur the Regent's wrath?

The candle flame burst open into a single flame.

After Pei Yanchuan finished bandaging him, he pulled up the quilt, got up, and walked to the window.

The snowlight illuminated the boy's quiet profile, revealing a faint, bitter smile on his lips.

He suddenly remembered that blood-soaked night five years ago—if it weren't for Qi Wang risking his life to rush into the sea of ​​fire and drag him and his mother out of the pile of corpses, Pei Yanchuan would no longer exist.

"My dear lord, she—to me, is more important than life itself."

The snow fell silently outside the window, covering all the paths we came from and the paths we returned to.

"Alright, alright, I won't make things difficult for her."

Qi Wang turned his head, and his eyes, which had been tempered on the battlefield and were as cold as stars, now showed a hint of grievance.

"Ying Lin, she took my wife away! Why did she have to steal my wife of all things?"

The usually taciturn God of War has endless things to say when he's with those he's close to.

"Where did you get a wife? Sir, are you married?"

Pei Yanchuan was slightly taken aback. How could his prince steal his wife?

"What's your name? Which family's young lady are you?"

He still inquired about his brother's situation, wanting to know which young lady his prince had stolen.

Can this be resolved?

"It was her—fellow Daoist. My natal sword! She stole it and vanished without a trace. She made me suffer the pain of losing my wife."

Qi Wang said through gritted teeth.

His poor natal sword wife.

"Oh--"

Pei Yanchuan's lips twitched.

He remembered Qi Wang's sword named "Fellow Daoist," and realized that this was his wife.

"...So you look so downcast because you're missing your wife?"

Pei Yanchuan rubbed his forehead. He suddenly felt that he might need to get to know this brother he had known for many years again.

"Of course! The cloud patterns on her sword hilt were carved by my own hand, and the sword tassel was woven from eighty-one strands of ice silkworm silk! She even... has her own pillow!"

Qi Wang gave a serious answer.

Pei Yanchuan: "...So how do you usually get along with her?"

Qi Wang solemnly replied: "To wipe one's sword in the morning is called dressing up; to dance with one's sword under the moon is called having a heart-to-heart talk. This is the way of husband and wife."

Pei Yanchuan: "..."

Qi Wang looked out the window at the heavy snow and smiled bitterly: "This snow is just like the snow on my wedding day! It was snowing when I tied the red tassel on her hair. But now... my wife is gone."

Pei Yanchuan: "Then send troops! They'll search the ground three feet deep to find our sister-in-law!"

Other people's sisters-in-law, at most, just don't look like locals.

But when it came to him, his sister-in-law was not even human.

Are there really no normal people among the Kitagawa Kijiro imperial family?