The Mirror of Startling Beauty: Her courtiers are everywhere

As the first rays of dawn broke through the lingering mist, the longsword named "Fellow Daoist" lay quietly on the sandalwood table in the Mirror Night Snow Lodge.

The scabbard was covered with a thin layer of frost, and the cloud pattern at the hilt was filled with the perpetual cold mist of the Boundary Abyss Dragon Ridge Mountains.

That sheer cliff, stretching between Yunchuan and Beichen, was trampled through every crevice of the stone by the three thousand Night Warriors of the Battle Hall last night.

"Sir, we've found it."

Qian Su stood with his hands hanging down in the shadows of the curtain, the hem of his black robe still stained with the ochre dust unique to the dragon's spine.

He spoke in a very low voice, as if afraid of shattering the tranquility of the room:

"Found at the third quarter of the hour of Yin (3:45 AM) deep within the seventh crevice of Broken Dragon Cliff. The sword was half-buried in the snow, but fortunately, the sword core was undamaged."

Bei Chenji stood by the window, her crimson sleeves fluttering gently in the morning breeze.

"Um."

He didn't turn around, only gave a faint reply, but his gaze fell on a newly blooming bud on the old plum tree in the courtyard—before last night, that withered branch had only held up its thin, iron-gray bones.

He woke up when Tangxi Xue returned.

To thank her, I asked her what she wished for.

At that moment, she only softly picked up a sword—the natal sword of the God of War, Qi Wang, which the transmigrated woman had angrily thrown into the abyss, "Fellow Daoist."

Bei Chenji didn't say much, but simply sent Qian Su ahead.

Searching for a sword on the vast Dragon's Backbone is no different from seeking a pearl in the ocean.

Fortunately, there were many people in the battle hall, and Ye Feng was able to scale walls and dig deep into the ground. Finally, he found the long-lost sword from the crevices of the rugged cliff.

He woke up in the middle of the night last night, thinking he would have no chance to fall back asleep.

This was the first long night in many years that was not torn apart by a cold dream.

At a certain moment, as the soft breaths of Tangxi Xue drifted in, he unexpectedly drifted back into sleep.

The sounds of battle cries seemed to be kept outside the glazed tiles.

A faint, cool fragrance of crabapple blossoms floated in the air, her scent silently soothing every inch of his tense nerves.

The lingering fog has dissipated, and the eaves are dripping with emerald green.

"Squeak—"

The carved door was gently pushed open.

Bei Chenji suddenly turned around.

Tang Xixue stood by the door, wearing a snow-white soft velvet morning robe. Her dark hair cascaded down her shoulders like flowing water, with the ends still curled up in the languidness of just waking up.

She raised her hand and rubbed her sleepy eyes. This childlike gesture made the morning light filtering through the window seem to linger on her fingertips.

"Good morning, little imperial uncle."

Her voice still carried a lingering sleepiness, soft and sweet like freshly melted honey.

In that instant, it was as if not the morning light illuminating the house, but rather she herself was shining brightly—more translucent than the first golden ray breaking through the clouds after a snowfall, more tender than the moonlight washed clean the night before.

Bei Chenji's Adam's apple moved almost imperceptibly.

"Xue'er," he shifted his gaze, pointing to the long sword on the table, "a gift of gratitude."

It was still that same concise, almost clumsy, language.

In the past, he had given her countless gifts: rare books he had collected from the black market, jade ornaments he had carved himself...

Each time, he would only point lightly, as if saying even one more word would reveal a hint of undue warmth.

He once heard a wandering Taoist priest utter a prophecy in a hoarse voice in a desolate Taoist temple during a torrential downpour:

"A cursed star, bringing misfortune to all family members. Those who are near you will be harmed, and those who love you will perish."

Since then, he has lived his life like a sword sheathed in its sheath.

She dared not draw her sword, fearing the blood on its blade would stain her.

He dared not hand it over, fearing the coldness of the knife handle would injure her.

"The young imperial uncle is truly reliable in handling matters."

Tang Xixue had already walked to the table, her fingertips lightly tracing the inscription "Fellow Daoist" on the sword sheath.

The handwriting was vigorous and unrestrained, each stroke seemingly about to burst forth from its sheath; it was indeed the work of Qi Wang.

Who would have thought that the mighty God of War would resort to such unexpected tricks?

He said, "Fellow Daoist, please wait," while the light of his sword flashed.

"Um."

Bei Chenji responded softly, but his fingers quietly curled up inside his sleeve.

He has always been the most reliable tool for the Tangxi royal family, and he has always been dependable in his work.

However, upon hearing her praise, a subtle warmth welled up in his heart.

This feeling doesn't seem unpleasant.

"I take my leave."

He turned and walked towards the door, the morning light casting a pale golden outline on his tall, straight back.

"I apologize for disturbing you last night."

The last four words were spoken so softly that they almost blended into the sound of melting snow dripping from the eaves.

As the purple robe brushed past the threshold, he heard his heart pounding in his chest.

"Little Imperial Uncle".

Her voice came softly, clear and melodious like mist and rain brushing against the willow branches of Jiangnan.

Bei Chenji stopped in his tracks.

Without turning around, he only slightly tilted his head, revealing his cool and aloof profile.

The morning breeze seized the opportunity to lift his deep purple wide sleeves, and as his clothes fluttered, he resembled a datura flower blooming on the other side of the netherworld, beautiful yet solitary.

"What is it?" he asked.

Tang Xixue stood still, the morning light making her snow-white figure almost transparent.

She gazed at him, her eyes sparkling like a galaxy, filled with a kind of earnestness he couldn't decipher, yet which stirred his heart:

"My elder brother—he is very important to me."

She paused slightly, each word like a carefully polished jade bead, gently falling into the silent morning light:

"Young Imperial Uncle, could you... protect him?"

The air suddenly froze.

Bei Chenji's pupils suddenly contracted.

In that instant, he seemed to hear a cracking sound in his chest.

It wasn't an illusion; it was a dull pain so real it was tearing at my very core.

His little Xue'er looked at him with such clear and trusting eyes, begging him... to protect another man.

That king who stands forever in the light, favored by heaven and earth.

The person he had fantasized about countless times about dragging into the dust and sharing the taste of darkness with—Tangxi Ye.

That person, named "Night," was born radiant with glory, pure and bright.

His name was "Ji", yet he was trapped in an icy, blood-filled prison for the rest of his life, in an endless night.

"If..." Bei Chenji began, only to find his voice terribly hoarse, "this is what you wish for—"

He didn't finish speaking.

With a single step beyond the threshold, the crimson figure swiftly disappeared into the gradually brightening light under the eaves, as if fleeing some kind of heart-wrenching demon.

The study deepest part of the Beichen Prince's Mansion is perpetually shrouded in darkness.

Bei Chenji slumped onto the cold, black iron throne, his hands tightly covering his face.

The pair of purple eyes peeking out from between her fingers were as empty and blank as a wasteland swept by a blizzard.

"Master..." Qian Su knelt at the foot of the steps, her voice trembling slightly, "Everything for the sacrificial ceremony is ready, awaiting only your command..."

"Remove."

The two words were decisive and resolute.

Qian Su looked up in astonishment:

"But this is a scheme that has been planned for three years! Didn't you once say that the emperor's throne is a place of honor for anyone who sits on it? Why can't it be you, my lord?"

"I say, remove it."

Bei Chenji lowered his hand, revealing a face as pale as paper.

"Sir, I've heard that Miss Shen... is very much looking forward to your Yanxue Residence..."

Qian Su observed the expressions and gestures, trying to find something to say to comfort her.

"Is that hers? Does she even deserve to have any expectations?"

Beichen Ji's voice was cold and sharp; the change could happen in an instant.

"Even if I were to give the house to my cousin, I would not give it to her."

"A fake is still a fake."

"..." Qian Su remained silent.

Has our lord been bewitched by Princess Jing?

Why are you suddenly so cold and harsh towards Miss Shen?

"Oh, cousin, you're so good to me!"

Hua Rongshi happened to hear these words as she walked in, and was immediately overjoyed.

"My cousin wasn't home last night. Did he go off to some brothel? He looks so radiant today—"

He approached with a grin, but was intimidated by the unfathomable darkness in Bei Chenji's eyes and took a half step back.

It is an abyss of unrequited love and unspeakable pain.

"Goodness gracious, my cousin's resentment is heavier than a ghost's!"

"It turns out I was blind."

"shut up!"

Bei Chenji coldly shouted to stop him.

Knowing that Xiaoxue'er was the one who gave him warmth,

He was the only light in this world.

But why, when she smiled and begged him to protect others, did that light pierce his heart like a thousand arrows, leaving it riddled with holes?

The excruciating pain gripped his heart, and he almost suffocated.

It turns out that love is the sharpest blade in the world.

Because he cared, she became the one who wielded the blade.

Without even trying, a single glance or word was enough to pierce his supposedly impenetrable heart, leaving it bleeding profusely.

He probably fell in love with a snowflake that didn't have him in its heart.

Crystal clear, with sharp edges, every refracted light reflects the shadow of others, and every sharp edge cuts him all over.

But he couldn't bear to melt her with the warmth of his palm.

I could only hold it so carefully, letting the cold sting my skin and the sharp edges pierce my flesh.

It was as if the pain itself had become some kind of proof of her possession.

The deepest warmth often brings the most bone-chilling cold.

He willingly remained trapped in this infernal realm of ice and fire.

Because that glimmer of light was lit by her own hands.