Remarried to a top-tier playboy, her reborn ex-husband is filled with regret.

"I know my own body."

"Don't speak!"

Xiao Fang roared, his eyes already red.

"Don't talk, the medic will be here soon—"

Xiao Ji shook his head slightly.

His gaze went past Xiao Fang's shoulder and up to the vast sky above.

The sky over the northern desert is high and vast, and the setting sun is burning half the sky into a crimson gold.

He suddenly smiled.

"Alright..."

I can...go and keep your mother company now...

His voice grew softer and softer, and his gaze began to wander, but the smile on his lips grew deeper and deeper.

"She waited for me for so long..."

I need to apologize to her properly...

Back when your mother was angry... I couldn't coax her no matter what I did.

You're not good with words, unlike yourself.

You're so good at coaxing your wife... teach the Godfather King.

"Father is clumsy with words. When your mother was alive, I never really managed to coax her properly..."

Xiao Fang gritted his teeth, but tears still rolled down his cheeks.

One by one, the bullets struck the armor on his father's chest, re-wetting the dried blood.

His lips trembled; he wanted to say, "You'll be alright."

I wanted to say, "The military doctor will be here soon."

I want to say, "Don't leave me."

But he couldn't utter a single word.

It felt as if an invisible hand was tightly gripping his throat.

It could only let out a suppressed, muffled whimper, like that of a wounded wolf cub.

Xiao Ji slowly raised his hand and grasped Xiao Fang's hand.

His palms were wide and thick, able to completely envelop Xiao Fang's hand.

When he was a child, he held his son's hand like this, teaching him to write, to hold a knife, and to draw a bow.

At that time, his hands were warm and strong, capable of lifting his son off the ground.

His hands were as cold as iron at that moment.

"Ah Fang."

He called out.

Xiao Fang was startled.

How many years has it been since I last heard this name?

After his mother died, his father never called him that again.

He spent so many years as a hostage in the capital, and his father's letters always read, "My son, seeing this letter is like seeing you in person."

It's always "Prince Xiao Fang," and the tone is always businesslike.

"Father, I'm sorry."

Xiao Ji's voice was as soft as a breeze.

"Father is sorry for your mother."

I failed to protect her.

You killed that bitch, and you did the right thing.

Father is not as good as you; he is too indecisive.

This grudge... should be avenged by your father for your mother.

"Your father is not as good as you were when you were seven years old."

Xiao Fang shook his head desperately, his tears falling onto his father's hand, creating tiny splashes of water.

"Stop talking...stop talking..."

"Ah Fang."

Xiao Ji refocused his gaze on his son's face.

There was guilt, reluctance, and a warmth in his eyes that had never been worn away by time.

"Father regrets... that he couldn't see your wedding."

I haven't even seen the Crown Prince's beloved wife whom you cherish so much.

I haven't even seen my grandson born yet.

Xiao Fang knelt beside him, holding his father's hands in his own, his throat feeling as if something was blocking it.

He wanted to say that you will see it, you will hold your grandchildren, and you will enjoy your old age in the yard, just like any other ordinary old person.

But he couldn't bring himself to say it.

Because he knew none of that was possible.

His father's hand was in his palm, growing cold little by little.

That was the temperature he was most familiar with since childhood, the temperature that wrapped him in a cloak on a snowy day.

It was the warmth that enveloped the back of his hand when he was being taught how to hold a knife.

It was the warmth of a piece of maltose that was secretly slipped into his mouth every time he made a mistake and got beaten.

The temperature is disappearing.

"Ah Fang..."

Xiao Ji's voice grew weaker and weaker, like a lamp running out of oil, its flame gradually dimming.

"Treat your wife well."

Don't be like Father... don't be like Father, who, when he wanted to be good to someone... was no longer able to hear him.

His hand slipped from Xiao Fang's palm and landed gently on the sand, palm facing up, as if to catch something unseen.

The last rays of the setting sun fell on his face, illuminating the faint smile on his lips.

His smile was serene, as if he had finally found the person he had been searching for for half his life after traveling for a very long time.

"Father?"

Xiao Fang's voice was very soft, so soft that it was almost inaudible.

No one answered him.

The wind in the desert suddenly stopped, and the whole world became so quiet that it was as if all sound had been sucked out.

"Father—"

The roar exploded from Xiao Fang's chest, tearing apart the silent twilight.

He buried his face in his father's blood-soaked chest, his shoulders shaking violently like a wolf cub who had lost his loved ones.

Like that helpless seven-year-old boy when his mother died.

He never imagined that his father, who was as strong as a mountain, would one day collapse.

He thought his father would always be there, always sitting upright on horseback.

She would always look at him with those steady eyes, like a mountain that would never collapse.

But the mountain collapsed.

He will never hear his father call him "Afang" again.

Xiao Fang sat on the sandy ground for a long time, holding his father.

As darkness fell, the night winds of the northern desert picked up again, whipping up sand and gravel that stung our faces.

The guards stood at a distance, none of them daring to step forward.

They lit torches and formed a circle, enveloping the father and son in the flickering firelight.

After an unknown amount of time, Xiao Fang raised his head.

There were no more tears on his face.

The tear stains were still there, hanging in streaks on his blood-stained face, but his eyes had regained their calm and hardened expression.

He bent down and carried his father's body on his back.

Xiao Ji's silver spear was still stuck in the sand next to him.

Xiao Fang supported his father on his back with one hand, and with the other hand he reached out and forcefully pulled the silver spear out of the sand.

The gun barrel still retained the warmth of his father's palm, heavy as an unfinished story.

He carried his father on his back, holding a silver spear, and walked step by step toward his warhorse.

After securing his father to the horse, he mounted himself, placed the silver spear across his knees, and gripped the reins with his knuckles turning white.

On the way back to camp, he did not look back.

The remaining soldiers behind them held torches and formed a silent, long line in the night.

The firelight reflected the dried blood and tear stains on his face, the unbandaged wound on his forehead, and the blood-soaked silver spear behind him.

He sat upright on his horse, like a sword that had been tempered.

The night wind of the northern desert made his battle robe flutter loudly, but he did not turn around.

From this moment on, he became the commander-in-chief of the Zhenbei Army.