The Night of Questions

News of Xihan’s defeat spread like wildfire,
whispered from alley to alley, market to market.

Now the entire nation knew—
ten thousand elite soldiers had been torn apart like cotton by the Ghost Army.

All of Yichuan trembled beneath the weight of that horror.

Qin An was no exception.
Even as the Regent King, he was burning under the chaos,
his title itself a fragile thing—
won not by destiny, but by decree.

After Zhuo Yuan’s death, only two royal bloodlines remained:
Princess Jin Xiu and Princess Hai Qing.
But both had vanished.

Hai Qing’s disappearance had some explanation.
Half a month before Zhuo Yuan’s passing,
a strange letter had arrived on his desk—

“This immortal, Zhuo Hua, finds your daughter to be blessed with great spiritual potential.
I shall, out of mercy, take her as my disciple.”

The tone was arrogant, almost mocking.
Zhuo Yuan was furious beyond measure.
Yet three days later, he was dead.

Not from heartbreak—
but from poison.

It happened while he was with Hong Ling,
after taking a so-called passion elixir.
One misstep, and the elixir turned to venom.
Even the imperial physicians were powerless.

He lived just long enough to leave one final decree—

“Let Qin An serve as Regent.
Should Princess Hai Qing return, he shall aid her ascension.
Should she not, he may continue to rule as Regent—
but never, for all eternity, may he call himself king.”

Never, for all eternity, may he call himself king.

It was a cruel edict—
but Qin An accepted it nonetheless.

And yet, fate was merciless.
Just as he was learning to bear this new weight,
the other princess—Jin Xiu—disappeared as well.

After her humiliation at Bai Xi’s hands,
Jin Xiu had locked herself away,
refusing all visitors.
Until one day, a palace maid reported that the princess had left a letter—
and vanished.

Two princesses gone.
An emperor dead.
And a kingdom’s fate resting on the shoulders of one man—
a man already branded usurper.

Though he stood above thousands,
Qin An still chose to return home each night,
lest tongues wag.

Not to his general’s mansion—
it had been burned to ashes months ago.
Instead, he stayed in his father’s residence,
the Pingquan Manor.

His mother, Lady E Xiang, had nearly perished in that fire.
She spent days in delirium before awakening,
only to lash out at him in fury.

“What sort of demon woman did you provoke?!” she cried.
“With one wave of her sleeve, she set the whole mansion ablaze!
She said you owed her something—that she’d come for your life!”

Qin An had no answer.
In truth, he wanted to know as badly as she did.
What had happened between him and Bai Xi?

In the depths of his soul,
he felt it—
he had wronged her.

When they met again a month later,
it was at a royal banquet.
She appeared in white—
soft, graceful—
like a swallow returning to its nest.

She flew into his arms and asked,
“Qin An, do you still remember me?”

He could not speak.
He had never been a man of flowery words.
He only held her close and said softly,

“If I owe you something, take it.
Even if it’s my life.”

But she didn’t kill him.

He had so many questions—
so much he wanted to say.
Yet before he could utter a word,
she leapt into the night sky before all,
and was gone.

From that day onward,
her absence clawed at him like a cat at his heart.
He longed to see her again—
and feared it just as much.

Night deepened.
The oil lamp flickered,
its flame bending like a weary soul.
Outside, the watchman’s wooden clapper struck three times.
Third watch.

Two hours before dawn.
At fifth watch, he must rise—
dress—
and return to the palace.

Only two short hours to rest.
Yet sleep refused him.

Each time he closed his eyes,
he saw the battlefield—
limbs, blood, smoke.
Ten thousand souls, gone.
His heart bled with every breath.

He had never imagined that Gu Yi—
that seemingly gentle, scholarly prince—
could wield such terrifying power.

Rumors ran rampant.
Some said the current Emperor of Dongyi was not Gu Yi at all,
but a demon wearing his skin.

True or false, none could tell.
But now, that “false emperor”
had sent his army to crush Xihan,
claiming to “purge the usurper.”

Reports said a hundred ghost soldiers
had already gathered in the Mieshan forest,
awaiting Gu Yi’s command to raze Xihan to the ground.

The next clang of the clapper shattered his thoughts.
Unable to rest, Qin An threw on his cloak and stepped outside.

A crescent moon hung above,
its light pale and cold.
The city was asleep—
only the occasional bark of a dog broke the silence.

A nation of millions,
and he alone bore its weight.

Then—his sleeve fluttered.
A breeze that wasn’t a breeze brushed past him.

Before he could turn,
arms—soft and warm—wrapped around his waist.

“Who’s there?”

His voice was sharp as steel.
His hand fell instantly to his sword.
For anyone who could approach without a sound…
could just as easily take his head.

Silence.
Only the faint sound of breathing.

Then—
a voice, hoarse yet tender:

“Qin An…”

The name struck him like lightning.
He froze.
Then, slowly, his trembling hands covered the ones at his waist,
grasping them as if afraid they might vanish.

“Bai Xi…”

I stood behind him, arms still wrapped around his waist.
Or perhaps it was not me—
but Bai Xi, whose soul shared my flesh.

She moved my body,
she whispered his name.

He trembled as he turned,
tears burning down his cheeks like molten glass.

It had been so long—
so long since they had stood this close.

Above us, the moon glowed bright.
At our feet, the lotus pond shimmered like glass.

“Qin An,” I whispered,
“you’ve grown white hair.”

He smiled bitterly.
“Yes.”

He looked at me, eyes blazing.
He reached to kiss me.
I turned away.

He didn’t insist.
He only watched—silently, painfully.

A faint fragrance drifted through the air.
Qin An looked up at the moon.

He wasn’t a man for poetry or melancholy.
His gaze, always, belonged to the world.

I steadied myself.
“Qin An,” I said softly, “I came tonight to ask you something.
You must answer truthfully.”

He nodded.
“Very well.”

The night breeze chilled my thoughts.
I asked,
“You’re the Regent of Xihan now.
You command the clouds and the rain.
Tell me—what is most important to you in this world?”

He replied,
“The prosperity of Xihan.
Peace for the people.
I must not fail the late Emperor’s trust.”

Of course.
A thousand years ago, Bai Xi had asked the same question.

“Qin An, what is most important to you?”

And his answer had been—

“The peace of the Three Realms and Six Paths.”

I asked,
“And what would you sacrifice for it?”

He answered,
“My life.”

“Your own life?” I pressed.
“If peace required the sacrifice of your kin—your father, your mother—
would you still do it?”

He hesitated,
then said firmly,

“My father always taught me:
When you sit in power, you serve that power.
If one day peace demands my life—or even theirs—
they would give it gladly.”

A laugh rose in my throat.

And what of the Ghost Clan, Qin An?
Are they not part of the Six Paths?
Are they not the living souls of this world?
Yet you slaughtered a hundred thousand of them
with your own blade of black iron.

I thought for a long time, then asked,
“And what about me, Qin An?
Am I important to you?”

He lowered his head.
“Bai Xi… I would die for you.”

“Then tell me this,” I said.
“If one day I stood against your world—
if because of me, your kingdom fell and your people perished—
what would you do?”

“I would never let that day come.”

I smiled coldly.
“And if I destroyed it myself?”

He was silent for a long time.
Then said, quietly but clearly:

“Then I would kill you.”

Yes.
That was the Qin An I knew.

I nodded once, softly.
“Good,” I said.
“I’ll be waiting for that day.”