Chapter Nine: Do You Still Remember

Sui Gaolang led the group to his office, and even Ye Qianchen and Ye Qianzhi were left somewhat bewildered. The two exchanged glances, wondering at the situation—Ye Qianmu surely commanded great respect, for she was being allowed directly into his territory.

Ye Qiange wasted no time on pleasantries. Carrying the unconscious Ye Qianling, he placed her on the table at the center of the room and began preparations to set her broken bones. Just as he was about to lift her clothing, he turned with a look of disgust toward Sui Gaolang, his meaning clear: men and women should maintain propriety, and setting bones would require removing her top. As an outsider, Sui Gaolang’s presence here was inappropriate.

Ye Qianchen hastily tried to smooth things over, gesturing politely, “Master Sui, please come with me. Let’s talk.” Sui Gaolang understood and allowed Ye Qianchen to lead the way. As the group was about to leave, Ye Qianchen noticed Ye Qianmu was about to follow them out and turned with a smile, “Mu’er, don’t go just yet. We’ll need someone to assist Qiange; otherwise, he’ll be overwhelmed.”

Ye Qianmu understood Ye Qianchen’s intentions. Sui Gaolang still harbored feelings for her, but from the emperor down to her siblings, none believed their star-crossed romance would ever bear fruit. Since there was no future, there was no need to create opportunities for them to be alone.

Sui Gaolang’s expression darkened; he looked at Ye Qianmu with obvious reluctance, his affection evident yet powerless. He thought of her every day—her care, her embrace, the unforgettable love she had given him. He wondered how much more he must do before she would return to his side, or perhaps this was a wager destined never to be won.

Suppressing the ache that lingered in his heart, Sui Gaolang caught Ye Qianmu’s accidental glance. In that fleeting moment, her eyes were as gentle and loving as eternity itself—a look he had not seen for so long.

Their first meeting had been on a rainy night. His mother was being hunted by assassins sent by his father’s wife, and the two had been fleeing for nearly three days without food, hunger gnawing at them. Rain poured outside, and his mother’s injured left leg made escape impossible. They hid in a ruined temple, barely surviving, believing death would claim them in the lonely thunderstorm.

He never wished to be a bastard, nameless and unacknowledged, growing up in a music hall with his mother, the famed courtesan of the capital whose dancing was unrivaled. In her youth, she loved his father, but their disparity in status prevented their union. Fate took its course, and his mother bore him, keeping his existence secret until his seventeenth year when his father, seeing a boy who resembled him so closely, investigated and discovered the truth.

He could hardly believe the man in the official’s robes with broad shoulders was his father. Used to living at the bottom, he doubted even sunlight was meant for him. Yet his father came daily to the music hall, conversed and played music with his mother, and even sought to redeem her. On his sixteenth birthday, amidst a snowy day, the three of them celebrated together. He dared to believe that the dignified, powerful figure was indeed his father—one who loved and cherished him. Sui Gaolang was overjoyed, finally belonging to a complete family, no longer the wild child without a father.

His mother, however, refused redemption. To him, she was so beautiful and gentle, never refusing anyone. But that time, she solemnly told Sui Ce, the Minister of Revenue, “A Ce, I won’t accept your redemption. It would feel as though you bought me. I am a person, and I wish to walk with you as an equal, hand in hand, openly. If asked, I want to declare without hesitation that beside me stands my beloved. You could redeem me with a blink, but that act would forever create a barrier between us. If I cannot give you equal love, I would rather forsake you and our feelings.”

Sunlight shone on his father’s eyes, shimmering like tears. His father embraced his mother, whispering softly in her ear, “Shishi, I’m sorry. I visited you soon after marrying, but you were drinking with another man, and I thought you had forgotten me. I shouldn’t have let my pride as a man keep me from you for so long.”

He believed he would soon leave the perfumed music hall, fulfill his filial duties, and through his own efforts, bring pride to his parents, ensuring their twilight years were peaceful. But fate was cruel; within half a month, his father’s wife sent assassins after him and his mother.

He watched his mother’s wounded leg bleed ceaselessly, her face pale from loss of blood. Their skills were insufficient against a dozen professional killers; all he could do was pray the stormy night would conceal their tracks. Yet amidst the tempest, the sound of movement betrayed their pursuers’ arrival.

He picked up the sword, its edge nearly worn blunt and stained with blood—the only legacy left by his mentor at the music hall, who had died saving him and his mother from these killers. His mentor, it was said, was a famed hero in the martial world, but reputation meant nothing when his beloved would never reciprocate his feelings. His mother, from birth to death, loved only his father, and for his mentor, all she felt was gratitude and tears at their parting.

“We’ve finally found you. You two are good at running, we’ve chased you for two days,” five or six men in black emerged from the rain, entering the dilapidated temple. The leader saw Sui Gaolang shielding his mother and his eyes burned with rage. “You brat, you’ve killed four of ours. Tonight, I’ll make you pay their blood debt. You and your mother, who stole someone else’s husband, can go to the underworld together and snatch lovers there.”

He drew his sword and lunged at Sui Gaolang, who immediately raised his sword to protect his mother. Outnumbered and weakened by hunger, his arm grew unsteady, and finally, a single blow sent him and his weapon crashing to the ground.

In that moment, Sui Gaolang recalled the beatings from the madam at the music hall, the freezing hunger in the dark cell, and his father’s recent embrace and care. Perhaps heaven had pity, allowing him to feel his father’s love before his life ended—a single regret was that his time to fulfill filial duties had been so brief. Yet he had possessed it, and that was enough.

As he thought this, tears—never before shed—slid down his cheeks, salty as they touched his lips. He closed his eyes, awaiting pain, but it did not come. After several seconds, a voice, ethereal and elegant, sounded, “Open your eyes. It’s all right now.”

Sui Gaolang slowly opened his eyes. Many people stood around, torches in hand, illuminating the ruined temple as if it were daytime. Their noble bearing made it clear they were not ordinary folk. He looked toward the speaker, so near that another step would bring their faces together. Her brows, her bright eyes, her slender lips—like a celestial maiden descended to earth, her purity mingled with nobility. She was, undeniably, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

They gazed at each other in silence, the unfamiliarity fading as if the world contained only the two of them.

“Th—third Miss,” a female guard almost slipped, quickly correcting herself, “Third Miss, the master is waiting for you at home. It’s late; you should return.”

The girl collected herself, and the two quickly turned their eyes away, awkwardly looking aside. “It’s fine, the others have already gone home. We chose this route, and if not, this mother and son might have perished in the storm tonight. Saving people to the end—please see to that lady’s injuries and make sure she is healed.” She pointed to Song Shishi, lying bloodied on the ground. Sui Gaolang snapped to attention, hurried to his mother’s side, and gently shook her with panic in his voice. Only then did he realize that during the fight, his mother hadn’t moved or spoken—she was already gone.

Sui Gaolang knelt, gazing at his mother’s bloodless face, and kowtowed nine times, each blow striking the ground with force. The onlookers tried to stop him, but the girl intervened. From hopeless despair to blazing fury, and finally blinded by hatred, he vowed in his heart to avenge his mother, to make his enemies pay in blood, to tear them limb from limb.

Silence enveloped the scene; all watched the filthy boy whose head was bleeding, his face dark and cold.

Ye Qianmu had stumbled into this place by chance. She and her four siblings had chosen different routes back to the capital, racing to see who would return first. She ended up here, witnessing the scene for a long while, uncertain herself. As the Third Princess of Ye, she had met countless handsome men of every age, but this boy, dirty-faced and soaked, captivated her. His eyes could ensnare souls—the phoenix eyes arched upward, his brows deep. Just seeing those eyes, she felt something different, though at seventeen, she knew little of love between men and women; she simply felt he was good, that she liked him.

Ye Qianmu saw Sui Gaolang calm himself, hesitated, then approached and knelt beside him. “The dead cannot return. Please restrain your grief. Those men have been driven off, but they may return.” After a pause, she added, “We can find you a place to hide for a while, just in case.”

Sui Gaolang looked at the beautiful girl, staring until Ye Qianmu grew uneasy, wondering if something was on her face. At last, he spoke, “Thank you. I, Sui Gaolang, will repay your kindness someday. You need not trouble yourself further.”