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Chapter Text

The biting cold of the mountain winds hadn't softened in the three months since she left. Three months since the dust had settled, and Gongzi Yu had officially ascended as the Patriarch, growing into his role with a grace that surprised many, including Shangjue himself.

Life in the Jue Gong had, by all outward appearances, returned to its old rhythm. The familiar, comforting sounds of Yuanzhi chattering away, the clink of dishes as they shared meals in his study—it was a melody of normalcy Shangjue had thought he’d forgotten. He listened to his younger brother's animated stories, a faint, almost imperceptible curve on his lips that, for anyone else, would have been a full-blown smile.

It was in one of these moments, his gaze absently drifting around the room, that it landed on the pot.

A pot of blooming 杜鹃花 (dù juān huā) — azalea.

It sat on a low shelf, its vibrant white a stark, violent contrast to the dark, polished wood and severe lines of his study. It was a splash of purity in a world of darkness, a whisper of softness in a fortress of hardness.

The fragile semblance of a smile vanished from Gong Shangjue's face, wiped away as if it had never been there. His eyes, moments ago softened by Yuanzhi’s presence, iced over, becoming deep, unfathomable pools of stillness. The air in the warm room suddenly felt thin and frozen. 

Shangguan qian's soft and demure voice rings in his ears - 我永远属于你 (I belong to you, always.) His unbroken stare settled on the 墨池 (inked well) in the middle of his room, a place where the people that matter most to him often show up - his dead mother and brother. These days, it is Shangguan qian, he wills it away but he couldn't look away even if it a figment of his imagination. She was always beautiful even as a mirage. 

Yuanzhi, mid-sentence, followed his brother’s frozen stare. Understanding dawned, and his youthful face contorted in frustration. He slammed his chopsticks down.

“I TOLD them to get rid of that!” he shouted, his voice cracking with a protective fury. He sprang up, ready to summon a servant, to personally hurl the offending plant into the deepest chasm he could find.

“Leave it.”

Shangjue’s voice was quiet, hollow. It wasn't a command, but a flat, drained statement. He stood, his movements unnervely deliberate, like a man moving through deep water.

“I will retire for the night,” he stated, not meeting Yuanzhi’s worried eyes.

“Ge…” Yuanzhi’s voice was small, laced with a helpless concern he so rarely showed.

“It is nothing.” The words were automatic, a shield. Without another glance, Gong Shangjue turned and walked out, leaving the vibrant flower and his concerned brother behind.

The silence of his bedchamber was absolute. Here, there are no cheerful younger brother, no reminders of duty—only memory. He stood in the center of the dark room, and it played before him, unbidden: the look on Shangqian’s face as she left. Not triumphant in her escape, not cruel in her betrayal, but… shattered. Utterly and completely shattered. A mirror of his own inner state.

His own low whisper broke the silence, a confession to the empty air. “She said she was carrying my child.”

The words hung there, heavy and toxic. Was it true? Or was it the final, masterful twist of the knife from the most skilled spy Wufeng had ever sent? A last gambit to ensure her escape, to leave a seed of doubt that would forever poison his well?

His jaw tightened. She wanted to destroy the Gong family. She had been a weapon aimed at their heart from the very beginning. She had plotted against his family to steal 无量流火 (Infinite Flowing Fire), had exposed his weakness to Wufeng, had indirectly sent people after his life. 

“The Gong family comes first,” he murmured, the mantra that had been the bedrock of his entire existence. It was the reason he had accepted Gong Ziyu’s leadership, a man chosen by the family over himself. It was the reason he had let her go, even knowing who she was, even with that final, devastating claim. The family’s stability, its future, outweighed any personal desire, any personal agony.

But in the profound silence, another thought, treacherous and quiet, insinuated itself through the cracks in his armor.

Where is she now?

The thought was followed by others, unwanted and persistent.

Is she safe? Is she… well?

He closed his eyes, a wave of profound exhaustion finally crashing over him. The mighty Gong Shangjue, pillar of the Gong family, was utterly, completely alone, haunted by the ghost of a woman who might have carried his heir, and the terrifying, unwelcome hope that somewhere, she was alive.

Chapter Text

The silence in Gong Shangjue's chambers was a presence in itself, thick and heavy. Three months of enforced normalcy, three months of Yuanzhi's fiercely protective watch, three months of burying every thought of her beneath a mountain of duty and discipline.

He had not sought her. The desire was a nagging, phantom limb, an ache he refused to acknowledge. He’d heard the hushed, hurried orders from Yuanzhi - No one is to speak of her. Remove every azalea from the Jue Gong. Shangjue had allowed it. He was the dutiful son of the Gong family, its most feared enforcer in the Jiang Hu, its most effective and profitable member. He was a pillar of ice and resolve.

Then, one evening in the third month, the silence broke.

It was a faint scent first, a whisper of perfume he’d thought banished from his world. Then, his eyes, sharpened by a lifetime of vigilance, caught it. A single, perfect azalea blossom lay on his pillow. It was not there moments before.

Every muscle in his body coiled. In a fluid motion too fast to see, his sword was in his hand, the cold steel singing as it cleared the scabbard. The air in the room shifted, grew charged.

“Show yourself,” his voice was low, a deadly promise.

A shadow detached itself from the deeper darkness near the balcony. A figure, slender and familiar, moved with lethal grace. Their blades met in a shower of sparks, the clash of steel echoing in the spacious room. It was a violent, silent dance they knew all too well. She was strong, her technique as sharp and cunning as he remembered, but there was a new, raw edge to it. He was still stronger.

With a powerful, disarming twist, he sent her blade skittering across the floor. He pinned her against a pillar, his body pressing hers, his sword arm rigid against her throat, not quite cutting, but leaving no doubt of his dominance. Her chest heaved with ragged breaths, her eyes glittering in the dim light.

The familiar scent of her filled his senses, a devastating mix of perfume and danger. Her gaze, defiant and unafraid, locked with his. A slow, taunting smile curved her lips, a mirror of the wicked charm she’d wielded like a weapon in this very palace.

“You miss me, Gong Shangjue?”

Chapter Text

The shock that reverberated through Gong Shangjue was seismic, a tectonic shift in the foundation of his carefully reconstructed world. The last time he had felt this particular, gut-wrenching brand of shock was the day he learned his mother and brother had been slaughtered by Wufeng. It was the sensation of the impossible becoming reality, of a ghost made flesh.

She is back.

He stumbled back a step, his grip on the sword tightening until his knuckles were white. The Gong palace was an impenetrable fortress, a legend in the Jiang Hu. No Wufeng agent should have been able to breach it, and yet, here she stood, in his most private sanctum, as if she had never left.

“What… how did you get in?” The question was torn from him, laced with a disbelief that bordered on awe.

She smiled softly, a ghost of her former cunning. “Security has gotten a little lax.”

The casualness of her answer, the sheer audacity, snapped him back to the present danger. He pressed the blade harder against her throat, a thin, threatening line of cold steel. “Speak, or I will send you directly to the torture chamber. Why are you here?”

He watched as a profound sadness immediately washed over her features. Her shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of her. Her eyes, those captivating, deceptive eyes, began to glisten, growing red-rimmed. The sight of it infuriated him further. How dare she play this game again?

“Speak now! And stop with this pity play. You know the torture devices I have there.” His voice was a low, dangerous growl.

She smiled then, a heartbreaking curve of her lips as the tears began to fall in earnest. “You promised me no pain.”

The words landed like a physical blow. He remembered. The dungeon, her fear, his own internal war between duty and the treacherous pull she already had on him. He had threatened, yes, to maintain his facade, but he had never intended to follow through. He had been the one to slip her the antidote, to plead her case to the elders. She didn’t know any of that. All she remembered was his threat, and now, his promise.

The memory seemed to hang between them, a fragile, shared secret in a web of lies.

“You betrayed me,” he stated, the words cold and hard, shattering the moment. “You betrayed the Gong family. You are a spy of Wufeng.” He demanded again, his voice raw, “What do you want?”

She took a shaky breath, the tears still tracing paths down her cheeks. “I need a favour.”

“A favour?” The absurdity of it made him loosen the knife, just a fraction.

She felt the minute shift and used it, pushing the blade away gently with her fingers before she seemed to lose all strength, sinking down to sit on the edge of a low divan. She looked small, and for the first time, truly vulnerable.

“Yes. A favour. On account of our marriage?” She looked up at him, a weak, teary smile attempting bravery. “We are not divorced yet, you know.”

“I’ll annul the marriage right away,” he said, the automatic response of a man building walls.

She laughed, a wet, broken sound as she wiped at her tears. “Of course you will do that. But for now… you are my only family.” She hugged her arms around herself, a gesture of profound isolation. “Will you help me?”

Chapter Text

The name of the pill hung in the air between them, a request so audacious it stole the breath from his lungs. 百草萃 Bai Cao Cui. The Hundred Herb Pellet. A miracle of the Gong family's medicine, a treasure beyond price.

“Why do you want it?” His voice was dangerously low, the blade still a promise, always on guard. 

“Do I not deserve it?” Her reply was a soft, wounded thing.

It was the wrong thing to say. It ignited the fury he had been banking since her return. “Yes! You do not deserve it at all!” The words erupted from him, cold and sharp as his sword. “Do you think you can kill people, nearly destroy my entire family, work with the organization that plots to annihilate us, attempt to steal from us, try to get under my skin, and then ask for a miracle pill? You do not deserve it at all!”

She looked at him then with a sadness so profound, so absolute, that it shocked even him. It was not the calculated sadness of a spy, but the raw, broken despair of someone who had lost everything.

“I have no one left,” she whispered, the words barely audible. “I have no family, no friends. You are my husband. Won’t you help me? Besides, I... I..."

The sentence died on her lips. She seemed to crumple inwardly, the last of her hope extinguished. How pathetic she was, to come here and beg from a man who saw only a monster. She had thought they had something, a connection forged in their shared darkness of their families being annihilated by Wufeng, by their shared pain and thirst for vengeance. Clearly, they did not.

In a sudden, desperate movement, she twisted away from his blade and leapt from the room, a shadow fleeing into the night.

Shangjue paused for only a heartbeat, the echo of her unfinished words ringing in his ears. Then, without a second thought, he gave chase.

She was swift and clever, using the terrain to her advantage, but she was no match for his relentless power and knowledge of the land. He cornered her on a small, moonlit hill overlooking the vast forests surrounding the Gong palace. His sword found her throat for the third time that night, the cold steel a familiar threat under the pale light.

Under the moon's glow, he could see her clearly. She had lost weight, her face sharper, her frame more fragile. But there was something else, a different aura he couldn't quite pinpoint.

“Tell me what you want it for? Why does a Wufeng assassin need such a thing?”

She kept quiet, her chest heaving, only staring at him with those immense, sorrowful eyes. He pressed the blade harder, a trickle of blood welling at its edge. He hated the necessity of it.

Finally, she spoke, her voice hollow. “All Wufeng assassins are given 半月之蝇 (The Crescent Moon toxin). Every fifteen days, we must consume an antidote. It is how Wufeng keeps us on a leash. I fed them information about the Gong family, and I received the antidote. But now… I have failed. I cannot go back. They will kill me. A death worse than you can imagine. My handler is also dead. I had three antidotes left. This… is my last.”

She looked up at him, her eyes pleading with an earnestness that threatened to unravel him. “Gong Ziyu cured Yun Weishan with the Bai Cao Cui. If I am not cured soon… I’ll die.”

His mind raced, calculating, distrust warring with a horrifying, dawning belief. “How do I know you are not lying?”

She let out a bitter, broken scoff. “Of course I am lying. You never trusted me.”

“You never gave me any reason to!” he shot back, his own frustration boiling over.

Before she could form a retort, her face contorted into a mask of pure agony. A strangled gasp escaped her lips as her legs gave way. He dropped his sword and caught her before she hit the ground, her body convulsing violently in his arms. The pain of being burnt alive. 

“Qian!” His own voice sounded foreign, laced with a panic he hadn't felt in years.

“It is the poison,” she choked out, her eyes wide with terror and pain. “If I don’t get the antidote… I’ll die.”

Then she screamed. A raw, blood-curdling scream that tore through the silent night, a sound of pure, unadulterated agony that left no room for deception. It was the most honest sound she had ever made in his presence.

Chapter Text

The raw, agonized screams tore through the tranquil night, a distress signal that could not be ignored. By the time Gong Ziyu and Gong Yuanzhi, alerted by the guards, found them on the moonlit hill, it was over. The screaming had ceased, replaced by a silence more terrifying than the noise.

Shangguan Qian lay limp and deathly pale in Gong Shangjue's arms. Her breathing was shallow, her pulse a faint, fluttering whisper beneath his fingers, but she was alive. Shangjue was crouched over her, his face a mask of such raw, unguarded distress that Yuanzhi stopped dead in his tracks. He had never, in his entire life, seen his unshakable brother look like this—shattered.

Gong Ziyu's eyes immediately went to the woman in Shangjue's arms. Recognition flashed, followed by pure alarm. In a single, fluid motion, his sword was out, its point aimed at the unconscious threat. "Step away from her, Shangjue!"

Before the blade could get any closer, Yuanzhi moved. His own knife was in his hand in an instant, not pointed at Ziyu, but held defensively, blocking his path. His young face was set in a fierce, protective snarl. "What are you trying to do to my brother?"

Ziyu stared at him, disbelief warring with fury. "Are you blind? It's Shangguan Qian!" He said her name like a curse, as if its mere utterance was reason enough for execution.

From the ground, a voice, stripped of all its usual authority and coolness, almost begged. "She is poisoned. Badly. By Wufeng." Shangjue didn't look up, his gaze fixed on Qian's pallid face. "Bring me the Bai Cao Cui."

"WHAT?"

The shout came from both of his half-brothers in unison. The request was insanity. To use their clan's most treasured, irreplaceable medicine on the very assassin who had tried to destroy them?

Shangjue finally lifted his head, his eyes finding Ziyu's. The desperation in them gave Ziyu pause. "Is it true, Ziyu?" Shangjue's voice was hoarse. "You once cured Yun Weishan of the poison with it?"

The question struck Ziyu like a physical blow. The memory flooded back: Yun Weishan's confession, her own torment under the same cruel mechanism of control. In that instant, the puzzle pieces snapped together. Shangguan Qian's return, her agony, Shangjue's desperation—it wasn't a trick. It was a plea for asylum. Just as Yun Weishan had been, Qian was a victim trying to break her chains.

His stance changed. The anger drained from his face, replaced by grim understanding. He sheathed his sword. "Yuanzhi," he commanded, his voice now firm and clear. "Quick, get the Bai Cao Cui! Now!"

Yuanzhi looked utterly baffled, his head whipping between his two older brothers. But the order was direct, and the look on their faces brooked no argument. If both the Patriarch and the head of the Jue Palace were in agreement, his duty was clear. Without another word, he turned and sprinted back towards the palace vaults at full speed.

Ziyu knelt beside Shangjue, his expression stern but no longer hostile. "Shangjue, bring her back to the palace. I will have the physicians prepare. She will be fine." He placed a hand on Shangjue's shoulder, his gaze unwavering. "But we will speak."

It was not a suggestion. It was the command of the Patriarch, and an acknowledgment that the night's events had irrevocably changed everything.

Chapter Text

The silence in the room was heavy, broken only by Qian's shallow breathing. Shangjue never left her side, his posture rigid, his eyes fixed on her still form as they waited. The moments stretched, each one feeling like an eternity.

Ziyu was the first to break the quiet, his voice low and measured. "It is not a poison."

Shangjue's head snapped up, his focus finally shifting from Qian to Ziyu. For the first time since they found him on the hill, he truly looked at his brother. "What?"

"It is not a poison," Ziyu repeated, his gaze steady. "It is a powerful tonic. It lasts for months if not repeatedly consumed. The 'antidote'... is the tonic itself. At every half moon, the effects wear off, and the withdrawal is so powerful it feels like a lethal poison, like being burnt alive but it is not. Continued consumption is the only way to prevent the agony. She will not die from the withdrawal alone. Its other name is 蚀心之月 (Eclipse Moon). You are familiar with this, you consumed it too when you pass the Trial of Three Realms. You know the pain don't you? Wufeng uses it as a leash, to keep them like loyal dogs, but it makes them stronger." 

"How do you know this?" Shangjue's voice was rough, his eyes faintly red-rimmed from the shock and strain of the night. 

"Yun Weishan told me," Ziyu stated simply. "The pain is real, and it is horrific, I am sure you know but it is not fatal. The Bai Cao Cui will still cure her of its hold, freeing her from the need for it forever."

Just then, the door slid open and Yuanzhi hurried in, carefully holding a small, exquisitely carved jade box. He presented it to Shangjue, his expression deeply conflicted. "Brother. This is your Bai Cao Cui. There is only one of it. It will take me some time to make another. Are you absolutely sure you want to give it to her?"

Shangjue took the box without a moment's hesitation. He opened it, revealing the single, luminous pill within. Gently, he lifted Qian's head and placed the pill on her tongue, holding her jaw closed until he saw her throat convulse in a weak swallow.

"What happened? How did she show up again?" Yuanzhi asked, his voice a mixture of confusion and suspicion.

"I am not sure," Shangjue admitted, his voice hollow. "She was in my room. She said she needed a favour... said she had no one else to turn to."

"Is this another plot from Wufeng?" Yuanzhi pressed, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his knife.

"I am not sure," Shangjue repeated, his gaze returning to Qian's face. "But you can mask joy, sadness, even love... you cannot hide pain. Her pain was real."

The three brothers fell into a pensive silence, their eyes fixed on the unconscious woman, a living, breathing complication in their world.

"How did she get in?" Ziyu asked quietly.

"She climbed in," Shangjue answered flatly.

Yuanzhi's eyes widened in disbelief. "She climbed into the Gong palace, undetected, and entered your room?" It was a feat few in the entire Jiang Hu could accomplish. Shangjue merely nodded, the truth of it hanging in the air.

The physician finally arrived, bowing hurriedly before moving to Qian's side. He took her pulse, his expression growing quiet and thoughtful as he concentrated.

"Is she really poisoned?" Yuanzhi asked impatiently.

The physician shook his head. "No."

Yuanzhi's face hardened. "I told you, brother! She lied again! We need to kill her before she wakes up and—"

Just before anyone could speak another word, the physician spoke again, his voice calm and definitive, cutting through Yuanzhi's outburst.

"She is not poisoned," he said. "She is pregnant."

The words dropped into the room like a stone, silencing everything. The air vanished from Shangjue's lungs. Yuanzhi's mouth hung open, his argument dying instantly. Ziyu's eyes widened in sheer shock, his gaze flying from the physician to Shangjue's utterly frozen form.

The world narrowed to that single, earth-shattering statement. She is pregnant. The final, devastating truth of her unfinished sentence on the hill— "Besides, I... I..." —now laid bare. It was not a plot. It was a plea, for herself, and for the life she carried.

Chapter Text

The physician's words hung in the air, so profound they seemed to alter the very atmosphere in the room. Pregnancy was a rare and precious event within the Gong family. The very valley that made their fortress impenetrable—trapping mists and shielding them from outsiders—also held within its bowl a subtle, lingering miasma that made conception difficult. It was why they sought brides from beyond the mountains. The entire vast Gong clan consisted of only a handful of direct heirs: the main Yu lineage had produced only two sons and one daughter—Gong Ziyu being the youngest. The Zhi lineage had only Yuanzhi. The Jue lineage… had once had two. Gong Shangjue, and his younger brother, whose life was stolen by Wufeng.

Into this silence, Shangjue found his voice, though it was rough with emotion. “The child… will survive?” It was the only question that mattered.

“With rest and nourishment, yes,” the physician confirmed gently. “It is already three months along. You can see the slight swell of her belly, but the foundation is still weak. She must be cared for.”

Shangjue’s gaze dropped to her abdomen. Her loose, dark robes, a deliberate attempt at concealment, had fallen slightly to the side now that she lay still. He could see it—a gentle, firm curve that was unmistakable. His child. The memory of her words on the hill slammed into him with new, devastating force: “I have no one left… You are my only family.” He had called her request for the pill undeserved. He had pressed a blade to the mother of his child’s throat. A wave of something akin to shame and fierce, overwhelming protectiveness washed over him. This was his. His fragile, unexpected little family.

“What do we do now?” Gong Yuanzhi asked finally, his practical mind seeking a protocol where none existed. “Do we chain her up?”

“NO!”

The shout was immediate, fierce, and left Yuanzhi recoiling as if struck. His brother had never, ever directed such anger at him. A flicker of hurt crossed Yuanzhi’s face before he schooled his features.

Ziyu stepped in, a steadying hand on Shangjue’s shoulder, his voice calm but firm. “She is your wife,” he stated, making the reality undeniable. “Take care of her.” He paused, his gaze shifting to the unconscious Qian, then back to Shangjue, the weight of his position as Patriarch evident. “But… we will need to question her again when she is well-rested.” It was an olive branch, a compromise. He could not let a known Wufeng assassin roam free without understanding her motives, but he understood the monumental shift that had just occurred. He knew Shangjue would not let her out of his sight, especially now.

“But…” Yuanzhi started, still uneasy, but Ziyu hushed him with a look.

“Help your brother,” Ziyu instructed, his tone brooking no argument, “and your sister-in-law, back to their chambers.”

The title—sister-in-law—landed heavily on Yuanzhi, forcing him to reassess the woman he saw only as a threat. He gave a stiff, reluctant nod. Moving carefully, he helped Shangjue, who was uncharacteristically shaken, gather Qian into his arms. Shangjue held her with a new, terrifying gentleness, one arm carefully supporting her head, the other cradling her back, his hand splayed protectively over the slight swell of her stomach.

As they moved through the silent, torch-lit corridors of the palace, the three brothers were united in a single, stunned thought: the game had irrevocably changed. It was no longer just about spies and betrayal. It was about legacy. It was about the future.

Chapter Text

"I will get her old chambers ready." Yuanzhi said as he hurriedly walk beside his brother.

“No, she will rest in mine.” The words struck Yuanzhi like a physical blow. 

For a moment, he could only stare, the simple command lodging in his heart like a shard of ice. He knew it was childish, a feeling he was ashamed of, but it bloomed hot and bitter in his chest nonetheless. His brother’s chambers were a sanctuary, a place Yuanzhi himself had always had free access to. It was where they shared meals, where Shangjue would check his martial arts forms, where Yuanzhi felt most secure. His brother had only ever doted on him alone.

And now… Shangguan Qian. This woman who had lied her way into his brother’s home, his brother’s bed, and now, most infuriatingly, his brother’s heart. Yuanzhi knew it. His brother was too proud and guarded to ever admit it, but Yuanzhi saw it all. He saw how Shangjue, the most logical and suspicious of them all, had been swayed by her honeyed words and tragic eyes. He remembered how his brother had spoken up for her in front of the elders, believing her flimsy lies over a mountain of evidence. He would never forget the look on Shangjue’s face three months ago—a devastation Yuanzhi had never seen before—when they realized she had tried to steal the 无量流火 (Infinite Flowing Fire) and completely vanished. His brother had let her go. He had watched for months as Shangjue stared blankly at the azaleas she’d planted, how a cloud of melancholy descended whenever her name was accidentally uttered.

Was his brother not hurt enough? The question screamed in Yuanzhi’s mind. This woman had returned, dragging her chaos and pain back into their lives, and his brother was just… welcoming her back? Letting her into his most private space? Another person was usurping his place, and a tiny, vulnerable one was on the way. The jealousy was a poisonous vine, twisting around his heart.

He wanted to shout. He wanted to protest. He wanted to protect his brother from being hurt again by this serpent.

But he looked at Shangjue’s face. The fierce protectiveness, the raw worry, the gentle way he held her—it was a side of his brother Yuanzhi had never been the recipient of, and it left him feeling strangely hollow and abandoned.

All he could do was give a stiff, jerky nod. “Yes, brother,” he said, the words tasting like ash. He turned on his heel and left, the order to fetch the maids a convenient excuse to flee the scene that was causing his world to fracture.

As he walked away, his mind churned. He would get the maids. He would get the water and the clothes. He would do his duty. But a cold resolve settled in his stomach. He would watch her. Every single move she made. If she so much as looked at his brother with anything less than utter devotion, if she caused him a single moment of further pain, Yuanzhi would not hesitate. He would protect his brother, even if his brother refused to protect himself. Even if it meant going against Shangjue’s direct wishes. The bond between them was the most important thing in Yuanzhi’s life, and he would not let anyone, not even a weeping woman carrying his nephew, destroy it.

Chapter Text

The door clicked shut behind Yuanzhi, leaving Shangjue alone in the profound silence of his chambers with the unconscious woman who had once again turned his world to ash and embers. Outwardly, he was a statue, his posture rigid, his face an impenetrable mask of Gong family resolve. Inwardly, his mind was a raging storm.

What will I say when she wakes? The question echoed, unanswered. Accusations? Demands? Pleas? He, the master of interrogation, was at a loss for words.

What will we do? The future was a terrifying blank page. A child. A Gong heir. A potential heir born of a Wufeng spy. The clan’s elders would have apoplexy. Ziyu’s olive branch was generous, but it would only extend so far.

His thoughts turned darker, more familiar. How can I ask? Can I trust her? The cycle of testing and betrayal played behind his eyes like a cruel opera. The innocent noble lady. The orphan from Gushan seeking revenge. The orphan raised by Wufeng. She had worn each identity with such conviction, weaving a web so intricate he, the spider, had become fatally entangled.

She had looked him in the eye and said, I never lied to you. And he, against all logic and evidence, had wanted to believe her. He had tested her, and she had failed every time, yet he had still pleaded for her life before the elders.

Now, she was here. And this—the life growing within her—was a truth that could not be falsified. It was the one undeniable fact in a sea of her deceptions.

His mind flashed back to their final, desperate confrontation three months ago. Her plea for the Infinite Flowing Fire. Her confession, spilled in a torrent of anguish: She was a Gushan orphan. Her family was killed by Wufeng. She worked for them only to destroy them from within. The parallel to his own life was a knife twisting in a old wound. Hadn’t he dedicated his own existence to destroying Wufeng for the same reason? The desire for vengeance was a language they both spoke fluently.

But he had refused her. “The weapon does not belong to outsiders.” He saw the wave of crushing sadness that had washed over her face, the genuine shattering of a last, desperate hope. And then her final, devastating blow: “I am pregnant with Gong family bone and flesh.”

It had been the ultimate gambit. A claim so monumental, so cruel if false, that it had left him reeling. He hadn’t known what to believe. He still didn’t.

They had consummated their marriage. Multiple times. Dare he say he did not enjoy it? No. He had slept with the enemy, and he had reveled in it. He had hated himself for the weakness, for falling so completely into her trap.

And now the trap had sprung, and its prize was a child. A Gong child. Not just any Gong, but a Jue lineage child. His line, which had been reduced to only him, now held the potential for another. The weight of that legacy was terrifying.

Can I trust her? The question was a vise around his heart, a heart that felt like it could not withstand another loss. On that hill, holding her convulsing body, he had been transported back to holding the lifeless forms of his mother and brother. The same soul-crushing despair, the same feeling of his world ending. He would have torn his own heart out and thrown it into a fire to stop the pain.

But she was alive.

A single, traitorous tear escaped his iron control, tracking a path down his cheek before falling onto Qian’s pale face. He stared at the droplet as if it were a foreign object, then reached out a hesitant hand to gently wipe it from her skin.

As his fingers brushed her cheek, a weak, thready whisper reached his ears.

“Jue… Gongzi…”

Chapter Text

He frantically wiped the tear away, the gesture too rough, as if erasing a moment of unforgivable weakness. He let go of her hand and looked away, his profile a sharp, unyielding line against the dim light of the room.

Qian’s eyes fluttered open, confusion clouding them before they focused. She looked around, taking in the stark, familiar elegance of his chamber, the solidity of his bed beneath her. Oh no. Panic, cold and sharp, lanced through her. They had changed her clothes. Do they know?

“I… I… I was on a hill. You knocked me out?” she asked, her voice hoarse. That was the only logical explanation for the memory gap.

He remained silent, a statue of conflicted emotion, unable to form the words.

“I… I have to leave.” She moved to rise, haste making her clumsy. They could not find out. They could not.

“No.” His voice was low, but it held the firmness of iron. A hand on her shoulder pressed her back down onto the bed with undeniable strength. “The physician said you need rest.”

“Physician?” Her eyes widened in genuine alarm. “What happened? What did you do to me?” Her gaze darted down to her loosened robes, and in the clear light, the gentle swell of her belly was unmistakable. She tried to pull the fabric over it, a futile attempt to hide the truth. Her mind raced, landing on her original, desperate mission. “Can I have the Bai Cao Cui, please?” It was a final, pathetic attempt at a bargain. “I will never bother you again. I’ll disappear from your life. You will never hear from me again.”

The words enraged him. He looked at her with an intensity that was almost violent, but when he spoke, it was a strained whisper, laced with a pain so deep it shocked them both. “You will abandon me?” The phrase was a perfect, cruel mirror of her own words from three months ago. “Gongzi has already abandoned me.” He had. He’d chosen his duty, his family, over her plea. And now, she was offering him the very thing he’d forced upon her.

“Isn’t this what you want?” she fired back, her own voice trembling. “I am a Wufeng assassin, your most hated enemy. You never have to see me again if you could just give me the medicine? I am begging you. Please. On behalf of our 往事 (past affairs), just treat it as the final kinship… don’t you believe me? You are really cruel.”

“I am cruel?!” The whisper finally broke, rising into a raw, incredulous breath. “I am cruel? You crawled into my house! You played your games with me, and I let you into my bed, into my heart! You made a home for yourself here, sold me dreams that were a lie! You profited from my feelings and betrayed my kindness at every turn! Now you want to leave? And I am cruel?”

Qian was quiet for a moment, absorbing his outburst. Then, she scoffed, a sound devoid of any real humor. “Please, Jue Gongzi, stop pretending to be the victim. We are both adults. Stop pretending like I forced you into it. You loved it. You loved the mind games. You loved watching me squirm. In that torture chamber, you even threatened me! You never once spoke up for me! I am an outsider, I know. I don’t belong, I know. I don’t deserve the Bai Cao Cui, I know. But I am begging you. Please. I need it.”

“What will happen to you without it?” he asked, his voice dropping back into that deadly calm.

“I will die.”

“Why can’t you ask Wufeng for it?” He needed to know. He had to ascertain the truth while he still held the negotiating power.

She was exasperated. “I can’t! They will kill me.”

“Why will they kill you?” he pressed, relentless, his strategist’s mind taking over. “You are a useful asset, especially one that is intimately entwined with the palace. You know this place inside out. You know our workings. You are an asset.”

“Not with it,” she whispered, her defiance crumbling into exhaustion. “With it, I am just a liability.”

“With what?” He leaned closer, his gaze piercing.

“I… it’s nothing.” She shut down, turning her face away.

He changed tactics, going for the jugular. “That day, when you told me you were with child. Is it true?”

She stared at him, understanding that this was the tipping point, the reason she was still breathing. Her mind flashed back to the discovery—the missed periods, the frantic reading of her own pulse. The terrifying confirmation. She had contemplated the abortion flower. This was no place for a child, and Wufeng would never forgive her. She had been on the verge of despair when Yun Weishan had almost tauntingly revealed that Gong Ziyu had cured her. The comparison was a fresh wound: You have failed, Gong Shangjue never loved you. She’d had no choice but to try and steal the cure herself, a mission that had cost her her handler and nearly her life. When even that failed, her last, desperate plan was to destroy Wufeng itself, but she couldn’t even secure a weapon. And he had called her an outsider. Her child would be one, too. Nowhere to go. Every day, her growing belly was a ticking clock, counting down to her demise.

The flashback ended, leaving her hollow. Once again, with tears streaking down her temples and into her hair, she could only whisper the same, broken word.

“Please.”

Chapter Text

The silence in the room was thick enough to choke on. Shangjue’s declaration—“You will not abandon me. You are my wife. This is your place. You will stay.” —hung between them, an imperial decree she had no intention of obeying.

“Your wife?” The word was a bitter laugh on her lips. “You let me go! You will put me in the torture chamber for interrogation! You abandoned me! Scorned and tested me at every turn.”

“I will not,” he stated, his voice low and final.

“Do not lie to me.”

“How could I?” The words burst from him, raw and unguarded. “You are with child!”

The realization struck her like a physical blow. He wasn’t keeping her. He was keeping the vessel that carried his heir. The hope that had flickered for a mere second at his earlier words died, replaced by cold, hard understanding. She scoffed, the sound dripping with contempt. “Gong Shangjue, who prizes his family above all. I should have known.” She saw her child reduced to a duty, a legacy, a thing to be protected for the sake of the Gong bloodline. “On account of this child, can I have the Bai Cao Cui, please?” It was a hollow request now, a test.

“You have already consumed it.”

Shock rendered her mute. She focused inward, and realized the gnawing, ever-present anxiety of the toxin’s approach was… gone. A profound physical relief washed over her, so potent it felt like a trick. Shangjue looked at her with a tenderness that, in this context, only irritated her further. He was keeping her prisoner, a prized broodmare, and now he was being kind about it. This was her worst nightmare.

She needed to get out. Now. Making an excuse about needing to change, she was swiftly shut down. “You need to rest.”

Thinking quickly, she softened her expression, layering her voice with the honeyed tone that had once worked so well on him. “Jue Gongzi, I am parched. Could you… could you fetch me some water yourself? The servants… I do not wish to see anyone.”

He studied her for a long moment, his dark eyes searching for deception. Finally, he gave a curt nod. “Do not move.”

The second the door closed behind him, she was on her feet, ignoring the wave of dizziness. The window was her only hope. She scrambled onto the ledge, her heart hammering against her ribs, and swung her legs over.

And straight into the waiting grip of Gong Yuanzhi.

He had been standing guard just below, a silent, vengeful sentinel. His hands closed around her arms like iron manacles, and he hauled her back into the room with a grunt of effort, dumping her unceremoniously onto the floor just as Shangjue re-entered, a cup of water in his hand.

The scene explained itself. Yuanzhi shot his brother a look that screamed I told you so, then turned and left without a word, shutting the door with a definitive click.

Shangjue placed the cup on a table with a quiet, precise sound. The air around him crackled with a fury so intense it was cold. He began to pace, a caged predator.

“You really are trying to abandon me?” The question was laced with a hurt so profound it shook her.

“This child is not yours!” she spat out, a final, desperate lie.

He stopped pacing and turned to her, his eyes blazing. “Lies! I had someone monitor your every move since you entered the palace! Only in the last day leading up to your confession have you ever left my sight!” He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “Furthermore… I am allergic to blood. I could sense you had a missed period. I didn’t think much of it then… but now I know.” 

She stared, utterly shocked. He had known. On some level, he had known even before she did. 

Her defenses crumbled. The truth tumbled out in a frantic, terrified rush. “This child will be in danger! The elders, everyone in this household, will treat it with disdain! Just as they treated Gong Ziyu!”

“Didn’t he become the leader?” Shangjue countered, his voice fierce with protective certainty.

“I could be taken away for torture after the baby is born! How can my child be without its mother?”

“I promise you this, Qian, as your lawfully wedded husband,” he vowed, his voice dropping into an intensity that brooked no argument. “You and our child will want for nothing. Yearn for nothing. I will shield you both with my life.”

She fell silent, staring at him. A promise. She didn’t know if it was real, or if it was all a farce to secure his heir.

“And what of your position?” she challenged, her voice rising again. “Your wife is a known Wufeng spy! Your child, a Wufeng spy’s child! And what will Wufeng do? If they know I am here, my child and I will be dead! They will send assassins after us! Or…” a new, horrifying thought occurred to her, “…or do you intend to keep me as a secret wife? Locked away while you marry some noble woman and make my child a spare? A bastard?”

She was livid now, painting the worst possible future because in her mind, it was the only future possible for someone like her.

Shangjue crossed the room in two strides, kneeling before her and taking her face in his hands, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes were burning with a fervor she had never seen.

“I promise you this,” he said, each word a hammer strike of conviction. “You will be my only wife until you die. And any offspring of ours will be the only ones I will ever recognize.”

The shock that washed over her was absolute. It stole her breath, her anger, her every thought. Her world narrowed to the fierce, unyielding certainty in his eyes.

Had he truly loved her all along?

Was this… real?

Or was this the most elaborate, cruelest ploy of all?

Chapter Text

The days bled into one another, each one a variation of the same suffocating routine. Shangjue’s chambers had become her gilded cage. He was her ever-present warden, his watchful eyes missing nothing. He knew she was plotting, her mind constantly tracing escape routes he had already sealed. It pained him, a constant, dull ache behind his sternum, but he met her coldness with a relentless, quiet devotion.

He brought her delicate broths himself, the ones she had once made for him. He had rare, sun-ripened fruits imported from the southern provinces because she’d once mentioned liking them. He even had new, softer silks brought in, though she pointedly refused to wear them, clinging to her old, simple robes. Yuanzhi observed this 180-degree shift with a growing, simmering resentment. The dynamic had completely inverted. Once, it was Qian who tirelessly worked to please his brother—cooking, planting azaleas, stealing documents for him, wearing his gifts with a radiant smile. Now, it was his proud, formidable brother trying to please a woman who accepted his efforts with frosty indifference or outright rejection.

One afternoon, finding her alone on the balcony staring blankly at the distant mountains, Yuanzhi could take no more. He marched up to her, his youthful face set in a scowl.

“Do you think just because you are pregnant you can treat my brother like this?” he demanded, his voice tight with anger.

Qian didn’t even turn her head. “Treat him like what? Mind I remind you, I want to leave this place. I’ve begged and pleaded. He won’t let me.”

“You are a very cruel woman indeed,” he spat.

She finally turned to him, her expression one of weary scorn. “Please. Your brother never loved me. He only wants the child.”

Yuanzhi went very quiet. The anger drained from his face, replaced by something more complex—frustration, and a painful need to make her understand. He took a step closer, his voice dropping, losing its youthful edge and gaining a gravity she hadn’t heard from him before.

“My brother loves you.”

The words hung in the air. Qian stared, her mask of indifference cracking for a fraction of a second. “What?”

“He was extremely upset when you left,” Yuanzhi continued, the words spilling out now, a confession he’d been holding back. “I’ve never seen him so sad before. The Gong Shangjue, the most feared Gong member in the whole of Jiang Hu… he cried the night he let you go.”

He let that image sink in—the unshakable pillar of the Gong family, reduced to tears.

“I have only seen him cry when talking about his mother’s and brother’s death. You…” Yuanzhi’s voice wavered. “You are the first person I’ve seen him cry for.”

He took a breath, pressing on. “Since you came in, I knew you were odd. I told him again and again, stacked evidence against evidence… yet he chose not to believe them. Can you believe it? My logical brother, blind to you? When you were caught, my brother asked the elders for your forgiveness. He lowered himself and begged them, feeding them half-truths even they found difficult to accept. He saved you from that torture cell. He fed you the medicine you now accuse him of not giving you.”

Yuanzhi’s eyes were earnest, pleading. “That night on the hill, when you were convulsing from that poison… he held you, and tears fell from his eyes as if he was mourning your death. You accuse him of not loving you, but he did. He truly did.”

His final words were soft, stripped of all anger, leaving only a raw, brotherly fear. “And what you are trying to do… trying to leave… will hurt him. It will break him. He will never recover from it. So please… as his brother, and as your… your brother-in-law… I ask that you not do this to him.”

He finished, his chest heaving slightly. He had laid his brother’s heart bare before the woman who seemed determined to trample on it. He stood there, waiting, hoping against hope that she possessed even a shred of the humanity his brother so clearly believed she did.

Chapter Text

The silence stretched after Yuanzhi's heartfelt plea, thick and heavy. Qian looked away, her gaze returning to the distant, free mountains. Her internal war was a tempest—fear for her child's safety warring with the startling, undeniable image Yuanzhi had painted of a grieving, devoted Shangjue.

Finally, she spoke, her voice quiet but clear. "I cannot promise you anything." She met Yuanzhi's eyes, her own filled with a lifetime of caution. "You know my concerns. This place is dangerous." She took a slow breath, a concession wrested from the deepest part of her self-preservation. "But for now… I'll try."

It wasn't surrender. It was a truce. A fragile, hesitant offering.

A genuine, relieved smile broke across Yuanzhi’s face, transforming his youthful features. "Good," he said, his tone lighter. "Now, let's go try my brother's cooking, shall we? He's been slaving over a nourishment soup for you all afternoon, and it smells truly terrible. We must suffer together."

A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched Qian’s lips. She allowed him to lead her from the balcony.

They entered the dining room together, and the effect was instantaneous. Gong Shangjue was standing by the table, ladle in hand, a rare look of culinary frustration on his face as he stared into a pot. The sight of them entering—together, and with Yuanzhi grinning and Qian not looking like she wanted to leap from the nearest window—made him freeze.

A slow, tentative smile spread across Shangjue’s face, so full of hesitant hope and relief that it was almost painful to see. The tension that had been a permanent fixture in his shoulders for months seemed to ease, just a little.

"Ah," he said, his voice warmer than it had been in a long time. "You are both here."

What followed was a scene of unexpected, fragile domesticity. Yuanzhi, seizing the opportunity, launched into his role with gusto. He made a great show of tasting the soup, gagging dramatically. "Ge! Did you use mud from the training grounds? This is a weapon, not a soup!"

Qian, playing along with a quiet grace that surprised even herself, took a small sip. "It is… unique," she said diplomatically, which sent Yuanzhi into louder peals of mock outrage.

"He likes me more!" Yuanzhi declared, pointing at Qian. "She gets the polite lie! I get the truth!"

"Only because your truth is always so loud and unnecessary," Shangjue retorted, but there was no heat in it. He was watching them, his eyes soft, a real, unguarded happiness shining through.

As Shangjue watched his brother and his wife—his family—tease each other and playfully fight over his attention, a memory surfaced. It reminded him vividly of one of their first meals together, just the three of them, back when Qian had first entered the palace as a hopeful bride. The air had been filled with the same tentative, playful energy as they wrestle over his attention. Maybe it was then, he thought, watching her shyly serving him a portion of food from her own hands, that he had begun to fall in love with her. He wasn't sure.

But in this moment, with the setting sun casting a warm glow through the windows and the sound of their bickering and laughter filling the room, he was simply, undeniably, happy. It was a fragile peace, built on a truce and a promise to "try," but for the first time in a long time, it felt like enough. It felt like a beginning.

Chapter Text

The fragile truce held, day by day. It was not a sudden thaw, but a slow, careful melting of the ice that had encased both their hearts. Suspicion, a lifetime habit for both, did not vanish. It merely receded, making room for something new and terrifyingly vulnerable.

Shangjue no longer just provided for her; he began to share with her. One evening, instead of a scroll on clan logistics, he brought a map to their chambers. It was an old, beautifully illustrated map of the surrounding valleys and forests beyond the Gong palace walls.

“The physician says fresh air is good for… for both of you,” he said, his voice slightly stiff. He pointed to a shaded area near a stream. “This grove is within our secure borders. The guards patrol it, but it is… peaceful. We could go there tomorrow.”

It was an offering. An acknowledgment of her yearning for openness, for a world beyond stone walls, while still within the safety he demanded. Qian looked from the map to his face, seeing the tentative hope there. She simply nodded, a genuine, unforced smile touching her lips for the first time in what felt like forever. “I would like that.”

The next day, he walked with her through the sun-dappled grove. He didn’t speak much, but his presence was a silent shield. He watched not for threats, but for uneven ground, offering his arm not as a jailer, but as a support. Yuanzhi, trailing a discreet distance behind, rolled his eyes but smiled to himself.

The truths began to emerge in quiet moments. Lying in bed one night, her back to his chest, his hand resting lightly on the now undeniable swell of her stomach, she spoke into the darkness.

“The first memory I have is of the smell of plum blossoms,” she whispered. “In the Gushan sect, before… everything. My mother had a tree outside her window.”

Shangjue went still behind her. She had never offered a real memory before, only fabricated ones. This was a piece of her true self, handed to him like a precious, fragile artifact.

“My brother,” his voice was a low rumble against her back, “used to hide my training weights. He thought it was hilarious to see me search for them. My mother would scold him, but she was always trying not to laugh.”

It was a small, cherished memory of his own, one he had never shared with anyone. He was offering a piece of his true self in return. They were building a new foundation, not on lies and seduction, but on these fractured, truthful pieces of their pasts.

The greatest truth, the one that anchored them both, was the child. One afternoon, as Shangjue was reading reports, Qian gasped softly. She took his hand from the scroll and placed it firmly on her belly.

“Wait,” she said.

He froze, all his focus on the palm of his hand. Then he felt it—a distinct, fluttering push against his hand from within. A tiny, undeniable life.

His breath hitched. His eyes, usually so guarded and sharp, widened in pure, unadulterated wonder. He looked from her stomach to her face, and for a single, unguarded moment, all the suspicion and pain fell away. There was only awe.

“He is strong,” Shangjue murmured, his voice thick with an emotion he couldn’t name.

“Or she,” Qian corrected softly, a real smile in her eyes.

“Or she,” he agreed, his hand remaining there long after the movement had ceased.

The happiness was not loud or boisterous. It was in the quiet moments: Shangjue patiently helping her with the intricate fastenings of a new, larger robe he’d had made; Qian surprising him by remembering how he took his tea and preparing it for him one morning without being asked; the way they would both sometimes just stop and look at each other, a silent acknowledgment of the miraculous, complicated reality they were building.

The world outside was still full of danger. Wufeng was still a threat. The past still held its shadows. But within the walls of the 角宫 (Jue Gong), for those precious weeks, they chose to nurture the fragile, truthful happiness they had found. They knew the child was real. And in protecting that truth, they began to discover the real versions of each other, hidden beneath the spy and the jailer, the assassin and the lord. They were, tentatively and fearfully, becoming a family.

Chapter Text

The outing to the woods had been Shangjue's idea of a perfect day. The dappled sunlight, the scent of pine, the way Qian’s hand had felt, small and trusting, in his as they walked. He had led her to a small, secluded pavilion overlooking a babbling stream where a servant had laid out a simple tea service.

For a few precious hours, the weight of his title, the shadow of Wufeng, the ghosts of their past betrayals—all of it had melted away. He had poured her tea, his movements uncharacteristically gentle, and told her a story about Yuanzhi getting hopelessly lost in these very woods as a child. He had laughed, a real, unguarded laugh that made his eyes crinkle at the corners.

And Qian had watched him, her heart performing a painful, silent fracture. This man, so often a figure of imposing severity, was smiling at her with a radiance that was utterly disarming. It was a glimpse of the life they could have had, a life built on truth instead of lies. The sweetness of the moment was laced with the bitter knowledge of her own intentions.

It was in that perfect, fragile moment that the emergency tower on the northern border lit up, casting an ominous orange glow against the afternoon sky.

Shangjue’s smile vanished instantly, replaced by the cold, efficient mask of the Horn Palace lord. His body went rigid, every sense attuned to the signal.

“I must go,” he said, his voice already hardening with duty. He stood, his hand lingering on her shoulder for a second longer than necessary. “The guards will take you back to my room. Directly. Do not linger. Do not speak to anyone.”

The order was firm, but his eyes held a silent plea for her understanding, for her obedience. He was trusting her with his happiness; now she had to trust him with her safety.

She nodded, her throat too tight to speak.

He left then, a whirlwind of dark robes and purpose, disappearing into the trees towards the border skirmish.

The journey back to the Jue Gong was silent. The guards flanked her, respectful but unwavering. They took him at his word, leading her directly through the courtyards, towards the sanctuary of his chambers.

But as they approached the final corridor, Qian clutched her stomach, letting out a soft gasp of pain. “A cramp,” she breathed, her face paling convincingly. “I… I need a moment. Just a moment to sit.”

The guards exchanged uneasy glances. Their orders were explicit: directly to his room. But their master’s concern for his wife and heir was also well known. Hesitantly, one nodded towards a small, stone bench in a nearby alcove. “Quickly, my lady.”

It was all the opportunity she needed. The moment they turned their backs to give her a semblance of privacy, she was moving. She knew the servant passages better than any guard. Slipping through a shadowed archway, she vanished into the labyrinth within the walls.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat of fear and guilt. She moved on silent feet, a ghost in the palace she had once called home, heading not for the main gates, but for a forgotten drainage culvert she had discovered months ago during her espionage.

Once in the safety of his empty chambers, she didn’t pause. She went to his desk, her hands trembling as she snatched a piece of paper and a brush. There was no time for poetry, for explanations that would never be enough. The words spilled out, hurried and stark.

Shangjue,

I am sorry. I cannot let my child be born into this war, to be forever caught between your world and my past. I cannot live waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Wufeng to find us, for your family’s suspicion to turn on them. You asked me not to abandon you. But you are asking me to abandon any chance of freedom for our child. I choose them over you. Forgive me. 

- Qian

She didn’t sign her full name. The single character would haunt him enough.

Folding the note, she left it in the center of his bed, where he would be sure to find it. Then, without a backward glance at the room that had held both her greatest deceptions and her most vulnerable moments, she slipped back into the passageway and was gone.

By the time the guards grew suspicious and checked the alcove, finding it empty, she was already outside the walls, swallowed by the vast, unforgiving forest, leaving behind only the echo of a radiant smile and the devastating silence of a broken promise.

Chapter Text

The emergency at the border had been handled with the cold, brutal efficiency expected of Gong Shangjue. His mind, usually a weapon of precise calculation, had been split—one part focused on neutralizing the threat, the other screaming at him to return to her. The moment the last enemy fell, he didn't wait for debriefing or accolades. He turned his horse and rode for the palace like a man possessed, his heart pounding with a frantic, hopeful rhythm. He had left her in a moment of peace. He would return to her.

What greeted him in his chambers unraveled him completely.

The silence. The profound, empty silence. Then, the note on the bed, its characters slashed onto the paper with a haste that felt like violence.

He read it once. Then again. The words seared into his brain. A sound tore from his throat, a raw, animalistic scream of pure agony that echoed through the Jue Palace. He trashed the room. Furniture splintered against walls. Precious artifacts from his mother’s clan were shattered. He roared for the guards, his voice promising death for their failure. (They were saved only by Gong Yuanzhi’s quick, secret intervention, who had them demoted and reassigned far from his brother's wrath).

The weeks that followed were a waking nightmare for the Gong clan. Gong Shangjue, the pillar of duty, the most feared member of the family, abandoned his post. He became a ghost haunting his own chambers, surrounded by the wreckage of his life and the suffocating scent of azaleas and alcohol. Gong Ziyu came, as Patriarch, to demand he resume his responsibilities, only to be verbally eviscerated and thrown out.

Exactly one month after she had left, Yuanzhi finally worked up the courage to enter the lion's den. The sight that greeted him broke his heart. His brother, his idol, was a shell. He was slumped on the floor amidst the ruins, a copious amount of empty alcohol jars surrounding him. He struggled to sit up, his eyes bloodshot and hollow.

“Yuanzhi… brother… you are here. That is good.” Shangjue’s voice was a ragged scrape. “Did you find her?”

It was the only question he ever asked anymore. He had mobilized everything. Every network, every favor, every ounce of his vast wealth in the Jiang Hu had been poured into the search. The entire valley and the lands beyond were scoured for the lost bride. It was a desperate, all-consuming hunt that had become the talk of the martial world.

Gong Yuanzhi kept silent, his own heart aching.

“You found her? Please, tell me. I’ve searched everywhere.” The desperation in Shangjue’s voice was a physical thing, a clawed hand around Yuanzhi’s throat.

When Yuanzhi didn't answer immediately, a frantic energy seized Shangjue. He lunged forward, his movements clumsy from drink and despair, and clutched the front of Yuanzhi’s robes. “Yuanzhi! Where is she?”

Yuanzhi looked down, unable to bear the madness in his brother’s eyes. “Brother,” he whispered, the words a painful duty. “Perhaps… it is time to let her go.”

The slap rang out, sharp and shocking in the ruined room. Yuanzhi’s head snapped to the side, the sting a brand of his brother’s fractured state.

“DO NOT EVER MENTION THAT!” Shangjue roared, his face contorted in a grief so profound it looked like rage. “I will search for her even if it means till the ends of the world and the end of my time!”

Yuanzhi slowly looked up, his cheek burning. His brother had struck him. For her. The man before him was maniacal, driven insane by loss, a terrifying distortion of the logical, powerful brother he knew.

Seeing the devastation on Yuanzhi’s face, a sliver of clarity seemed to pierce Shangjue’s madness. His shoulders slumped. In a broken whisper, he begged, “Please.”

Defeated, Yuanzhi relented. “In an obscure village, one kilometer outside the valley. The source is unverified. A pregnant woman was reported living alone.”

Infinite, desperate hope welled up in Shangjue’s chest, momentarily sobering him. It was a lifeline.

“Brother, these tips…” Yuanzhi tried to caution, his voice gentle. “I am not sure… you have paid so much for empty words, for voices and whispers…”

But Gong Shangjue was already gone, shoving past him. He didn’t bother with a horse from the stable; he took his personal steed, leaping onto its back and driving his heels into its sides. He raced through the palace gates and into the night like a man who had lost all meaning in life, chasing the faintest whisper, a ghost led by the fragile, desperate hope of finding his heart again.

Chapter Text

The horse’s sides were lathered in foam, its breath coming in ragged, steaming gasps by the time Gong Shangjue reined it to a shuddering halt at the edge of the remote village. He had ridden through the night and into the dawn, a man possessed, driven by a single, desperate purpose. He asked, he begged—the mighty, untouchable Gong Shangjue begging ragged villagers for information—until a grizzled old farmer, eyeing his fine but disheveled clothes and wild eyes, finally pointed a gnarled finger towards the last hut at the end of a row of dilapidated houses.

“A house whose owner rarely returns,” the man mumbled around a pipe. “Been occupied recent-like. By a woman. Keeps to herself.”

It had to be her.

His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic, painful drum. He approached the hut slowly, every sense screaming. And then he smelled it—the faint, sweet, unmistakable scent of azaleas carried on the morning breeze. It was her.

He pushed the simple wooden door open.

The sight that greeted him stole the breath from his lungs. There she was, her back to him, her form silhouetted against the weak light from a small window. Her hair was tied simply, and she was heavier with their child, the pregnancy pronounced and making her movements clumsy as she bent to lift a wooden bucket.

Hearing the door, she turned.

The bucket crashed to the dirt floor, water sloshing everywhere. Shock, pure and unadulterated, washed over her face, followed immediately by a tidal wave of fear. She stumbled back, her hand flying to her swollen belly.

He surged forward, crossing the small space in two strides. His hand closed around her wrist, not with calculated force, but with the frantic, desperate strength of a drowning man clutching a lifeline.

“Why are you running?” The words tore from him, raw and broken. “Even now, why are you running from me?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He pulled her into his arms, crushing her against his chest, his body shaking with the force of his sobs. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling the scent of azaleas and her. The relief that flooded him was so profound it was agony. He had lost his mother and brother. He had nearly lost her and their child. He had lived in that hell for a month, and now… now…

He was crying. Really crying. Great, heaving sobs that wracked his entire frame. The iron control, the cold demeanor, the proud lord of the Horn Palace—all of it was gone, stripped away by grief and fear and this staggering, overwhelming relief.

After a long moment, he pulled back just enough to frame her face in his palms, his thumbs stroking her tear-streaked cheeks. He forced her to look at him, to see the raw, utter devastation in his own eyes reflected in hers.

“You promised,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and shattered. “You promised Yuanzhi you would try. You promised me…”

His words failed him. He could only hold her, his forehead resting against hers, their tears mingling, as the early morning sun streamed into the humble hut, illuminating the two of them—broken, lost, and finally, impossibly, found.

Chapter Text

The raw, desperate relief that had flooded Gong Shangjue curdled into something darker, something anguished and bitter. He still held her face, but his grip tightened, not with violence, but with a terrifying intensity.

“You will deny me my child?” The words were a low, wounded growl. “You will abandon me? While I spent every waking day of my life since you left wondering where you are, if you are safe, if you are even alive? While I die a little more each day trying to find you? How could you do this to me? How could you carve out my heart and leave me to bleed?!” His voice rose, cracking with the force of his pain. “You have been the only person I have ever given my heart to! The only one! And what do I get in return? Nothing! Nothing but betrayal and pain and a letter that shattered me!”

Tears streamed down Qian’s face now, not just of fear, but of her own long-suppressed anguish. “And what of my pain?” she cried, her own voice breaking. “I never had a family! I was an orphan raised by assassins! I trust no one because I know no one can be trusted! What you ask of me, Gong Shangjue, this unwavering trust… I cannot give it! How can I, after everything?”

She took a shuddering breath, the dam of her secrets finally bursting. “I targeted you! It was a honeypot mission! The first time we met, years ago, before I ever entered the palace as a bride, I was sent to seduce you! I knew you had the Wuliangzhi Huo! I was so confident I could conquer you, complete my mission!”

Each confession was a knife, twisting in both their chests. “I betrayed you! I relayed secrets to Wufeng! I told them… I told them that for once a month, you would be completely powerless for two hours! I changed the time, yes, but it doesn’t change the fact that I did it! I don’t deserve your love!”

She was sobbing openly now, her body trembling in his grasp. “And you! You betrayed me too! You never trusted me! Not truly! Yun Weishan was a Wufeng spy too, but Gong Ziyu accepted her! He treated her with love and care and kindness from the start! He cured her of the poison that chained her to Wufeng without her even having to beg! That is why she could stay! That is why she could leave Wufeng in the end! You… you only gave me crumbs, and only after I was broken!”

She looked at him, her eyes filled with a devastating clarity. “We have hurt each other, Shangjue. Deeply. This relationship… it is not healthy. It can never be. We can never trust each other fully. It is best to let it go now, while we still can. The child is mine. I will raise it as my own.”

Her voice dropped to a broken whisper, a final plea. “Please, Gong Shangjue. Treat what we had as a beautiful dream. Let it be a memory. You can have any woman in the world that you want. You do not need a broken, lying Wufeng spy. You will never hear or see me again.”

She had laid their entire tragic history bare, every ugly, painful truth. She had given him every reason to walk away, to finally see her for the ruin she believed herself to be.

Gong Shangjue stared at her, his face a mask of utter torment, tears streaming unabated down his cheeks. He heard every word, felt the truth of every accusation and confession like a physical blow.

He shook his head, a slow, desperate denial.

“No.”

Chapter Text

The word hung in the small, dusty hut, a stark refusal against the tide of her painful truths. Shangjue’s hands, still cradling her face, trembled. He had listened to her tear their history apart, and now it was his turn to lay his own soul bare.

“You think I am completely innocent?” His voice was a raw scrape, each word dragged from a place of deep, long-buried shame. “Years ago, in that village… I saw you. I was attracted to your beauty. I got closer because I wanted to. Saving you from those bandits… it was not just chivalry. The way you looked at me… it moved me, even if I did not show it.”

He took a shuddering breath, confessing to a manipulation she never knew existed. “The jade pendant I dropped. It was not by accident. I did it on purpose. A whim, a thread cast into fate. I thought nothing more of it, but when you returned to the palace as a bride, wearing it… I knew my choice was you. It had always been you.”

Tears tracked anew through the dust on his cheeks. “I am sorry I did not trust you. But I do now. So completely. I begged the elders for your forgiveness. I took care of you. I… I love you.” The admission, finally spoken aloud, was both a liberation and a agony. “That night I let you go, it hurt me too. I called you an outsider… because the Wuliangliu Huo cannot be yielded by you. You are not powerful enough to control it. It would have consumed you. I would not let you vanish into nothingness along with Wufeng. I didn’t know about our child. And even when you said it… after all the lies, I wasn’t sure if it was just another one. I let you go because I truly believed, in my foolishness, that it was what you wanted. To be free of me.”

He looked at her, his gaze piercing through her defenses, seeing the core of her he had always understood. “I know I love you more than you love me. You think loving someone is a weakness. But you have one too—you love yourself more than anyone. You accepted the Dianzhu’s mission to kill me in exchange for the antidote grass bai cao cui, didn’t you?”

The old betrayal, now seen in the new light of her pregnancy, landed between them. “Back then, I didn’t know what it was for. Now I know. But even then, even when I knew you were sent to kill me… I was upset, but I still spoke on your behalf. I wanted to forgive all your sins, no matter the cost. I was so blind that I loved you already. So much.”

He leaned his forehead against hers, their tears mingling. “I forgive you,” he whispered, the words a balm and a plea. “For all of it. Will you forgive me too? For my pride, my distrust, my blindness? Let’s rewrite this chapter. Let’s start again, not as a spy and a jailer, but as us. Just us.”

For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing. Then, Qian buried her face deeper into his chest, her body shaking with silent sobs. He could feel the light wetness of her tears seep through his robes.

“I am sorry,” her muffled voice was barely audible. “I’ve never been loved. Never had a family. Never knew what it was like to love… but I did. I did like you.” It was a child’s confession, small and true. “I contemplated sharing information to wufeng… and I withdrew details. I willingly gave my body to you when it was not required by the mission. It was because… I wanted it too.”

It was not a grand declaration of love to match his. It was something messier, more real. It was the confession of a woman who had known only manipulation, reaching for something genuine in the only way she knew how. It was her truth. And for Gong Shangjue, after a month of searching in the dark, it was enough. It was everything. He held her tighter, as if he could fuse their broken pieces together into something whole, something new.

Chapter Text

The small hut, once a symbol of her escape, now felt like the most intimate sanctuary in the world. As they stepped inside, Shangjue’s eyes fell upon the small, carefully tended garden patch by the window.

And there they were.

Azaleas. Dozens of them, in pots and planted in the poor soil, their vibrant pink and white blooms a defiant splash of color against the humble surroundings. She had brought her longing for him here. She had planted pieces of the home she’d fled, nurturing the very flowers that reminded her of him. The evidence of her conflicted heart was blooming right before his eyes.

He turned to her, all the words, all the apologies, all the confessions seeming to vanish. He simply framed her face again and kissed her. It was not a gentle kiss. It was passionate, desperate, and full of a raw, aching love that spoke of a month of agony and a lifetime of yearning. It was a kiss that tasted of tears and forgiveness and a fragile, terrifying hope.

Later, curled together on the narrow bed that was too small for him, he held her. He spooned her from behind, one arm a possessive band across her swollen belly, the other tucked beneath her head. His grip was iron, as if he could physically weld her to him through sheer force of will.

“You are not leaving me tonight,” he murmured into her hair, his voice a drowsy, fervent vow.

And for the first time since she had left, Gong Shangjue slept. Not the fitful, alcohol-drenched stupor of the past month, but a deep, dreamless, and profoundly peaceful sleep. He slept the sleep of a man who had found his missing heart and would never, ever let it go again.

The morning sun woke him. The space in front of him was cold.

Empty.

The panic was instantaneous and absolute. It clawed its way up his throat, a silent scream. He was on his feet in an instant, the peace of the night shattered. “Qian?!” His voice was a frantic roar. He tore through the tiny hut, his heart hammering against his ribs like a wild thing. She was gone. She had left him again. The agony was even more acute, having just tasted relief.

He stumbled out the door, barefoot and disheveled, ready to scour the ends of the earth once more. “QIAN!”

A soft sound to his left made him freeze. The door to the small, separate outhouse creaked open. Qian stood there, holding a small pot of steaming congee, her eyes wide with alarm at his frantic state.

He crossed the distance in a heartbeat, his hands gripping her arms, his face pale. “Do not,” he breathed, his voice shaking with residual terror, “ever do that again.”

Understanding dawned on her face, followed by a flicker of remorse. She simply nodded.

Later, as they sat together eating the simple breakfast, a shadow passed over her face. She has been thinking the past one month she had been in this village all alone, wondering how she could prepare herself for the day when it comes. She looked down at her belly, then at him, her expression solemn.

“Shangjue,” she began, her voice quiet. “If… if one day, I do not survive the childbirth…” She held up a hand to stop his immediate protest. “I am an orphan. I have no possessions, no legacy. I have nothing to give this child. But I hope… I hope it will remember me. However it can.”

The words were a knife to his soul. He put his bowl down and took both her hands in his, his gaze fierce and unwavering.

“You will not die,” he vowed, his voice low and intense, leaving no room for argument. “I will not allow it.” He took a deep breath, making a promise that was both a comfort and a chain, binding him to her for all eternity. “But if the unthinkable happens… I will never remarry. There will be no other. You are my only wife, in this life and any other. Our child will know you through me. I will make sure they remember every detail.”

It was a promise of eternal fidelity, a vow from a man who gave his heart only once. It was his final, ultimate confession. In the face of such a vow, her fears, for a moment, seemed to quiet. She had asked for her child to be remembered, and he had promised her his entire future, forever.

Chapter Text

The return to the Gong palace was a subdued affair. The hours long journey, though taken with excruciating care, had drained what little energy Qian had left. She confessed to Shangjue, her voice frail, that the growing fetus was taking too much from her, leaving her constantly exhausted and weak.

Shangjue’s heart clenched with a potent mix of love and fury—fury at himself for not being there, for every moment of stress she had endured alone. The moment they crossed into the Jue Gong, the Lord of the Jue Palace was reborn, not as a cold enforcer, but as an obsessively protective father-to-be.

He became a whirlwind of command, ordering everything she could possibly need—the softest silks, the most nourishing broths prepared by his own hand, physicians on constant rotation. All duties and work were delivered directly to his chambers. Even his meetings, once held in formal halls, were relocated to his residence. The Jue Palace became the new center of Gong power, revolving entirely around its resting lady.

One afternoon, Gong Ziyu found himself making yet another trip to Shangjue’s chambers for a council meeting. Waiting in an antechamber with Yuanzhi, he let out a long, exasperated sigh.

“Your brother, really,” Ziyu lamented, shaking his head with a wry smile. “Who would have thought he was such a love-sick man? Making everybody in this palace come to him. If he weren’t the most capable man in the palace, I would have put my foot down long ago.”

Yuanzhi, sipping his tea, smirked. “You admit my brother is the most capable man in this palace?”

Ziyu stared at him, then gave an awkward, dismissive scoff. Of course he knew. Who in the Gong family, who in the entire Jiang Hu, didn’t know? Gong Shangjue was the most respected, the most disciplined, the most ruthlessly efficient. The pillars of the family’s security and wealth stood because of him. Yet, it was Gong Ziyu who wore the mantle of Patriarch.

Seeing the unspoken thought on Ziyu’s face, Yuanzhi’s smirk softened into something more thoughtful. He set his tea down. “Back then, when you became the patriarch, my brother didn’t oppose you because he thought you incapable.” He met Ziyu’s gaze directly. “He thought you too weak, too powerless, and too reckless to care for our family. The Gong family was, and always will be, his only and top priority.”

Yuanzhi leaned forward, his voice low and earnest. “Later, you proved your worth, and he accepted you, didn’t he? He supported you as you learned the ropes. He helped you pass the trials of the three realms. It was not because he was in contention with you for the title. It was because he was convinced, finally, that your will to protect the Gong family was as strong as his own.”

Gong Ziyu looked at the young man, his expression turning pensive. He had never heard it articulated so plainly.

Yuanzhi gestured with his chin towards the closed door behind which Shangjue was undoubtedly ensuring Qian was comfortable before deigning to attend to clan business. “So you ask me now, why does he do all this for a woman? It is because this woman is family to him. We are family, yes. Extended. Half-brothers. Cousins. But this woman…” His voice held a note of awe. “She is his wife. And in her womb is the only person in this world who is truly, completely, of his own blood.”

The simple statement hung in the air, explaining everything. Shangjue’s entire world had always been the Gong family. Now, he had simply refined its definition. His duty, his protection, his relentless focus—it had all contracted into one point: the woman carrying his legacy. For a man who loved through action and duty, there was no greater proof of love than this. For Gong Shangjue, there was no difference between protecting his wife and protecting the Gong family. They had become one and the same.

Chapter Text

The room was quiet, lit only by the soft glow of a single lantern. The day's tensions had eased, replaced by the fragile peace they now carefully cultivated each night. As Shangjue helped Qian settle into bed, his hand lingering on the vast swell of their child, the question slipped out, born of a vulnerability he could never show anyone else.

"Will you never leave?" he asked, his voice low in the darkness.

The silence that followed was heavier than any refusal. It stretched, filled with the ghosts of her past and the vengeance that still burned in her heart. Her silence was its own answer. The mission to destroy Wufeng, to avenge the family she never truly knew—it was a part of her he could not erase, a chain that might always pull her away from him.

He turned away, the old wound of her betrayal and his own insecurities twisting inside him. "I understand," he said, his voice tight with a pain he tried to mask. "I will never be your only. But you will always be my only."

It was a confession of absolute, unconditional surrender, and it hung in the air between them.

Then, her voice, quiet but clear, cut through the tension. "Why did you reject me then?"

He turned back to look at her. Her eyes were open now, glistening in the dim light.

"When I asked you if you would help me avenge my family," she continued, the memory sharp and fresh. "I asked you twice. Once when I thought you might see me as an ally. Once when I was desperate and begging. Both times, you rejected me. The last time… you called me an outsider." The title still carried the sting of that night. "You didn't trust me then. You saw only a spy."

She pushed herself up on one elbow, facing him fully. The weight of her past, of their shared history of mistrust, was in her gaze.

"Now I'll ask you again, Gong Shangjue." Her voice was steady, devoid of its former manipulation, filled only with a raw, painful need for the truth. "Will you help me avenge my family?"

The question hung in the air, the ultimate test. It was no longer about a stolen weapon or a tactical advantage. It was about trust. It was about choosing her, all of her—the orphan, the spy, the avenger—over the rigid rules of his world.

It was about finally, truly, being on her side.

Chapter Text

He didn't answer immediately. The memory of those previous rejections hung between them, a spectre of the distrust that had defined them for so long. He looked at her, really looked at her—not as the Wufeng spy, not as the bearer of his child, but as Shangguan Qian, the woman whose past was a open wound that had never been allowed to heal.

Then, he reached out and took both of her hands in his, his grip firm and warm. He leaned close, his voice dropping to a whisper, just as she had done in his study a lifetime ago, offering him a dream built on lies. Now, he offered her a vow built on truth.

“你的仇就是我的仇 (Nǐ de chóu jiùshì wǒ de chóu),” he whispered, the words a solemn oath. *Your vengeance is my vengeance.*

He brought her hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles, his eyes never leaving hers. “You are my wife. You are the mother of my child. I will do anything to fulfill whatever you want. I will help you tear Wufeng apart, brick by brick, until the memory of them is ash in the wind.”

It was the promise she had craved but never believed she would receive. Not from him, the man who had always placed the Gong family above all else. But now, he was placing her within that definition of family. Her pain was their pain. Her war was their war.

A slow, genuine smile spread across Qian’s face. It wasn't the cunning, practiced smile of a spy, nor the broken smile of a victim. It was a smile of profound, satisfied relief. The last wall between them crumbled. She had finally gotten through to him. She was no longer fighting alone.

In that whispered promise, he had given her not just his support, but his heart, fully and completely, vengeance and all. And for the first time, she believed him.

Chapter Text

The lantern light flickered, casting dancing shadows across Shangjue’s serious face. The hour was growing late, the palace settling into a deep hush. He turned to Qian, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, as if sharing a secret the very walls couldn't be trusted with.

“There is something I must do,” he began, his tone grave. “I need to go into hiding for two hours today. I have consumed the 蚀心之月 (Moon that Erodes the Heart). Once a month, for two hours, I must endure the pain of my body burning from the inside out.” He watched her face, expecting shock, but found only a somber understanding. “It is the price for the strength it grants. It is how I passed the trials. It is how I protect the Gong family.”

He continued, “The time is from noon until two. I chose it because it is when most of the clan is awake and alert. It is the safest time to be… incapacitated.”

Qian simply nodded. “I know.”

The confession hung between them. She had discovered this secret through eavesdropping long ago and had sold it to her Wufeng handler in exchange for the antidote—the very same tonic, she now knew, that caused the same fiery pain. It was not a poison at all, but a powerful, addictive substance that demanded perpetual consumption.

A grimace of remembered agony crossed her face. “Why didn’t you take the Bai Cao Cui?” she asked, her voice tight. “That way, you wouldn’t have to endure this pain anymore.”

“If I did,” he said, his gaze steady and unwavering, “I would lose all the 内功 (internal strength) I have trained a lifetime to build. I would be… ordinary. I need my strength to protect my family. To protect you. To protect our child.”

There was another heavy pause. “I sold that information to Wufeng,” she confessed quietly, the guilt a tangible weight in the room. “I told them about your weakness.”

“I know,” he said, his voice soft, devoid of the accusation she expected. “And you did it to protect yourself. To survive. I understand that now. I accused you of treason, but I should have asked why.”

She was silent, absorbing his unexpected absolution. It was a peace offering she had never thought to receive.

“Why are you telling me this now?” she finally asked. He had managed this monthly trial in secret for years, always disappearing and returning, weakened but stoic.

He looked down at their joined hands, a faint blush of vulnerability coloring his neck. “I… I want you to be there.”

“What?” Her eyes widened in disbelief. “When you are at your most vulnerable? Is this some sort of test? To see if I’ll try to kill you then?”

“No!” The word burst from him, laced with genuine hurt that she would think so. He looked up, his dark eyes earnest. “It is not a test. I just… I want to be around you when I am weak. Your presence… it comforts me.”

The admission was staggering. Gong Shangjue, the pillar of unshakeable strength, was asking her to be his solace in his moment of greatest agony. He was entrusting her with not just his secret, but his pain.

A soft, understanding smile touched Qian’s lips. She didn't completely understand the impulse, this need to have her witness his suffering. But she understood the profound trust it represented.

“Alright,” she agreed softly, squeezing his hand. “I will be there.”

Chapter Text

The journey to the fortified cave in the 后山 (Rear Mountains) was a silent one, the gravity of what was to come hanging between them. The guards stationed at the entrance greeted Shangjue with a respectful bow, their demeanor routine, as if this were a common, scheduled occurrence.

“Jue Gongzi,” one said, his voice low. “The premises are ready.”

They stepped inside. The cave was spartan but clearly prepared for its specific purpose. In the center was a dark, still well pond, its water looking ink-black in the dim light. On a low stone table nearby sat several bowls of a pale, milky cooling tonic. A simple comfort mat was laid out to the side.

Without ceremony, Shangjue began to remove his outer robes, then his inner garments. Qian turned slightly, a flush creeping up her neck. She had seen his naked body many times, of course, but always in the heat of passion, in the dim light of their bedchamber. This was different. This was clinical, purposeful. The sight of his well-defined torso, the powerful lines of his back and shoulders, was suddenly overwhelmingly intimate in this context. She felt a surge of desire, immediately followed by a wave of 羞耻 (shame/embarrassment). It’s the pregnancy hormones, she told herself firmly, blaming the primal pull she felt towards him.

As if he could sense the shift in her energy, Shangjue turned towards her. His towering, half-naked form leaned in, closing the distance to where she sat on the stone bench. Her face was suddenly inches from his chest, her eyes level with the straining muscle of his bicep. She could feel the incredible heat radiating from his skin, and her face flushed a deep, betraying crimson.

“Qian Qian,” his voice was impossibly soft, a tender caress in the quiet cave. “Your face is red. Are you okay?”

Qian Qian. The double endearment, so rarely used, made her heart stutter. She shook her head violently, as if to dislodge the inappropriate thoughts. Now is not the time!

She quickly stood up, creating a baffling distance between them. Flustered, she took his hand—his large, warm hand—and led him toward the black pool. “Sit,” she instructed, her voice a little too brisk. She fetched a bowl of the cooling tonic and pressed it into his hands. “It starts anytime now. I’ll be here. Do not worry. Drink this. It will help.” She tried to sound reassuring, giving his hand a firm squeeze.

He looked up at her, a grateful smile touching his lips despite the anticipation of pain. “I might scream,” he warned her, his frown returning. “I might thrash. It may not sound… nice. I will try to control it.”

“Do not worry about that,” she said, her voice softening. She gestured to the mat. “I’ll sit right here. Maybe I’ll even take a nap. You can scream all you need to. I will wait for you.”

He nodded, seemingly comforted by her pragmatic acceptance. Closing his eyes, he began to meditate, his breathing slowing, preparing to face the internal inferno alone, yet for the first time, not alone at all. Qian settled on the mat, watching him, her own heart beating a frantic rhythm of fear, awe, and a protectiveness so fierce it stole her breath.

Chapter Text

She had no intention of watching. She knew all too well what was coming. The memory of that same agony, the feeling of her very blood boiling, her bones turning to molten lead, was seared into her soul. It was that very pain that had driven her to him months ago, to sneak into his residence and risk everything to beg for the Bai Cao Cui. Once was enough. Once was a trauma that made you willing to promise anything, betray anyone, just to make it stop.

And he endured this. Once a month. For years. For the Gong family. The thought made her heart clench with a strange, aching pride and a profound sorrow. Worse still was the knowledge that Gong Ziyu endured it too, and soon, Yuanzhi—barely an adult, still just a teenager—would have to submit himself to this same monthly hell. Her frown deepened, worry for her brother-in-law knotting her stomach.

The first scream tore through the cave, shattering her thoughts.

It was a raw, primal sound of pure agony, utterly inhuman. Her head snapped up. In the black pond, his body convulsed, muscles straining against an invisible, internal fire. It felt wrong, so deeply wrong, to just sit and watch. She was a bystander to his torture.

He tried to wrestle the pain into submission through meditation, his face a mask of tortured concentration, but it was a futile battle. She couldn't just watch.

Moving slowly, cautiously, she approached the edge of the pool. The heat radiating from him was intense. With a tentative hand, she reached out and placed her palm over his white-knuckled fist where it gripped the stone edge.

In return, his hand shot out and seized hers with a desperate, bruising strength. A man drowning, clutching a lifeline. His eyes, wild with pain, found hers. The agony in them made her own tears well up instantly. But through the suffering, he managed a weak, almost imperceptible nod. Stay.

So she did.

She knelt there, her hand held captive in his vice-like grip, for the remaining hour and a half. The time passed in a relative, muted silence punctuated by his ragged grunts, shuddering breaths, and the occasional, heart-wrenching whimper he could no longer suppress. But he was quieter, more still, with her anchor there.

Then, as if a switch had been flipped, his entire body went limp before tensing again, this time with a different energy. Shangguan Qian could feel it—a powerful surge of 内力 (internal energy) radiating from him, potent and controlled. He was stronger now. The trial was over.

He opened his eyes, sweat-soaked and exhausted, but clear. Without a word, he pulled her into a soaking wet embrace, his hold fierce and grateful. “Thank you,” he breathed into her hair, his voice hoarse. “Thank you for being here.”

She simply held him back, her own emotions a tangled mess. She helped him into his robes, her touches gentle, and they walked back hand-in-hand, a silent understanding forged in the fire of his pain.

On the path back, he asked, his voice still rough, “Can you come with me every month? I think… you really help.”

“Do I?” she asked, surprised.

“Yes,” he said, looking at her with utter sincerity. “I feel less pain with you around.”

A genuine smile touched her lips. “If it eases my Gongzi’s heart, I’ll do it.” For a flickering moment, he saw her again—the meek, demure noble lady he had first fallen for, the charming facade that had hidden a ruthless spy. He loved both, for both were his Qian Qian, but he hadn't seen that particular, sweetly devoted glimmer in a long time.

He stopped and kissed her forehead tenderly. Then, a familiar, teasing glint entered his eyes. “I saw the way you were looking at me earlier,” he whispered, his voice dropping to a suggestive murmur. “Shall we continue in the hot spring?”

Qian’s face went beet red. She playfully slapped his arm. “What look! I… I didn’t look at you in any way!”

“Oh?” he feigned disappointment, a smirk playing on his lips. “In that case, I’ll go alone. I need to rest after that torture session. You are welcome to join me, if you want.” He teased her further, enjoying her flustered state.

“I… I would like to…” she mumbled, barely able to meet his gaze as he stared intently at her. “But my body…” she looked down at her swollen belly, which now hid her feet from view. “…is not as it was.” The old insecurity, the fear that he wouldn't desire her in this changed state, surfaced again.

Gong Shangjue, sensing her hesitation instantly, took her hand and gently led her towards the steamy entrance of the hot springs.

“Qian Qian,” he said, his voice low and earnest, leaving no room for doubt. “I like you even more like this.”

Chapter Text

The steam from the hot springs clung to their skin, the air thick with the scent of minerals and the lingering warmth of their intimacy. They sat on the tatami mat by a low table, sipping tea in a comfortable, post-coital silence. Shangjue’s robes hung loosely, revealing the sharp V of his well-defined abdomen. Qian, swaddled in a soft robe, found it difficult to contain her now significantly larger breasts, the tube top beneath doing little to hide the generous cleavage.

Shangjue was completely mesmerized, his gaze fixed on the tantalizing glimpse of skin, until her soft voice broke the spell.

“Gongzi,” she began, her voice a gentle murmur. “Do you remember the last time we were here? It seems like an eternity ago.”

He blinked, slightly jarred from his focused stare. “Yes,” he replied, his voice a low rumble. “It felt a lifetime ago.”

She smiled softly, one hand drifting to rest on the vast curve of her belly. “I think our son was conceived here.”

“Our son?” he asked, genuinely shocked. “How do you know?”

“The midwives say by the way I am carrying, it seems like a son,” she explained. She looked up at him, her eyes curious and tender. “What do we name him?”

He fell deep into thought. A son. His heir. The name had to be strong, befitting his position and their tumultuous journey. After a long moment, he spoke. “Gong Jian Jue. What do you think?”

“Jian?” she repeated, testing the name.

“坚持，坚定,” he said. “Perseverance. Determination.”

“Oh? Why so?” she asked, her head tilting.

“His life was hard fought for,” Shangjue said, his gaze intense and full of meaning. He didn’t know the half of it.

A tear escaped Qian’s eye, tracing a path down her cheek as she looked down in shame. “I had once… attempted to abort him.”

The confession landed like a physical blow. Shangjue’s tea cup clattered clumsily onto the table. He was shocked, of course. He had nearly lost this. He had nearly lost his son. But he saw the profound shame and regret on her face, and knew this was not a moment for accusation, but for understanding. He immediately pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as she continued to confess, her voice muffled against his chest.

“I… I am not supposed to fall in love with the target. I am a spy on a mission.” Her words were a torrent now, all the locked-away guilt pouring out. “I repeatedly warned Yun Weishan that falling in love with the target would end in a terrifying situation. It turned out well for her. But for me… it was true. My handler warned me. He asked if I would fall in love. I so adamantly and proudly told him no. I seemed so foolish then.”

She pulled back slightly, holding his arms, her eyes searching his as if trying to convey the depth of her conflict. “I am an orphan. I have never been loved, never been taught love. I only knew that I would be rewarded if I worked hard. I constantly enslaved myself for the betterment of others—for Wufeng, for my handler, for my own survival.”

Tears streamed down her face freely now. “When I entered the Gong palace, you were cold and unkind, but I harbored no hard feelings. You were part of my job. But when you… when you asked me not to work in the kitchen because it was a waste of my talent, when you appreciated the food I cooked, when you fed me medicine, when you arranged for that dinner during the lantern festival… and when we were here months ago, you were so incredibly gentle. You asked if it was alright with me. I… I know I shouldn’t have, but I gave myself to you. I gave myself to you because maybe, on some subconscious level, I knew you were the only one who had ever cared for me.”

It was the confession he had longed for. Despite her running, despite his accusations that she didn't love him as much, she had. She had liked him enough to defy her mission, to keep his son, to go through painful, desperate lengths to preserve their connection.

“Carrying the target’s child…” she lamented, a bitter, broken laugh escaping her. “I am such a failed spy.”

As Shangjue opened his mouth to protest, she pressed on. “But I never regret it. Even if you had abandoned me, even if you didn’t acknowledge me or my son. I am an orphan. He is my only family. I would have kept him safe.”

Tears welled in Shangjue’s eyes. He held her face, wiping her tears away with his thumbs. “You are not alone now,” he vowed, his voice thick with emotion. “I am your family. Gong Yuanzhi is also your family. By that account, the entire Gong family is. You are my wife and will always be. I will never abandon you. You are not alone now.”

She cried then, tears of relief and gratitude, finally allowing herself to believe in the safety he offered.

The sweet, fragile moment was shattered by a sharp, urgent knock on the door.

“Jue Gongzi!” a guard’s voice called out, strained with alarm. “An emergency!”

Chapter Text

The command in Gong Shangjue’s hushed tone was absolute. Stay here. It is safer. The glare that followed brooked no argument. Qian bowed her head in silent acquiescence, the obedient wife, even as every instinct screamed at her to follow.

The moment the door slid shut, the atmosphere in the courtyard shifted. Shangjue, now clad in his robes and radiating lethal authority, faced the intruder. She was a stark figure under the moonlight, battle-ready, a knife held loosely in her hand as if she owned the very ground she stood on. Gong Ziyu and Gong Yuanzhi arrived almost simultaneously, their swords drawn, forming a formidable triangle around her.

“Speak,” Shangjue’s voice was ice, the voice of the Horn Palace lord that brooked no nonsense. “What do you want?”

The woman gave a vicious smirk, her eyes scanning the luxurious surroundings with contempt. “So this is where she resides after abandoning him.” Her gaze snapped back to Shangjue. “Do you not wonder, my lord, what is the true background of your little demure wife?”

Shangjue’s face was a mask of cold indifference. “Speak while you still can.”

She laughed, the sound harsh in the night air. “I am here to kill Shangguan Qian.”

In a blur of motion almost too fast to see, Shangjue’s sword was at her throat, its edge kissing her skin. Instead of fear, she scoffed, a trickle of blood already welling where the steel met her neck. “You think she really loves you? She only loves herself! She lies and manipulates men! And you have fallen into her trap, just as… just as my Qi did!”

A voice, calm and clear, came from behind Shangjue, shocking everyone.

“Zheng Nanyi.”

Shangjue didn’t turn, but his posture stiffened. The intruder, Nanyi, looked past him, her eyes widening in absolute shock and disbelief before she threw her head back and laughed, a raw, broken sound.

“Wow! I have really seen it all, sister!” she spat the word like a curse. “You dedicate yourself to the mission so much you plan to birth the Gong family’s child? What a joke! Was Han Ya Qi a joke to you, too? I will kill you and your unborn child!”

Shangjue’s sword pressed deeper, a fraction from her jugular. His brothers tightened their stances.

But Shangguan Qian walked forward, her gait steady despite her advanced pregnancy, her face a mask of cold indifference. “Han Ya Qi is dead.”

The words enraged Nanyi. “He is dead because of you! He didn’t have to die! He helped you, sacrificed himself to protect you! And what did he get in return? Hardly an acknowledgement! I visited his family—they didn’t even know of his death! Only that he was ‘well’ with a woman named Qian! Qian! That is you!”

Qian’s composure flickered. Han Ya Qi had been her handler. Their relationship was complex—a web of duty, survival, and a deep, fraught camaraderie. She had wept for him. She had held him as he died. “I grieved him too,” she said, her voice tight. “He has been my guardian.”

“You grieved him by marrying the enemy?!” Nanyi shrieked. “By carrying his child? Enjoying a life of luxury?! He died for nothing! I nearly died for nothing! He loved you! Did you know that? Did you know he begged me to take care of you in the Gong palace? Did you know how he stole medication for you? How he used his connections to help you at every turn? Why do you think you became a ‘Mei’ rank so fast?! He treasured you! He loved you! And you spat on his grave!”

The revelations hit Qian like physical blows, but she refused to crumble. She clenched her fists so tightly her nails dug into her palms. She gave a slow, nonchalant nod. “On account of our shared connection with Han Ya Qi, I will let you go. Go to his family. Grieve with them.”

Nanyi’s face contorted in pure hatred. “You disgusting whore!”

The words died in her throat.

In a movement faster than any of the Gong brothers could anticipate, the short knife Qian had concealed in her sleeve flashed. It wasn't a grand, sweeping motion. It was a precise, brutal thrust straight through Nanyi’s throat.

Blood sprayed, dark and arterial in the moonlight.

Nanyi’s eyes bulged, wide with shock and betrayal, before the light in them extinguished. She crumpled to the ground.

Silence. The three Gong brothers could only stare, stunned by the sudden, ruthless violence from the pregnant woman they had been protecting.

“Qian!” Shangjue finally found his voice, a mixture of horror and disbelief. He looked at her, at the blood splattered across her robe, at her face, which was set in defiant lines, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

Before he could say another word, Qian’s defiant expression shattered. She gasped, her hand flying to her swollen belly. “Ouch!”

All thought of the dead woman vanished. Shangjue was at her side in an instant, catching her as her knees buckled. He swept her into his arms, her weight nothing to him compared to the terror gripping his heart.

“PHYSICIAN!” he roared, his voice a raw, panicked scream that tore through the night, echoing across the palace grounds. “NOW!”

Chapter Text

“The baby… I think it’s coming.” Qian gasped, her face contorting in pain as a powerful contraction seized her, no doubt triggered by the shock and violence of the encounter.

“I told you to stay inside!” Shangjue chided, his voice a mixture of fury and sheer, unadulterated terror. “Why didn’t you listen?!” But the words were empty, his face a canvas of worry and utter loss. All anger was instantly eclipsed by the need to protect her. He gently, yet swiftly, gathered her into his arms, her weight a precious burden.

He rushed towards the prepared delivery chambers, his movements a blur. As he passed his stunned brothers, his orders were sharp and clipped, cutting through their shock. “Handle the body. Investigate how she got in.” Ziyu and Yuanzhi nodded quickly, their own faces pale with anxiety, but their brother’s frantic energy propelled them into action.

In his arms, Qian whimpered, her strength fading. “Shangjue… it hurts.” Her voice was a thin, breathless thread, as if speaking cost her every ounce of energy.

“Shhh, it will be fine. I am here,” he murmured, his own heart hammering against his ribs. He laid her down on the bed in the delivery room, holding her hands tightly as midwives and the physician swarmed in. They confirmed it: she was in labour.

The next few hours were a torturous blur. Qian’s labour was difficult, each push a monumental effort that seemed to drain the very life from her. She was weakening, her resolve crumbling. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed, her grip on his hand loosening. “I’m so sorry… I might die… the child too…”

Tears streamed down Shangjue’s face unchecked. “No! Don’t you dare give up!” he pleaded, his voice raw with emotion. “Push, Qian! Push for our family! Push for me! For our son! Please, try again!”

With a final, gut-wrenching scream that seemed to tear from the depths of her soul, she gave one last, mighty push.

The sharp, healthy cry of a newborn filled the room.

A son. Gong Jian Jue was born, healthy and alive.

A wave of overwhelming joy and relief washed over Shangjue. He looked from his son’s squalling, perfect face to Qian’s exhausted, sweat-drenched one, a smile of pure wonder breaking through his tears. She managed a weak, euphoric smile in return, her eyes seeking her newborn.

But as she tried to sit up, to reach for the child, the light in her eyes flickered and extinguished. Her body went limp, her head lolling to the side.

“QIAN!!!” Shangjue’s shout was a scream of pure horror. He frantically reached for her pulse, his fingers pressing against her neck. Nothing.

The physician rushed over, checking himself before shaking his head slowly, his face grim. A silent, devastating verdict. There is no use.

The joy of moments before shattered into a million pieces. Gong Shangjue utterly unraveled, clutching her lifeless hand, his shoulders shaking with silent, devastating sobs. The anguished cries of his newborn son became a dissonant soundtrack to his world ending.

Just as despair threatened to consume him completely, the door slammed open. Gong Yuanzhi rushed in, breathless, holding a small, familiar jade box.

“Ge! Here!” he gasped, thrusting it into Shangjue’s hands.

It was another Bai Cao Cui. The one that belonged to Gong Ziyu, sent in a desperate, last-ditch hope after Shangjue had given his own to Qian months ago.

With trembling, frantic hands, Shangjue pried the pill from the box. He gently parted Qian’s lips, placing the miracle cure on her tongue and holding her jaw closed, praying for a swallow.

For a heart-stopping moment, nothing happened.

Then, a faint, almost imperceptible convulsion in her throat. A weak swallow.

Color, faint but definite, began to seep back into her pallid cheeks. A shallow, ragged breath whispered past her lips.

She was alive.

But she did not wake.

Utterly distraught, Shangjue collapsed into the chair beside her bed, clutching her still hand as if his own life force could flow into hers. He pressed his forehead against their joined hands, his entire body trembling. Behind him, the desperate cries of his son, Gong Jian Jue, continued, a constant, piercing reminder of the life she had fought for, and the terrifying precipice on which she now hovered.

Chapter Text

The days blurred into a cycle of relentless, anxious care. Gong Shangjue moved between the still form of his wife and the demanding cries of his newborn son like a man possessed. He refused to let any servant near them, his paranoia a palpable force field around his small, devastated family. He changed diapers with a soldier’s efficiency, swaddled the baby with a terrifying intensity, and spent hours holding Qian’s limp hand, whispering to her, begging her to wake up.

“Brother, leave it to the servants. It is better for both Qian and your son,” Gong Yuanzhi pleaded, gently rocking his fussing nephew. He was the only one Shangjue allowed to help, a testament to their unbreakable bond, but even Yuanzhi was reaching his limit. The baby was a tiny tyrant, crying at all hours and soiling himself constantly. “And… and… my nephew needs milk ... human milk,” Yuanzhi continued, his voice strained with exhaustion and concern. “He cries all the time because he’s hungry! We need to find a nursing maid, otherwise he will starve before Shangguan Qian wakes up!”

Shangjue glared, the dark circles under his eyes making his gaze even more intense. He refused to admit the unspoken reason he hadn’t found a wet nurse: a morbid, selfish hope. He believed, with every fiber of his being, that the desperate, hungry cries of their son would somehow pierce the veil separating Qian from consciousness. That the sound would scream, Your son needs you. I need you. Please wake up.

“No,” Shangjue’s voice was hoarse from lack of sleep. “We wait a few more days.”

“Fine! But only a few more days!” Yuanzhi relented, slumping in a chair. “I am so tired.”

A faint, weary smile touched Shangjue’s lips. He walked over and took the baby from Yuanzhi’s arms. “You are an uncle now,” he said, his voice softening as he looked down at the tiny, red-faced infant. “You should be more responsible.” He gently bounced the baby. “Look, it’s your uncle! Your lazy uncle who complains about changing your diapers.”

Yuanzhi managed a tired smile, watching his formidable brother coo over the baby. “Ge,” he said softly, the word filled with a sudden, profound affection. “You are all grown up now.”

Shangjue paused, the irony of the statement hanging heavily between them. He was the older brother, the one who had always uttered those words to Yuanzhi. To hear them reversed was strange and touching.

“Oh, you think so?” Shangjue asked, a hint of his old dry humor returning.

“Back then, you were so cold and ruthless,” Yuanzhi mused, his gaze distant. “I admired you because you acted with such efficiency. You were so… cool.” He looked back at Shangjue, his expression earnest. “But now that you show more emotion… I think you are pretty cool too. Sacrificing everything to protect the people you love… that’s pretty cool.”

It was a simple, heartfelt admission. They shared a look, a deep understanding passing between them. They were cousins, but they were sworn brothers. Yuanzhi had only ever looked up to Shangjue, and Shangjue had found a purpose in protecting Yuanzhi after his own brother’s death. They filled a void in each other’s lives.

In the comfortable silence that followed, broken only by the baby’s quiet gurgles, a sound, soft as a sigh, drifted from the bed.

“Gong zi…”

Both brothers froze. Shangjue’s head snapped toward the bed.

Qian’s eyes were open, mere slits, but they were focused on him. She was awake.

Chapter Text

The world snapped back into a fuzzy, painful focus. The first thing Shangguan Qian registered was the overwhelming relief on Gong Shangjue’s face as he rushed to her side, tears streaming down his cheeks. Gong Yuanzhi hurriedly fetched water.

“Gongzi,” she whispered, her voice raspy. She reached a trembling hand to cradle his face. “Have I upset Gongzi?” Her expression was one of gentle, confused concern, utterly devoid of the sharp defiance or deep-seated pain he had grown accustomed to.

“I nearly lost you!” he choked out, the words raw.

Her brow furrowed in genuine confusion. Then her eyes drifted to the small, swaddled bundle in a nearby bassinet. “Whose baby is this? Why is it here?”

The brothers exchanged a look of dawning horror.

“You don’t remember?” Shangjue asked, his voice tight.

“Remember what?” Her confusion was palpable. “Why am I here? I… I was recovering after… after being released from the torture chamber…” A flicker of fear crossed her features. “I told you I am innocent, Gongzi.”

The realization hit them both like a physical blow. Amnesia.

Shangjue barked an order at Yuanzhi, who immediately dashed out for the physician. Shangjue turned back to her, holding her hands and kissing them softly. “Qian Qian… we are married. This is our child. Gong Jian Jue.”

Her eyes widened in sheer, unfeigned shock. “What?! That’s not possible! I… I am a…” She trailed off, her spy’s instinct screaming to hide her identity.

“A Wufeng spy,” Shangjue finished for her, his voice gentle but firm.

She looked at him, utterly horrified. “How did you know?!”

“I also cured you of the Half-Moon toxin. You are free from Wufeng.”

“What?!” This was too much information, a tidal wave crashing over her fractured memories. “But why? What about… what about ...?”

“Yun Weishan defected. You became pregnant. You tried to steal the Infinite Flowing Fire… but you came back to me.”

Her mind reeled. This was insane. It had to be a trap, an elaborate interrogation tactic to get her to confess. Her defenses slammed into place. She pushed him away weakly, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Prove it to me.”

“Prove what?” he asked, bewildered by her sudden shift.

“Prove that we are together! Prove that child is mine! I am not a Wufeng spy!” she said defensively, the lie coming automatically. She had to escape. This was all a trick.

“Your handler, Han Yaqi, is dead.”

The name, the news, was a direct hit. “What? How did you know?” she blurted out before she could stop herself, then immediately schooled her features back into innocent confusion. “Gongzi can choose not to trust me, but you don’t have to employ such tactics. My heart will always belong to you.” It was a line, a spy’s calculated deflection, and it sounded hollow even to her ears.

The physician arrived, confirming the amnesia but assuring them her memories would likely return with time. To Qian, it all felt like part of the act. This was a very, very elaborate plot.

Then they handed her the baby.

She held Jian Jue hesitantly, her arms stiff. But the moment his warm, tiny head nestled against her chest, a foreign, overwhelming surge of emotion brought instant tears to her eyes. Is this… really my child?

“Our baby is hungry,” Shangjue said softly, encouraging her to breastfeed.

Qian looked at him, absolutely baffled. What kind of test is this? Her mind raced. As far as her memories told her, she was a Wufeng spy, he was her target, her goal was the Infinite Flowing Fire. She’d told him she was a Gushan orphan to hide her true identity. And now he knew everything? And they had a child? They’d been intimate, yes, but the valley’s miasma made fertility nearly impossible…

Acting almost on instinct, she turned slightly for privacy and guided the baby to her breast.

And then… milk.

A let-down reflex, strong and undeniable. Milk flowed. Her body was responding to the child’s need in a way that could not be faked.

She had been pregnant. She had given birth. This was her baby.

The men had all tactfully left the room, leaving only Shangjue, who was watching her with an expression of such pure, unguarded adoration it stole her breath. It wasn’t the suspicious, calculating look from her memories. This was love.

It must be real.

But… why? When? Who can I trust? The questions swirled. Did she truly defect from Wufeng? Or was this an impossibly elaborate ploy to keep her imprisoned here, lulled into a false sense of security?

She had to find out more. But for now, holding her son, feeling the primal connection she couldn’t deny, she knew one thing with certainty: she would play along. She would be the amnesiac wife. And she would watch, and listen, and discover the truth of this new life herself. Her spy’s instincts were now turned inward, tasked with solving the greatest mystery of all: her own heart.

Chapter Text

The days settled into a new, fragile rhythm. Shangguan Qian played the part of the quiet, demure mother with a perfection that was, in its own way, deeply unsettling to Gong Shangjue. He had almost missed the fiery, defiant woman she had been, but he knew this placid obedience was a facade. He saw the way her eyes, when she thought he wasn't looking, would dart towards the sealed entrance of a forgotten secret passage. She was tip-toeing through her own life, a ghost in her own home.

One evening, as they dined under the moonlight in the same pavilion where they had once shared a moment of peace before everything shattered, he decided to shatter the pretense.

“You think I trap you here,” he stated softly. It wasn’t a question.

A flicker of the old Qian flashed in her eyes—a sharp, almost mocking of course—but she quickly schooled her features into placid innocence. “Why would I think so? I am glad to be here with Gongzi. Gongzi is my family.”

“Will you not run?” he asked, his voice gentle but direct.

Her face fell for a split second, revealing her hand before she could mask it. How did he know?

“I saw the way you stare at the secret passage,” he explained. “It is sealed, by the way. It has been changed.”

“So,” she began, her voice carefully neutral, using the excuse she had prepared, “will Gongzi tell me the new passages? In case our child is in danger. We need an escape route.”

He almost smiled at her transparency. She was prying, using their son as a shield. “You are my lawfully wedded wife,” he said, his gaze steady. “You can walk out from the main gates anytime you wish. I am not keeping you hostage here.”

“I don’t mean that, my Gongzi,” she backpedaled quickly.

“You meant,” he clarified, his voice dropping, “how can you escape without being caught by the guards?”

“Not at all!” she insisted, the perfect picture of wounded loyalty. “My loyalty is to you.”

Shangjue sighed, a sound of profound weariness and understanding. He reached across the table, taking her hands in his. “You are an orphan. You never knew love and never knew how to love someone. All your life, you have been a spy. You work for the betterment of others, for your survival, for a cause that used you.” He was repeating the confession she had made to him just days before her collapse, a confession she no longer remembered.

She stared at him, her eyes welling with unbidden tears. He was right. His words resonated with a deep, painful truth she couldn't deny.

“But,” he continued, his grip on her hands firm and warm, “I am here now, Qian Qian. You don’t need to be alone anymore. I am your family. Jian Jue is your family. This is your home.”

They stared at each other, and for the first time, the ice around Qian’s heart began to truly thaw under the warmth of his unwavering certainty.

“How can I trust you?” she whispered, the question a vulnerable plea.

So, he told her. He related their entire painful, twisted history from the beginning. He spoke of his initial suspicion, her betrayals—including her giving Wufeng the information about his two hours of monthly vulnerability. She instinctively tried to rebut, to deny, but he stopped her. “I know you did it to save yourself. Because you consume the same tonic as me. It is not a poison. You don’t need a ‘cure.’ It is simply a power tonic. The pain passes if you endure it.”

The revelation struck her like a physical blow. She was not kept on a leash by Wufeng at all? The antidote was a placebo, a psychological chain. She could have defected at any time? The people she had killed, the lies she had told, all in the name of securing that monthly dose… it was all for nothing? A horrifying wave of regret and nausea washed over her.

“You tried to steal the Infinite Flowing Fire to kill Wufeng and avenge your clan,” he continued, pulling her back from the brink of that devastating realization.

That, she believed. That felt true.

“And… you told me you were pregnant. I didn’t believe you.”

“Why…” her voice was a shaky whisper, “why didn’t I abort it?” It seemed so unlike the ruthless spy she remembered herself to be.

“I am not sure,” he admitted honestly. “But you didn’t.”

Had she really fallen in love with him? Enough to betray Wufeng? Enough to carry his child? The smiling, cooing Jian Jue in his bassinet nearby was evidence enough.

“I let you go,” Shangjue said, his voice thick with the memory of that pain. “And then you returned months later, demanding the Bai Cao Cui to cure your ‘Wufeng poison.’ I gave it to you. You stayed. We were happy.” He paused, choosing his next words carefully, omitting her later attempt to flee for now. “And then… you gave birth. It was difficult. We nearly lost you.” His hand tightened on hers. “And here you are.”

Qian tried to absorb it all. The story was overwhelming, a chaotic jumble of betrayal, pain, and something that sounded suspiciously like love. It seemed to line up with the facts her body knew—the child, the milk, the scars—but her mind was a whirlwind of confusion.

“I… I am not sure,” she breathed, her head spinning.

Shangjue brought her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles. “Relax, Qian Qian. I know it’s a bit much.” He offered a small, understanding smile. “You don’t have to remember everything tonight. You just have to know that I am here. And I am not going anywhere.”

Chapter Text

The gentle rhythm of Jian Jue’s breathing from his bassinet was the only sound in the room. Shangguan Qian lay nestled against Gong Shangjue’s sprawling chest, her fingers idly tracing patterns in his hair. She took a deep breath, inhaling his familiar, comforting scent, and snuggled closer. It felt warm. It felt… safe. Shangjue’s arm tightened around her in response, a silent promise.

“What are you thinking of?” he asked, his voice a low rumble beneath her ear.

She was quiet for a moment, her fingers stilling. “I was thinking if you are lying.”

A soft sigh escaped him, but it wasn’t one of frustration. It was patient. “I am not lying. You know this. Your breast produces milk. Your body… it is different. You know this.” He stated the physical, undeniable evidence.

“But,” she countered, her spy’s mind still searching for flaws, “Gong Yuanzhi has so many herbs.”

This time, a genuine, deep laugh shook his chest. It was a sound she hadn't heard in what felt like an eternity. “Silly girl,” he murmured, his voice laced with affectionate amusement. “Do you really think there’s an herb that can make you pregnant? That can create a whole, living person?”

“But…” she persisted, though a smile threatened to touch her lips at his laughter, “…there could be one for hallucination. To make me believe it.”

“You are right,” he conceded, his tone shifting, becoming lower, more intense. He shifted, rolling so he was looking down at her, his body caging hers gently. His eyes, dark and full of a heat she remembered in flashes, scanned her face. “But does this feel like a hallucination?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He lowered his head and captured her lips in a kiss that was nothing like the gentle, reassuring ones they had shared since she woke. This was passionate, possessive, and full of a raw, desperate desire that spoke of months of longing and fear of loss. It was a kiss designed to obliterate doubt, to overwhelm her senses with the reality of him.

She turned several shades of red, a soft gasp caught in her throat. “Gong zi… what…”

“I will show you reality,” he whispered against her lips, his voice husky with a need that left no room for argument.

The world narrowed to the feel of his mouth on hers, the weight of his body, the solid reality of him. All thoughts of herbs, tricks, and Wufeng plots evaporated under the onslaught of pure, physical sensation. Her arms wound around his neck, her body arching into his of its own volition, a familiar response she didn't need memories to guide.

A single lantern flickering on the bedside table, its flame casting dancing shadows across the room. The light glints off the polished wood of the bassinet where Gong Jian Jue sleeps peacefully, oblivious to his parents' passion. 

Chapter Text

The warmth of the bed, the solid comfort of Shangjue’s presence beside her—it all vanished, replaced by the cold, sharp clarity of memory.

It wasn't a dream. It was a floodgate opening.

She saw Jin Fan’s sneering face, felt the clash of steel. She saw Han Ya Qi, stumbling, falling, his life bleeding out onto the cold ground. She heard his voice, weak but clear, calling her name. Qian. She saw herself turning back, running to him. His question, 回头 (turn back). He wanted to know if she would. And she did. That moment, that choice, meant something. Whatever complex, fraught bond they shared, it had been real. And she had wept for him, her tears the first genuine ones she could remember shedding for another soul.

Then, the crushing weight of the next memory. The cold metal of the Infinite Flowing Fire in her hands. Gong Shangjue, his face a mask of cold fury, facing her down. Her own desperation. And beneath it all, the tiny, unknown spark of their child, Gong Jian Jue, already growing in her womb.

How heartless she had been. How heartless he had been.

The image of him, pressing his blade to her throat, calling her an outsider—the word lashing her more sharply than any steel. He had let her go, yes. But he had let her go in silence. He had never called her name. Not like Han Ya Qi had in his final moments. In her deepest, most secret heart, she had wished Han Ya Qi had never called for her, sparing her that guilt. But she had ached, with a pain she hadn't understood then, for Gong Shangjue to call her name, to ask her to stay.

A sob tore from her throat, followed by another, quiet but wrenching. She was awake now, fully awake, and the past was no longer a ghost but a crushing reality.

Shangjue stirred immediately, jolted from sleep by her distress. "Qian Qian?" His voice was thick with sleep but instantly alert with concern. He reached for her, his hand seeking to soothe the tremors wracking her body.

She flinched away violently, shrugging off his touch as if burned. The man in her memories—the cold, ruthless lord who had rejected her and their child—was too vivid, too painful.

"Qian Qian, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice soft but laced with alarm. He sat up, trying to see her face in the dim light.

She just shook her head, unable to form words, tears streaming down her face. The dissonance was too great. The gentle, devoted man beside her and the heartless man from her memories—she didn't know how to reconcile them. Which one was real?

Shangjue didn't press. He took a deep, steadying breath and slid out of bed. She heard the quiet sounds of him preparing tea. He returned moments later with a warm cup, the familiar scent of chamomile and honey filling the air. He sat beside her, not touching her, but his presence was a steady anchor.

"Here," he murmured, offering the cup.

When she didn't take it, he set it on the bedside table. Then, slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, he began to rub gentle, circles on her back. His touch was infinitely patient.

"The memories are returning, aren't they?" he guessed, his voice low and understanding. "The painful ones."

A fresh wave of sobs was his answer. He continued his soothing motion.

"I cannot change what happened," he said, his voice heavy with regret. "I cannot erase the pain I caused you. The suspicion, the coldness… I thought I was protecting my family. I was a fool."

He leaned closer, his voice a whisper. "The man who let you go that night… he was half-mad with grief already. He had just learned the woman he loved was a spy sent to destroy everything he held dear. He believed letting you go was the only way to keep you alive, even if it meant never seeing you again. He was wrong. It was the greatest mistake of his life."

He finally turned her chin gently, forcing her to meet his eyes. They were full of a raw, aching sincerity.

"Every day since you came back, I have tried to atone for that man's failure. I will spend the rest of my life trying. The man who pressed a blade to your throat and the man who holds you now… they are the same person. One was blinded by duty and hurt. The other…" he brought her hand to his chest, letting her feel the frantic, steady beat of his heart, "...the other is yours. completely."

The tears still fell, but the rigid tension in her shoulders began to ease. The memories were still there, sharp and painful, but his words were a balm, weaving a new understanding around the old wounds. She didn't pull away from his touch this time. She let him hold her, the warmth of the tea and the warmth of his confession slowly chasing the chilling ghosts of the past away.

Chapter Text

The words hung in the air, raw and accusing. "You wronged me, Gong Shangjue." Her voice was a broken whisper, each word a shard of glass. "I had hoped so desperately you would call me. I... I was so naive and foolish. I am a spy. A spy who sabotaged her mission by carrying the target's child. I am a failure."

Shangjue's heart clenched. He pulled her closer, his own regret a heavy stone in his chest. "I was an even bigger idiot for letting you go," he murmured into her hair, his voice thick. "A fool blinded by duty and pain."

But then her confession took a turn that sent a jolt through him. "But... in my memory, I wronged someone too... Han Ya Qi."

The name, spoken from her lips, landed with the force of a physical blow. The intruder's furious accusations echoed in his mind.

"The day you went into labour," he said slowly, carefully, "a Wufeng assassin entered our lawn."

Qian's head snapped up. "What?!"

"Her name was Zheng Nanyi. Do you remember?"

The name sparked a memory. The other bride. The one who had been exposed and tortured. "She... she made it out alive?"

"It seems so. She talked about how Han Ya Qi... he liked you. That he is dead, and his family doesn't know. She was here to kill you." Shangjue's hands tightened into fists at the memory of the threat. "But do not worry, we have completely sealed and changed all our secret passages. She exploited one under construction. You are safe now."

But Qian wasn't thinking about safety or Nanyi. Her mind was on Han Ya Qi. The man who had been her handler, her sometimes-protector, the one who had called her name with his dying breath. A resolve solidified within her.

"I have to make a trip," she said abruptly, pulling away and standing up.

Shangjue stared, bewildered. "What is so urgent that you need to do it now?"

"I need to visit Han Ya Qi's family."

"Why?" The question was out before he could stop it, laced with a jealousy that curdled in his throat. This man had protected her, died for her. In her mind, how could Shangjue—who had doubted her, threatened her, denied her—possibly compare? He braced himself for the answer, his heart aching with the selfish, stupid fear that her love for him was a pale shadow of what she felt for the dead man. That he had to share her heart.

After a long, impregnable silence that stretched his pain to its limit, she spoke.

"He is not." The words were firm, definitive.

A wave of sheer, unadulterated relief washed over him so powerfully it left him dizzy.

She continued, her gaze distant yet resolved. "But he was the closest thing I had to a family. I need to see his family. Or his grave. I must do this."

"I'll go with you," Shangjue said immediately, already moving to remove his sleeping robes.

"No," her voice was quiet but absolute. "I'll go alone."

"What? I can't leave you alone!" Panic spiked in his chest.

She looked at him, her expression firm. It was a look that said, I am not your prisoner.

"What about our son?" he argued, grasping for a reason to make her stay.

"You will care for him. You are his father."

"But he needs his mother! How will he drink?"

"I will only be away for a few days."

"Qian, please," he begged, the thought of her being out there alone, unprotected, unbearable. "Let me go with you."

"Gong Shangjue," she said, her voice softening slightly but leaving no room for negotiation. "Our child needs someone to protect him. Stay here. I will be back soon."

He saw the determination in her eyes and knew he could not stop her. Finally, he relented with a heavy heart. He fetched a small, cylindrical emergency firework from a drawer. "Take this. Fire it into the sky if anything happens." He then insisted, "Take my horse and my guards."

"No guards," she said, pulling on her outer robe. "Just your horse."

"Qian Qian!" he protested, his worry a living thing inside him.

She turned, cupped his face, and gave him a firm, lingering kiss. Then she leaned over the bassinet and pressed a soft kiss to their sleeping son's forehead.

Without another word, she turned and left the room, leaving Gong Shangjue standing alone, his heart tethered to her by a thread of fear and a desperate, aching love.

Chapter Text

The familiar, dusty town felt like a lifetime ago. This was the place she’d rendezvoused with Han Ya Qi, a neutral ground for exchanging intelligence for the precious monthly “antidote.” Her eyes scanned the area, memories flooding back—each meeting fraught with tension and the unspoken understanding that one misstep meant death.

Her fingers trailed along a weathered wooden pillar, remembering his words from what felt like an eternity past. “There’s a little insurance here. For emergencies.”

She pressed and prodded, her trained touch seeking any imperfection, any hidden mechanism. Finally, with a soft click, a small, hidden compartment slid open just below the pillar. Inside was a single, tightly rolled scroll.

Her heart hammered as she unrolled it. The handwriting was unmistakably his.

If you are reading this, I might be gone. The ‘poison’ is not a poison. You don’t need an antidote, but every month it hurts. If you are looking for a safe house, search for a yellow hut in the second village outside of the valley. It is safe from everyone, including you know who.

A single tear traced a path through the dust on her cheek. He had been her insurance. Even in death, he was protecting her, giving her a way out from the very organization they both served. The ultimate safeguard.

The second village outside the valley. It would take more than a few hours to get there now. She had to move.

But first, she had shadows to lose. She melted into the crowded streets, her movements fluid and unseen. Ducking into a narrow alley, she pressed herself into a deep recess, becoming one with the shadows. Did they really think they could follow her without her knowing? She was a Wufeng Mei, for heaven’s sake. She’d allowed their presence initially, a concession to Shangjue’s palpable worry—a worry she still didn’t fully understand. Now, it was time to send a message.

The two guards assigned to her rushed into the alley, their faces masks of panic. “Did you see her? How could you lose a woman?! Jue Gongzi will have our heads!”

A smooth, amused voice cut through their frantic whispers. “Looking for me?”

They spun around. Shangguan Qian leaned casually against the opposite wall, a faint smirk playing on her lips.

The guards stammered, “M-Miss Qian! We… we were just…”

“I know,” she interrupted, her tone light but leaving no room for argument. “On Jue Gongzi’s orders. I need you to do something for me. Tell him I’ll be just outside the valley. It might take longer than anticipated. And tell him… do not search for me.”

One guard paled. “I… we are supposed to follow you! Please, Miss Qian, let us tag along. If we return without you, Gong Shangjue will have our heads.”

Qian’s smile widened, a flash of her old, cunning self. “Of course,” she said sweetly. “You can tag along… if you can keep up.”

Before they could react, she pushed off the wall and darted out of the alley, instantly swallowed by the bustling crowd.

“After her!” one guard yelled.

They rushed out, only to be immediately swarmed and slowed by the river of people.

“I’ll look for her! You report back to Gongzi!” one panted.

“No, you go back to Gongzi!” the other argued, desperation rising.

After a frantic, silent standoff, one sighed in exasperation. “Rock, paper, scissors. loser goes back.”

“Fine!”

A quick, furtive game ensued in the middle of the street. The loser groaned, shoulders slumping in defeat.

“Go!” the winner said, already turning to plunge back into the crowd in a futile attempt to find the ghost they’d been tasked to follow.

The other guard turned and began the long, dreaded journey back to the Gong palace, already rehearsing how he would possibly explain to the terrifying Lord of the Horn Palace that they had lost his wife.

Chapter Text

Just as the guard had anticipated, Gong Shangjue was furious. A cold, terrifying fury that made the man want to sink through the floor. "Useless," Shangjue hissed, the single word dripping with contempt.

But beneath the anger, a flicker of perverse pride ignited. His little spy was, of course, far superior to any of his palace guards. She had evaded them with effortless ease. The thought was… tantalizing. Even… fun.

A dangerous smile touched his lips. She would never know if he tailed her. He was the master of blending into shadows, of moving unseen. He had hunted and eliminated targets far more cunning and dangerous than a single, pregnant Wufeng spy—even if that spy was his wife. The thrill of the chase, of tracking her without her knowledge, was an irresistible call.

"Fetch Gong Yuanzhi," he ordered the trembling guard, his voice now clipped and efficient. "Tell him I leave my son in his care. I'll be away, outside the valley. Look out for my signal if anything happens."

The guard nodded frantically and fled.

Shangjue moved with lightning speed. He shed his lavish robes, exchanging them for simple, dark civilian clothes that would let him disappear into a crowd. He strode to the bassinet and kissed his sleeping son's forehead.

"Baby," he whispered, "I'm going after your mummy. Wait for me to come back. Be a good boy for your uncle."

In a fluid motion, he was at the window. Instead of taking the door, he slipped out into the night, a shadow among shadows, his movements silent and precise as he dropped from ledge to ledge, disappearing from the palace grounds.

The chase was on.

He moved through the night not as a lord, but as a predator. He chose the high road, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, his passage silent and unseen. He found her last known location with ease: the town, the wooden pillar beside the lantern shop.

Dropping down into the alley, his sharp eyes immediately caught the unusual shape of the pillar, the awkward protrusion that hinted at a secret mechanism. It was amateurish, really. He fiddled with it for a mere moment before it clicked open.

Inside was a note. No address, no names, but the message was clear. The poison is not a poison. It could only refer to Wufeng's Half-Moon toxin. This was meant for Qian. Her final destination would be the yellow hut.

A genuine, darkly amused smile spread across his face. Oh, Qian Qian, he thought. You left a trail a mile wide for me.

He tucked the note away and melted back into the shadows, tracing the steps toward the valley's outskirts. The hunter was on the scent, and he would find his prey in no time. The game was afoot, and for the first time in months, Gong Shangjue felt truly, electrifyingly alive.

Chapter Text

The familiar landscape at the valley's entrance stirred a deep well of memory in Shangguan Qian. This was the place. Years ago, even before her formal mission began, she had met Gong Shangjue here. Her assignment then had been simple: observe, assess, and if possible, seduce. She had played the part of a meek, lost girl, hoping to attract his chivalrous attention. Instead, she’d attracted the attention of bandits. She’d let them push her around, feigning weakness, all while praying he would intervene.

And he had. He’d been a whirlwind of controlled violence and lethal grace. And so… handsome. It was in that moment she had decided. If she was ever sent into the Gong palace as a bride, her target would be him. The jade pendant he’d “dropped” that day—a gesture she now knew was deliberate—had been her ticket back to him years later. She had been genuinely happy when he’d chosen her.

Her bittersweet reverie was shattered by the slurred voices of two drunken men. “Beautiful little girl, where are you going all alone?” one leered.

Qian kept her head down, preferring to avoid a scene. But the men, emboldened by drink and her silence, moved closer. One reached a grimy hand out to shove her.

Just before his fingers could make contact, the man screamed and collapsed to the ground, clutching a suddenly dislocated shoulder. The other man, alarmed, fumbled for a rusty sword. “Who’s there?!”

Qian didn’t even need to look. She felt him. A shift in the air, a presence as familiar to her as her own heartbeat. A smirk touched her lips. “My husband is here.”

“Your husband!” the remaining drunk scoffed, swinging his sword wildly. “Ha! We can take care of your little husband and then we’ll have our fun with you!”

“Be my guest,” Qian said flatly, melting back into the shadows with practiced ease.

It was over in a fleeting, silent motion. A dark blur, the sharp crack of bone, and a choked gasp. All four men were on the ground, unconscious or groaning in pain, before any of them could land a single blow.

Gong Shangjue landed without a sound, his simple civilian clothes doing nothing to diminish his imposing aura. He turned towards the shadows where Qian stood, a slow, familiar smile gracing his features.

“My lady,” he said, his voice a low, intimate rumble. “I’ve missed you.”

“I told you not to follow me,” she replied, though there was no real heat in her words.

“I know,” he admitted, stepping closer. “But I can’t help it. See? I saved you.”

“Saved me?” she arched an eyebrow. “From a minor inconvenience? I could have taken care of them easily.”

“I know,” he said, his smile softening into something more genuine. “You are my beautiful, wonder, capable wife. But isn’t it nice, once in a while, to let me do your dirty work for you?” He reached for her, his intent clear.

She sighed, a sound of mock exasperation, but didn’t pull away. “Fine. You may follow. But you will keep quiet. Do not interfere.” Her tone was that of a commander laying down the law. “Our son. Is he with Gong Yuanzhi?”

He nodded. “I only trust him with Yuanzhi.”

Satisfied, she gave a single, sharp nod. “Good.”

Without another word, she turned and walked towards where the horses were tethered. Gong Shangjue fell into step behind her, a silent, deadly shadow content to follow his wife’s lead. The chase was over. Now, they were on the trek together.

Chapter Text

The ride to the hut was undertaken in a comfortable silence, the rhythmic clopping of the single horse's hooves the only sound disrupting the quiet of the evening. With only one mount, she sat nestled with her back against his chest, his arms encircling her to hold the reins. It was an intimate position, yet it felt cosy and familiar. His body had always radiated a solid, unwavering warmth that provided her a sense of security she found nowhere else.

"Tell me more about where we are going," he whispered, his breath soft against her ear. The question was a pretext. What he truly meant was, Tell me more about your relationship with this man.

She understood him perfectly. Taking a soft breath, she began, her voice barely above a murmur, carried away by the wind. "I was an orphan. This you know. I was adopted and picked up into the Wufeng training system as a child. There was no love. It was almost… mechanical. I train. I do well, I am rewarded with a little more sleep, a little more rest, a slightly larger allowance." She grimaced at the memory, and he felt her slight shiver.

His heart ached fiercely in his chest. These rare, raw confessions from Qian were like precious, painful jewels. He had lost his mother and brother, yes, but it was later in life. He had been born into luxury, a silver spoon in his mouth, wanting and yearning for nothing until tragedy struck. His vow to destroy Wufeng was born from that loss, yet fate had him marrying one of their own. But he never considered Qian a true Wufeng agent; she was a victim, just as he was.

"At fourteen," she continued, her voice gaining a hollow quality, "we were thrown into mud pits. All the girls, fighting to the death. Those who died had 'failed.' Those who survived became Wufeng spies." She stated it so matter-of-factly, it made his blood run cold. "I won several rounds. I was eventually picked up by Han Ya Qi. He was my handler. He briefed me on missions, gave me the 'antidote.'"

Her tone shifted slightly. "Life since becoming a Wufeng spy was… easier. No strict schedule, no death matches. All I had to do was report to my handler. He trained me. He gave me missions that helped me improve my rank. I am a Mei, you know. Yun Weishan was only a Chi." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "He was… like a father to me. A mentor. And I owe it to him… to his family… to see that they are well."

The final piece clicked into place for Shangjue. This wasn't about a past romance; it was about loyalty, about repaying a debt to the one person who had shown her a semblance of guidance in a brutal world. His jealousy evaporated, replaced by a profound respect for her sense of honor.

"I'll do what I can, Qian," he vowed, his voice firm. "Rest assured, they will not worry about money for the rest of their lives."

This took her by surprise. She tilted her head back to look up at him. "You don't have to do that for me."

He smiled down at her, a genuine, tender expression. "What is mine is yours. If you want it for them, I will gladly give it."

She was silent for a moment, truly considering his offer. "That… would be nice."

"Treat it as thanks," he said softly, "for how well he took care of you… for me."

Qian laughed then, a hearty, genuine sound of amusement that Shangjue hadn't heard in what felt like an eternity. "For you!" she chuckled. "Am I a prized asset?"

"You are," he said, his voice dropping to a sincere, loving whisper. "To me."

They shared a smile, a moment of perfect understanding. Content, she leaned back fully into the solid comfort of his chest, and they continued their journey together, the past slowly being soothed by the promise of a shared future.

Chapter Text

The second village outside the valley was a cluster of identical, humble dwellings. There was no distinctive yellow hut. Frustration began to simmer as they searched, asking villagers until one finally provided a clue.

"Ah, a yellow hut? No, no yellow huts here. But… there is a hut about one kilometer from here. It belongs to a man named Huang 黄 (Yellow). He's a recluse, hardly ever comes out. A family used to live there, but they moved out recently. Huang moved in."

Jue and Qian exchanged a look of deep suspicion. This was too coincidental. They thanked the villager and made their way to the isolated hut.

"I don't have a good feeling about this, Qian Qian," Shangjue murmured, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Zheng Nanyi clearly said it was Han Ya Qi's family living there. Why is it now a recluse?"

Qian nodded, her own senses on high alert. "Stay close. Be careful."

"I'll take care of you," he vowed.

"You take care of yourself," she retorted, her focus already on the dimly lit hut in the distance.

They observed from a distance. A single candle flickered in the window, its light erratic and odd. "Qian Qian, we should investigate tomorrow when the sun is up," Shangjue advised, his voice low.

Before she could agree, the whistle of an arrow cut through the night air. Shangjue's reflexes were lightning-fast. He shoved Qian aside as the arrow thudded into the ground precisely between them.

From the shadows, a masked figure charged directly at Gong Shangjue with lethal intent.

"Stay away!" Shangjue shouted at Qian, already drawing his sword to meet the attack.

But Qian was not one to stand idly by. In a fluid motion, she drew her own short sword and joined the fray. They fought together, a deadly dance of perfectly synchronized movements they hadn't known they still possessed—a testament to their shared history of combat and understanding. They were a whirlwind of steel, driving the masked assailant back.

In a desperate move, the man landed a powerful kick to Qian's midsection, sending her stumbling back with a gasp.

"Qian!" two voices shouted in unison—Shangjue's filled with panic, and the masked man's… laced with a shocking, familiar concern.

The split-second of distraction was all Shangjue needed. Enraged that the man had dared to hurt her, his sword found its mark in an instant, the tip pressing against the assailant's neck. Who dares to hurt his Qian shall die.

But Qian was staring, wide-eyed with horror, not at the blade, but at the masked man. That voice… she would recognize it anywhere.

"Han Ya Qi?" she breathed, the name a disbelieving whisper.

The man froze at the sound of his name from her lips. He tried to struggle, to twist away from Shangjue's lethal blade.

"Han Ya Qi!" Qian shouted, her voice firm now, cutting through the tension.

The command in her voice stopped him cold. He staggered but slowly, ever so slowly, turned his head towards her.

Under the cold light of the moon, his hands rose to the veil. He pulled it down, revealing a face Qian had mourned for months. A face she had wept over. A face she had believed was lost to her forever.

It was Han Ya Qi. He was alive.

Gong Shangjue's eyes darted from the very much alive man to his wife's stunned, pale face. His grip on his sword tightened, his mind calculating the distance between them, every possible angle of attack and betrayal. The game had just become infinitely more complicated.

Chapter Text

“My beloved 徒弟 (disciple), after all you still decided to visit me.” The air crackled with tension, thick enough to choke on. Han Ya Qi’s attempt at bitter condescension fell flat, landing as a neutral statement to Qian’s ears.

“Han Ya Qi,” she said, her voice trembling with a mix of shock and accusation. “I mourned you. You died on that hill when we found Jin Fan.” The memory of his “death,” of her tears, felt like a cruel joke now.

“Did you truly mourn me, though?” he countered, a cynical smirk playing on his lips. “Or did you shed a few tears, abandon your mission, and run into the arms of the next man you found?”

Gong Shangjue’s sword pressed forward in an instant, a thin line of blood welling on Han Ya Qi’s neck. But it was Qian’s response that truly silenced the night.

“The next man?” Her voice was cold, sharp, laced with a fury that made even Shangjue glance at her. “There is only one man for me.”

The confession, uttered in the face of her former handler’s taunts, sent a powerful surge of validation through Gong Shangjue. His chest swelled with a fierce, protective pride.

Han Ya Qi merely rolled his eyes, shifting his gaze to Shangjue. “Is that what she told you? Do you really believe that? I’ve sent her out on more honeypot missions than you could count. The number of beds she’s climbed into for a piece of information…”

Shangjue rotated his wrist, the sharp edge of the blade biting deeper. More blood trickled down. “You would not let her do that,” Shangjue stated, his voice dangerously calm. His calculation was precise. The way Han Ya Qi looked at Qian wasn’t the look of a mere mentor; it was possessive, adoring, even now, twisted by betrayal. Furthermore, Qian had sworn to him she had never used her body that way on a mission. But the insinuation—that there might have been others outside of missions—drove the sword a fraction closer, a mere millimeter from the jugular.

“Jue Gongzi,” Qian interjected, her voice firm. “Let me speak to him. Please.”

Shangjue shot her a look of pure disbelief. Did you not hear what he just said?

Qian gave a quick, almost imperceptible shake of her head, a silent command. Reluctantly, with the discipline of a soldier, Shangjue withdrew his sword in an instant, though he remained planted squarely between them, a human shield.

Han Ya Qi smirked, a glint of triumph in his eyes. See? I am still important to her.

“Speak, Han Ya Qi,” Qian demanded, her voice ice. “How are you alive? Why is Zheng Nanyi free? Why did she try to kill me?”

“What? She tried to kill you?” Han Ya Qi feigned shock.

Gong Shangjue rolled his eyes. “Don’t play dumb. You gave the orders. You used your network to spring her free. You used Zheng Nanyi’s feelings for you to send her on another mission. She is dead now, by the way. Truly dead. So speak, or face the same consequences.” Once again, Shangjue’s sword was at the ready, its point aimed at Han Ya Qi’s heart. This time, Qian said nothing. She only stared at her former handler, her expression a dare.

Much to Han Ya Qi’s visible disappointment, the fight seemed to drain out of him. He sighed, a long, weary sound.

“Shangguan Qian,” he said, a strange mix of resentment and admiration in his voice. “You are ruthless indeed.” The admission hung in the air, a concession of defeat and a testament to the woman she had become—a woman who now had a powerful lord wrapped around her finger and a loyalty that was no longer his to command.

Chapter Text

The confession hung in the air, ugly and raw. Han Ya Qi’s shoulders slumped, the fight finally leaving him. "Zheng Nanyi saved me from that bamboo forest where I was supposed to bleed out and die. I was in and out of consciousness. When I awoke again… you had become Gong Shangjue’s wife… I heard carrying his child." His voice rose from a weary recount to a sharp, pained accusation. "How could you, Shangguan Qian? You promised me you would never fall in love with the target! You promised me you would be safe!"

He was shouting at her, his anger a tangled mess of emotions—betrayal, concern, and something else, something possessive and deeply personal. Was he angry she found a man? That she left Wufeng? The reasons seemed to blur even for him.

"I… I have only ever sought to protect you," he finished, his voice breaking. "You know that."

They looked at each other, tears welling in both their eyes. The affection between them was complex, born of survival and a shared, brutal history, but it was undeniably real. A long relationship of trust now lay in shattered pieces at their feet.

Gong Shangjue, the cold, logical anchor in the storm, interrupted. "Why then did you send Zheng Nanyi to kill her?" The question was a blade, cutting to the heart of the matter.

Han Ya Qi’s head snapped up. "She didn't mean to kill her! She took care of me, and when I sought to look for Shangguan Qian, she was enraged. She said Shangguan Qian had abandoned me, that she was carrying your child! I couldn't believe it!" His words tumbled out, frantic. "In a fit of anger, she said she would bring me the heads of both Shangguan Qian and her unborn child as evidence. I begged her not to! I fought her! She relented, but in the middle of the night, she went. I was so anxious. I was going to look for her, but I didn't know when or where or how. Qian Qian, you must believe me. I never sent her after you."

Qian scoffed, her spy's cynicism overriding the emotional charge. "You can't beat a Mei. Don't lie."

A bitter, shameful look crossed Han Ya Qi's face. He looked down at his wrists, where rough, ugly bruises circled them. "She saved me… but she had me cuffed up here." He gestured weakly with his head towards the bed in the hut, where metal cuffs hung from the bedpost.

Qian and Jue looked at each other, horror dawning on their faces. What kind of sadistic person does that?

"What… why?" Qian asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"I wish I knew," Han Ya Qi mumbled, staring at the floor. "She said… she would finally make me hers."

A cold dread filled the air. "Did she…" Qian's voice was tight with fury. "Did she violate you?"

Han Ya Qi couldn't meet their eyes, shame burning across his features. How could a man, a handler, a warrior, admit to this? "No," he whispered. "But she took advantage of my weakened state."

Rage, white-hot and primal, erupted in Shangguan Qian. "How dare that fucking woman!" The curse tore from her lips, vicious and raw.

Gong Shangjue stared at her in shock. It was the first time he had ever heard her swear.

"Qian Qian killed her," Shangjue stated, his voice cold and final. "We have her head. Completely severed. You don't have to worry. No amount of medicine, herb, or magic would have saved her." It was a gruesome reassurance, but it was the only kind that mattered in their world.

Han Ya Qi still looked broken, staring at the floor. "So what now? You have gotten your answers. You may go now."

They nodded at each other, a silent communication passing between husband and wife. Just as they turned to leave, Gong Shangjue paused. His sword, which had lowered, snapped back up, its point hovering an inch from Han Ya Qi's throat.

"Wait." Shangjue's voice was like ice. "She said your family grieves for you. She accused Qian of not visiting your family. Where is your family?" 

Chapter Text

The question hung in the air, a final, pointed probe. Han Ya Qi’s face, already a mask of shame and defeat, crumpled further.

“I don't know ...” he whispered, the admission tasting like ash. “Maybe I told her I didn’t want Qian to know I was alive.” He dared to lift his eyes to hers, a flicker of his old, manipulative self returning. “Qian, how could you? This man,” he spat, jerking his chin toward Gong Shangjue, “physically and emotionally tortured you! He had you thrown into his dungeons, threatened you with his cruelest devices! He abandoned you when you were at your most vulnerable, pregnant with his child, and left you to die in the wilderness! He has done nothing to protect you! He only brings you pain!”

His voice rose, desperate and venomous. “Leave him, Qian! Come with me. We can disappear. I have resources, safe houses Wufeng will never find. We can raise the child away from all of this… away from him.”

The words were a poison, expertly crafted to target every insecurity, every fresh wound of her returning memories. He painted a picture of Shangjue as a monster, and himself as her only salvation.

But Gong Shangjue did not interrupt. He stood silent, a statue of contained fury and pain, his sword still held ready. He would not defend himself against these accusations. Not because they were entirely true, but because he knew the kernel of truth within them was a burden he would forever carry. He had done those things. He had been that man. His only defense was the man he was trying to become for her now.

He watched Qian, his heart a frantic drum in his chest. This was the moment. This was the choice between the devil she knew, the one who had hurt her but was now offering his entire world in penance or and the devil from her past, the one who offered familiar lies and a gilded cage of a different kind.

The air was thick with the unspoken anguish of it all. Shangjue’s silence was its own scream, a plea for her to see him, not the ghost of his mistakes, but the man who had learned, too late, what it meant to love her. The man who would now burn the world to ash before he let anyone, including himself, hurt her again. The silence in the small hut was deafening. Qian looked at Gong Shangjue, tears welling in her eyes, a storm of conflict raging within her.

To Shangjue, that moment of hesitation felt like an eternity, a knife twisting in the fresh wound of his past failures. What more could she possibly want? he thought, a desperate, silent scream in his mind. I have given you my name, my protection, my heart. I have handed you the very power of my clan to cure you. What is it that I have not given?

Han Ya Qi watched, a pained but hopeful gleam in his eyes, believing her hesitation was a crack in her resolve, a door he could still pry open.

Then, Shangjue made the smallest of movements. A slight shift of his head, his hand still white-knuckled on the hilt of his sword. A tiny, almost imperceptible shake. His eyes, usually so hard and commanding, held only a raw, vulnerable plea. Do not leave me.

It was the exact opposite of his stance months ago when she had stolen the Infinite Flowing Fire. Then, he had let her go, his duty and pain walling him off. Now, he was silently, desperately begging her to stay.

She saw it. And ever so slowly, she nodded.

A wave of relief so powerful it nearly buckled his knees flooded Gong Shangjue’s veins. He had to lock his muscles to remain standing.

Emboldened by his silent support, Qian turned to Han Ya Qi, her voice soft but unwavering, determined to sever the last thread tying her to a painful past. “你为什么叫我？” she asked. (Why did you call my name?) At his deathbed, he had called for her, a test to see if she would turn back.

Han Ya Qi’s answer was simple, laid bare. “因为我要知道你会不会回头.” (Because I wanted to know if you would turn back.)

Gong Shangjue, who had never met the man, understood instantly. It wasn’t about manipulation in that final moment; it was about validation. Han Ya Qi needed to know if he had meant anything, if his life and death had held some small weight in hers. Shangjue knew with absolute certainty he would have done the exact same thing. If her face was the last thing he saw before dying, he could depart in peace. For the first time, he felt a flicker of grim understanding for this man. Han Ya Qi had indeed loved her, in his own broken way.

Shangguan Qian remained silent, absorbing this.

Then Han Ya Qi turned the question back on her, his voice laced with a desperate need. “但是你回头了，你...为什么回头？” (But you turned back. Why did you turn back?) He was testing her feelings, searching for a confession that would give him hope.

“We will leave this instant,” Gong Shangjue interjected, his voice a low, dangerous growl. He would not stand for this interrogation.

Han Ya Qi looked at him, a smug, bitter twist to his lips. “Jue Gongzi, afraid to hear something you don’t like?”

But it was Qian who ended it. “Han Ya Qi,” she said, her voice clear and final, cutting through the tension. “We did indeed have love.”

Both men stared at her, shocked into silence.

She continued, her gaze steady on her former handler. “Our love transcends a normal relationship, but it is not one of a man and a woman. It is one of tutor and tutee. You were the older mentor I knew, the only father figure I had. When you threw me a sword and watched me kill others, your face brimmed with pride, and I was proud of it. I wanted to make you proud. And when you died, I grieved. I grieved for you. I am glad you are alive, but I have grieved, and I have moved on, Han Ya Qi. We are no longer related. Please, do not call my name again.”

She had said her piece. Without another look, she turned and walked out of the hut, leaving Han Ya Qi standing alone, his face a mask of utter devastation, the tears he had been fighting finally falling freely. The door she closed behind her wasn't just made of wood; it was the definitive end of a chapter, sealed shut with a clarity that left no room for doubt.

Chapter Text

The silence of the galloping horse was a stark contrast to the echoing screams of her name by Hanya Qi into the heavens that still seemed to hang in the air behind them. Shangguan Qian rode stiffly, her mind a whirlwind of grief, relief, and finality. Gong Shangjue followed, his own heart a tumultuous drum against his ribs, every instinct screaming to protect her from the pain he knew she was feeling, even if he was its source.

Finally, at the foot of the valley near home, the exhaustion of the hours long journey and the emotional toll became too much. "Qian Qian, we should take a break. The horse needs rest," Shangjue said, his voice gentle.

She nodded absently, slipping from the saddle and making an excuse to wash up by the nearby river. He tended to the horse, his eyes never truly leaving her. He found her sitting on the riverbank, staring into the flowing water as if it could wash away the memories.

Wordlessly, he sat beside her and pulled her into his arms. She didn't resist, leaning into his solid strength. For a long time, they just sat, the only sounds the gurgling river and their own breathing.

Finally, she spoke, her voice quiet. "You know, Han Ya Qi and I used to come here. Many years ago, when I first met you at the lantern festival... he was there as well."

Shangjue swallowed hard. Their first memory together was now forever tinted by the shadow of that man. "I was your target all along?" he asked, the question laced with a old hurt.

She offered a small, sad smile. "Not really. You were one of many targets. Gong Ziyu and his brother were targets. You were a target. Even Gong Yuanzhi is a target. Ask your little brother if he's had any brushes with women; it was likely someone from Wufeng."

His hands tightened on her arms. He was just one of many choices. "Why me, then?"

"You were convenient," she blurted out, then seemed to realised how that sounded. A faint blush colored her cheeks. "You were the only Gong lord who really worked outside the palace. It was easier to find you... and..." she trailed off.

"And?" he pressed, captivated by the rare blush.

"I thought you were quite good looking ... and the most capable of the lot," she admitted, the blush deepening.

Shangjue watched in amazement. He had never seen her blush like this. "So you were attracted to me all along?"

"I guess," she mumbled. "They also told me about your background, about you losing your mother and brother. I... I am an orphan too. While I didn't watch them die, I related to the pain."

"So I was chosen?"

"Yes. By me. And I was taken here that fateful day to bait you, really."

"Wow," he breathed, a wry smile touching his lips. "What a long casting line Wufeng has cast."

"Ever since the rumor that a woman had infiltrated the Gong family as a bride, Wufeng only accepted female spies for the next two decades. Surely someone within the Gong family must know."

Shangjue paused, a cold realization dawning. They hadn't considered that. "But there were male members, too. Like Han Ya Qi."

"Who never did the dirty work," she said, her voice turning bitter. "I was the dog, and Han Ya Qi the leash. Wufeng the owner."

He grimaced at the analogy and held her tighter. 

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked softly.

"Han Ya Qi was the only person I trusted for much of my adult life. Before I met him, I trusted no one. He was the only person I ever trusted. Everything I know, I learned from him. Yet... when I grieved him, I felt relief."

"Why?"

"I once told him that I don't have any weakness because I have no loved ones. Yours was easy and well-known in Wufeng. Your weakness was Gong Yuanzhi, wasn't it?"

"Not anymore," he said, his voice firm. "It's Gong Yuanzhi, you, and Gong Jian Jue."

She smiled softly. "But weaknesses are a fatal flaw for spies. And mine... I believed mine would have been Han Ya Qi."

Shangjue's throat tightened. "So you loved him?" The question was agony.

Shangguan Qian sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of her confession. "Yes. I believe when he finally 'died,' I did realize, after all, that I loved him. Not romantically, but I did loved and cared for him. And when he died, I felt like I truly had no weakness anymore."

They sat in silence, processing the painful honesty. The air between them was thick with unspoken emotions.

"But... now... I..." she struggled to find the words.

"Qian Qian," Shangjue interrupted, his voice thick with unshed tears. He couldn't look at her. "If you want to leave... I'll let you go."

She turned to him, surprised. "I thought you said you would never let me go?"

He finally exploded, but softly, the words tearing from a place of profound love and sacrifice. "Yes! Because it will kill me! But if keeping you with me meant hurting you, then I'll take it. I'll take the pain if it means you can be happy." He finally confessed the hardest truth: that true love wasn't about possession. It was about loving someone enough to let them go, even if it destroyed you. "I... I will be fine," he tried to say, wiping at the tears that streamed down his face unchecked. In that moment, he looked like a heartbroken little boy. "I'll just take care of Jian Jue... and I'll wait for you when you are ready to come back."

The raw, boyish vulnerability of his confession broke something open inside her. She held his face in her hands, her thumbs brushing away his tears. And for the first time in her life, she initiated a kiss. It was soft, sure, and filled with a love she was finally ready to claim.

He was shocked, pulling back slightly. "Qian Qian...?"

"You are my weakness," she whispered, her own eyes shining with tears. "You and Jian Jue are my weakness. I'll never leave you." A genuine smile, the first truly free one he had seen since her memories returned, bloomed on her face. "After all, if I am gone, who will accompany you on your half-moon toxic sessions? Who will bring you to the hot spring after... and who will... who will…"

Shangjue's eyes widened in realization. "Your memories are back!"

"Yes, my 夫君 (fūjūn - husband)," she said, the title sweet and sure on her tongue. "I remembered it all now. It was painful, but I remembered it all… how I almost died while birthing, and your hands that never left me. Thank you… for holding on to me."

They hugged each other then, clinging tightly as if they had been lost at sea and had finally found their way home. Tears streamed down both their faces, but they were tears of healing, of a past finally laid to rest, and a future, however imperfect, chosen together. They held each other, nodding through their tears, a silent vow passing between them, no more secrets, no more running. Just them.

Chapter Text

Gong Shangjue stared at the river's reflection, Qian Qian in his arms. The heartfelt confession had him questioning his own memory. He often tries not to think of the memory that separated them in the first place but today, tonight, he wanted to open that pandora box. He wish to take advantage of Qian Qian rare moment of generosity. It was a past he wished he could reshape - the night of the planned invasion, the air thick with tension. He and Yuanzhi had devised a test, a cruel one. They pretended to be gravely injured, vulnerable, hoping to see where Qian’s loyalty truly lay.

Of course, Wufeng had invaded that night. The coincidence was too perfect. In the chaos, with his home under attack, he had seen it as confirmation. She had done this. She had seen their weakness and reported it. The betrayal had felt absolute, a blade to the heart he had, foolishly, begun to open to her.

“You asked me why I treated you like that,” Shangjue said, his voice low and heavy with the weight of the recollection. He looked at her, his gaze unwavering though it was filled with regret. “It was because of that night. The night of the invasion. Yuanzhi and I… I pretended to be injured. It was a test. We wanted to see if you would report our vulnerability to Wufeng.”

He saw the understanding dawn in her eyes, followed by a flicker of the old hurt. “And Wufeng came,” he continued. “To me, it was proof. I believed you had seen us at our weakest and sold that information for for your mission. I believed you had chosen them over us… over me.” He took a shaky breath. “The pain of that belief… it made me cruel.”

Then, he turned the mirror on her. “But you asked me to remember how I treated you… and you are right to ask me to also remember how you treated me.” His eyes held hers, not with accusation, but with a shared acknowledgment of their mutual failings. “When I was pretending to be injured, unconscious… Yuanzhi said something to you.”

He repeated his brother’s words, the words that had cut him to the core even in his feigned state: “你根本不爱我哥 - ‘You don’t love my brother at all.’” He paused, letting the memory hang between them. “And you… you did not deny it.”

The pain of that moment was still fresh, a ghost that had haunted him. “I guess you really didn’t like me then, did you?” he said, voicing the fear that had festered that night. “Still… I was hurt when you betrayed me. The hope that you might feel something, even a little… it died that night. And in its place, there was only anger."

He was laying his own vulnerability bare, showing her the wound her silence had caused. It wasn't an excuse for his later actions, but an explanation. They had both been trapped in a web of suspicion, each action and reaction causing deeper cuts, until trust seemed like a foolish fantasy. "I ... furthermore ... I called you an outsider. You were never an outsider to me, I had considered your family to be but that night ... that night I realised how foolish I was." 

Shangguan Qian cupped his face into her small hands, "I will not apologise for doing what I did." Gong Shangjue was frankly a little shock but smiled, this was the Qian Qian he knew and loved, why would she apologise for failing? "You know why I had to do it? I believed I needed the antidote. I didn't lie to you that night, I was indeed an Gushan orphan adopted by Wufeng, I want to kill Wufeng. I still do. Will you help me, my husband?" 

Gong Shangjue answered without hesitation, a far cry from the man so many months ago who had denied her even the chance to plant flowers, he answered with the words she had given him once before "赴汤蹈火在所不辞 (Go through fire and water without hesitation - meaning he agreed with no reservation) but ..." he continued, "not with 无量流火 (infinite flowing fire)". The weapon that she sought to steal that had separated them. 

She let go of his face, sighing in the open air as if slightly disappointed but she had anticipated it. Gong Shangjue immediately held her wrist, forcing her to look at her, "not because I do not want to share it with you. 无量流火 (infinite flowing fire) is a weapon of mass destruction, known only to the elderly, patriarchal, me and Gong Huanyu. There are other methods to kill Dianzhu, to kill Wufeng, I will not let you sacrifice yourself for it." 

Shangguan Qian's eyes widen as if he had explained why he had behaved that way that night, "I didnt know what it was. My mission was just to steal it, Wufeng crave it, I didnt know it will kill its user." Gong Shangjue nodded solemnly, "It was created by my ancestors, only to be used in extreme dire cases. You now know my family greatest secret but I cannot let you part with it, not because you are not family but because you will die if you attempt to use it... and I ... I can't bear life without you." 

"But I would have left anyway." She confess. "Even then, even apart, I can't bear living knowing you are not on this earth looking at the same moon as me." He said, smiling at her. 

Now, finally, they could see the full, painful picture. Not as a spy and her jailer, but as two people who had failed each other, hurt each other, and were now, against all odds, trying to find a way to heal together.

Chapter Text

The atmosphere in the Jue Palace was uncharacteristically light. Gong Shangjue was seated, a rare, relaxed smile on his face as he watched Shangguan Qian gently bounce a cooing Gong Jian Jue on her knee. Gong Yuanzhi was teasing his brother about something, and even the usually stern Gong Ziyu, who had stopped by, was offering a small smile. It was a fragile, hard won moment of familial peace. It was shattered by the frantic rush of a guard into the chamber. The man bowed deeply, his face pale. "Jue Gongzi! Someone demands to see you! He is at our inner gate! We don't know how he got so far into the palace, but he insists he comes without harm and wants to enter 'the right way'.'"

All four adults looked at each other, their previous ease vanishing.

"Who is it?" Shangjue asked, his voice already cooling back into its commanding tone.

The guard looked deeply uncomfortable. "The person said... to tell you he is Fu Ren (Lady of the house)... family?"

A beat of stunned silence.

Then, from the doorway, a familiar, smug voice cut through the air. "That would be me."

HAN YA QI.

He stood there, leaning casually against the doorframe as if he owned the place, a smirk playing on his lips. But the smirk faltered for a fraction of a second, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly as they landed on Qian, and more specifically, on the infant in her arms. He schooled his expression back to neutrality with visible effort.

All three Gong men were on their feet in an instant, swords not yet drawn but hands on hilts. The air crackled with lethal intent.

"Before you skewer me," Han Ya Qi said, holding up his hands in a placating gesture that didn't reach his eyes, "hear me out. I come at my own risk, and I'm using the door, aren't I?" His gaze snapped back to Qian, all pretense of humor gone. "Wufeng is back. And they are looking for you, Qian Qian. They know you are here. They know you bore the Gong family an heir."

The color drained from Qian's face. She instinctively pulled Jian Jue closer.

Han Ya Qi's voice turned urgent, intense. "They want to reclaim you as an asset. It is too dangerous. You must hide from them! Leave now with me and the child. I'll bring you to a secure location they will never find!"

"NO! ARE YOU FUCKING CRAZY?" The roar came from Gong Shangjue. His sword was out in a flash of steel, its point aimed at Han Ya Qi's heart. Yuanzhi and Ziyu's blades were unsheathed a second later, forming a deadly semicircle around the intruder.

Swords clashed as Han Ya Qi, expecting the attack, barely parried Shangjue's furious thrust, the sound ringing violently through the room.

"Think about it, Qian!" Han Ya Qi shouted over the clash of metal, his eyes desperate, locked on hers even as he defended himself against the Lord of Jue Palace. "Think! It's not about me! It's about survival! For you! For the child! You know what they'll do to a tool that thinks it can escape! You know what they'll do to his heir!" Shangguan Qian in the center, clutching her son, her face a mask of terror and impossible choice. His words were a poison-tipped arrow, designed to strike at her deepest fears, the fear of Wufeng's retribution, and the terrifying, primal fear for her child's safety. He was offering the one thing Shangjue couldn't, a life in the shadows, completely off the grid, the way only a former Wufeng handler could manage. 

The metallic screech of clashing swords hung in the air. Gong Shangjue’s face was a mask of pure, unadulterated fury, every muscle coiled to strike a killing blow. Gong Yuanzhi and Gong Ziyu flanked him, their own blades held ready, creating an impenetrable wall of lethal intent aimed at Han Ya Qi. But Han Ya Qi wasn’t looking at the blades. His eyes were locked on Shangguan Qian, pleading, desperate. “Think, Qian! A child of Gushan and of the Gong Family Jue Palace! A Wufeng assassin who knew the Gong Family, you and your child are priceless asset!”

His words were a chilling echo of her deepest, most primal fears. The cold, clinical efficiency of Wufeng. They wouldn’t just kill her; they would use her, use her child, as leverage, as experiments, as pawns in their endless war against the Gong family. The image was terrifyingly vivid.

Shangjue saw the flicker of doubt, the shadow of fear cross her face. It fueled his rage. “You think I would let that happen?” he snarled, his voice vibrating with a protective ferocity that shook the room. “You think these walls, my guards, my sword, are not enough to protect my own wife and son? You think I would ever let them touch a single hair on their heads?”

He took a step forward, the point of his sword unwavering. “Your ‘secure location’ is a hole in the ground. A life of hiding, of running. That is not a life for her. That is not a life for my child. Their place is here, with me. Protected by the entire might of the Gong family.” Gong Ziyu, his voice calm but laced with the authority of the Patriarch, added, “The Gong family is not so easily breached. We have endured their attacks for generations. We will endure this.” Yuanzhi, his gaze sharp, chimed in, “And if they come, we’ll be ready. We are not the same as we were before.”

Han Ya Qi’s smirk was completely gone, replaced by a frustrated grimace. He was outnumbered, outmaneuvered, and his appeal to Qian’s fear was being met with a wall of defiant, united strength he hadn’t anticipated. It was then that Shangguan Qian spoke, her voice quiet but clear, cutting through the tension. She looked not at Han Ya Qi, but at Shangjue, her eyes filled with a resolve that had been forged in fire and pain.

“He is right,” she said, and Shangjue’s heart nearly stopped. But then she continued, her gaze sweeping to include Ziyu and Yuanzhi. “Wufeng is coming. They will never stop.” She looked down at Jian Jue, sleeping peacefully in her arms, oblivious to the storm raging around him. Then her eyes lifted, blazing with a mother’s ferocity. “But running is not the answer. Hiding is not the answer.”

She finally turned her gaze to Han Ya Qi, and there was no love, no nostalgia in it. Only pity and finality. “You offered me a cage, Han Ya Qi. A different kind of cage, but a cage nonetheless.” She took a step closer to Shangjue, aligning herself with him, with her family. “He offers me a fortress. A home. A family that will fight for me. That is the only security that matters.”

She looked at the three Gong brothers, her voice firm. “So let them come.”

The declaration hung in the air, a battle cry and a vow. The fear was still there, but it was overshadowed by a fierce, unwavering determination.

Han Ya Qi stared at her, at the united front before him. The hope in his eyes died, extinguished completely. He had lost. Not just to Gong Shangjue, but to the life Qian had chosen, the family she had built. With a slow, defeated sigh, he lowered his sword. “Then you have chosen your path,” he said, his voice hollow. “And I have chosen mine.” He gave a curt, mocking bow. “I will see myself out but be warned, Shangguan Qian, they are coming. Wufeng knows of what you have done, how you have betrayed them. Yun Weishan was ...” Gong Ziyu's knife was at his neck in an instant, his veins popping in anger and desperation at the name of his ah yun that he had been searching for, "WHERE IS SHE?" 

Han Ya Qi smirked, these Gong's princes sure are easily baited and enraged. No wonder Wufeng recruited only female spies. "She is alive but unknown." Han Ya Qi said. "DO NOT LIE, I WILL KILL YOU AND YOUR ENTIRE FAMILY." Han Ya Qi smiled. "He is telling the truth." Qian Qian said as she looked at Han Ya Qi, Han Ya Qi only ever looked at her since entering the gates of this palace. Gong Ziyu lowered his sword, "... how do you know?" "I know him, he is telling the truth... and he has no family, he has no weakness." Qian Qian said as she rocked Jian Jue, covering his eyes from this fiasco, someday he will understand the world he is born into but for now, he is still too young. "I will tell you more details... if you treat me nicely." Han Ya Qi mocked, Gong Ziyu's swords deepens as blood dripped from his neck but he is seemingly unfazed. 

Gong Shangjue smiled, his well-known smirk, the Gong Shangjue that Gong family feared, the Gong Shangjue that Jianghu respects is back. "We will treat you nicely." He said as he turns around leading his wife and child back into the room before ordering guards, "Drag him to the dungeon. He will speak there." Shangguan Qian's eyes widen, "Jue Gongzi..." He smiled, "Fu Jun (Husband), not Gongzi."