Chapter Ten: Crimson Sunsets Revisited

Arno felt unsettled that day; the reason was that Feng Qiujie had shown him an unusual amount of enthusiasm from early morning, a warmth so intense it made him deeply uneasy.

“Arno, are you hungry? Let me take you to eat,” she said.
“Arno, are you tired? Want me to carry you?”
“Arno, I bought you a candied hawthorn, hurry and enjoy it.”

Her attitude made Arno flee whenever he saw her. After all, he was just a child and could not comprehend her intentions. Watching him hide behind Yu Fan, Feng Qiujie mused over her own earnestness.

The carriage traveled all day, arriving at their destination around noon.

Before Feng Qiujie stood an endless wall and a grand gate, upon which a golden plaque bore the words: “Dragon Mountain Palace.” The guards saluted Ling Zetian, who then led Arno inside, leaving Feng Qiujie standing outside, dumbfounded. “So this is the legendary palace—truly impressive,” she murmured. Though it couldn’t compare to the imperial palace, its grandeur was formidable.

“Your Majesty, please come in,” Yu Fan kindly reminded Feng Qiujie, who was still outside admiring the view.

This palace was built fifteen years ago by the late Emperor. Before construction, thirty of the nation’s best artisans spent three months designing the plans. It took two years to complete. The palace boasted carved beams and painted rafters; every wooden carving and painting was executed by master craftsmen and artists. Countless treasures adorned the halls, including jewels and rare plants sent from across the country.

After Yan Wuying died—executed by the late Emperor, and denied a proper burial—Ling Zetian gathered his remains and secretly had them interred here on Dragon Mountain, guarded by attendants. This way, visits for mourning and grave-sweeping were much more convenient.

Exquisite dishes were prepared, and fine wine drawn from underground cellars. Ling Zetian took Arno to their rooms to change.

“Your Majesty, His Majesty instructed you to change into these,” Yu Fan led Feng Qiujie to the east wing, signaling the maid to present the clothes.

“Oh.” Feng Qiujie accepted the garments, stepped inside, and surveyed the room’s furnishings. From the layout and objects, it was nearly identical to the imperial palace. The decor was evidently chosen with great care. She marveled anew; only the royal family could possess such power and wealth to create such splendor.

Closing the door, Feng Qiujie began changing. She picked up the long dress, puzzled—entirely black, much like coarse cloth, with only a better feel to the fabric. As far as she knew, white and black were reserved for mourning. What did Ling Zetian mean by this? However, it didn’t concern her much; despite her doubt, she changed as instructed.

When she stepped out, Ling Zetian was already waiting at the door with Arno. Unexpectedly, both were dressed in black. Feng Qiujie imagined a flock of crows flying through her mind. Were they truly going to mourn someone?

Yet, the three of them dressed like this almost resembled a family in matching outfits.

The sunset hung low over the mountains, its brilliance faded, casting vast red light that nearly dyed half the sky crimson. Such a beautiful sunset was rare for Feng Qiujie to behold, but for some reason, a phrase came to her mind: “The dying sun is like blood.” The sweeping red sky truly seemed like blood, shocking and chilling in its beauty.

Ling Zetian led Arno up the winding mountain path to Dragon Mountain, while Feng Qiujie followed behind, glancing around curiously. Yu Fan carried two delicate food boxes at the rear. Because Yan Wuying had lived as a criminal, few knew of his grave. Ling Zetian never brought many attendants for memorials, lest the secret be revealed.

After a short walk, two green mounds appeared before Feng Qiujie. The graves, covered in grass and vines, showed no trace of earth. Two flawless marble tombstones stood upright, inscribed with the words: “Tomb of General Yan Wuying, Defender of the West,” and “Tomb of Lady Qin Rushui, Wife of the General.”

Above the graves was a thick canopy of leaves. Upon closer look, she saw that each grave was flanked by an albizia tree. As they grew, the trees intertwined, their branches forming a dense shade.

Feng Qiujie recognized the albizia, a common roadside tree. Its blooming season was June to July, and now its pink fan-shaped flowers clustered among green leaves, made all the more lovely by the sunset’s glow.

Yu Fan unpacked the food and wine, arranging them before the tombs. Ling Zetian accepted incense from Yu Fan, knelt respectfully, and bowed three times before the graves. Arno obediently followed suit, offering incense and bows to both Yan Wuying and Qin Rushui.

Standing quietly with Yu Fan behind them, Feng Qiujie stared wide-eyed; it was her first time seeing Ling Zetian kneel. Who were these people, she wondered, and what was their relationship to him?

The blood-red sun sank quietly, Dragon Mountain cloaked in silence, disturbed only by the occasional cry of returning birds and the whisper of wind through the trees. The scene reminded Feng Qiujie of a poem: “Outside the long pavilion, beside the ancient road, fragrant grass stretches to the horizon. The evening wind brushes the willows, the flute’s song fades, the sunset lies beyond the mountains.”

Such fitting verses, she thought, though the absence of flute music made her sigh.

“You go,” Ling Zetian said, having finished his prayers. He stood and handed her three sticks of incense.

“Oh.” Feng Qiujie quickly gathered herself, took the incense, and, mindful of her debt for food and lodging, imitated Ling Zetian’s manner, respectfully bowing to the graves.

“Do you have nothing to say?” Ling Zetian asked when she finished and stood quietly aside.

“Rest in peace,” she replied. What she really wanted to say was that the dishes looked exquisite, smelled delicious, and she wished she could have more.

Ling Zetian gazed at Feng Qiujie’s distant expression and her bland “rest in peace,” anger flaring within him. This woman, standing before those who died because of her father—did she feel not even a trace of guilt?

Suddenly, a sharp sound pierced the air—a weapon slicing through the evening breeze, aimed straight at Feng Qiujie.

Ling Zetian caught sight of the projectile and, without hesitation, kicked Feng Qiujie at the knee. Unprepared, she fell forward, hands scraping against the gravel.

Pain shot through her, and just as she was about to curse Ling Zetian, she heard a sharp crack from the tombstone. Looking up, she saw a gleaming dagger embedded above Qin Rushui’s grave; cracks radiated outward from the blade, splitting the stone.

A figure emerged from the woods. Ling Zetian pressed his sword at his waist, his hair and robes fluttering in the evening wind.

“So you intend to protect her?” Qin Ruyan had been hiding in the woods, listening to Feng Qiujie’s indifferent apology, unable to contain her rage as she hurled the dagger.

Ling Zetian gave no answer, but his actions spoke for him. He stepped in front of Feng Qiujie, shielding her completely.

Sitting on the ground, Feng Qiujie stared at Ling Zetian, bewildered. Was he trying to protect her? Who was that person? She was new to the Ling Dynasty and had offended no one. From the voice, it was a woman. Why did she want to kill her?

Qin Ruyan watched, a pang of pain in her heart—he was defending her!

Grief mingled with anger. She drew her sword and charged straight at Ling Zetian.

Back then, when Qin Ruyan was alone and helpless, Ling Zetian had taken pity on her, letting her join his sect as his junior apprentice. Though she was older, she worked diligently, and despite having no foundation, her intelligence and effort made up for her shortcomings. Over two years, her skills improved, and many in the sect could no longer match her.

Seeing her rush forward, Ling Zetian sighed inwardly. Even knowing she couldn’t succeed, she still fought desperately. Qin Ruyan’s martial arts were taught by him and Yan Wuying; every move she made, he could predict her next attack. Thus, her assaults were completely ineffective—he didn’t even need to counterattack, just dodge.

Arno stood aside, with Yu Fan holding him protectively, wary lest Qin Ruyan accidentally harm the innocent, while Feng Qiujie sat cross-legged, watching Ling Zetian circle around her—sidestepping, bending, leaping—never straying more than a step away, making Qin Ruyan’s attacks utterly powerless against her.

Dressed in white, sword in hand, Qin Ruyan’s agile form shifted through various stances. For Feng Qiujie, who knew nothing of martial arts, it was like watching a sword dance, delightful enough to make her want to applaud.

Qin Ruyan knew her attacks were futile, but she couldn’t accept it: the murderer was right behind Ling Zetian, yet he protected that woman so thoroughly.

After her set of sword moves, Qin Ruyan sheathed her blade, forcing a bitter smile. As expected, she couldn’t do it; after all, the man before her was her master, and all she knew, he had taught her.

But seeing that woman so relaxed, even smiling faintly as she watched, Qin Ruyan couldn’t bear to give up. Her gaze fell on Arno, who stood blinking curiously. Without hesitation, she seized him, whisking him aside. “Ling Zetian, if you don’t hand over Feng Qiujie, I’ll kill him.”

Ling Zetian watched Qin Ruyan holding Arno, her sword pressed to his neck, and spoke calmly, “He is your sister’s only child; you won’t kill him.”

“Oh? You don’t believe me?” Qin Ruyan’s lips curled into a sneer as she pressed harder. Blood welled from Arno’s pale skin, trickling down the blade.

Ling Zetian was shocked. Qin Ruyan’s ruthlessness surprised him.

“Aunt Ruyan, you’re hurting me,” Arno squirmed uneasily, his lips quivering, on the verge of tears. He remembered seeing this aunt a year ago. Ling Zetian had told him she was his mother’s sister, and he should call her Aunt.

Arno had grown up without a mother, so having an aunt made him happy. Though they met rarely, he cherished and respected her like a mother. That was why, when Qin Ruyan grabbed him, he did not resist.

Feng Qiujie, witnessing this scene, was utterly bewildered. What was happening? She couldn’t make sense of it at all.

--- (A side note—begging for reviews and favorites t_t… This poor novel…)