Chapter Seventy-Four: Arrival

Ling Zetian stepped out of the cabin, and Feng Qiuji drifted out after him.

The sun had already leaped from the depths of the sea into the sky, casting a gentle light. A distant sea wind swept across the vast waters, fluttering Ling Zetian’s robes with a loud, whipping sound. The northwesterly wind of winter was piercingly cold and fiercely strong, nearly scattering Feng Qiuji’s form to the winds. She struggled to hide behind Ling Zetian, lest the wind blow her far away, for then she might never return.

Suddenly, Ling Zetian sensed a familiar, warm current at his back. The sensation brought him a strange peace, and he turned around, searching for the source of that warmth. Yet all he saw was the empty deck, not a soul in sight.

“Feng Qiuji, is that you?” he murmured, gazing at the empty air.

Feng Qiuji was startled. Ling Zetian’s eyes seemed to settle right on her, meeting her gaze with that familiar look, as if he could truly see her.

“Yes, I’m right here.” Unable to restrain herself, Feng Qiuji reached out, intending to touch Ling Zetian’s face, but once again her hand passed straight through his body.

“How foolish of me,” Ling Zetian murmured, lowering his head in disappointment and turning away. “Why would I think you’d be here?”

Seeing him like this, so forlorn, Feng Qiuji felt a pang of sorrow. Never before had she so desperately wished to appear before Ling Zetian and tell him the words a moment ago were not hers, that she felt nothing for Lu Wenwen.

But as she was now, there was nothing she could do. She could only accompany him in silence. Watching his back, she realized that though they had known each other for a long time, they had not spent much time together. He was always busy, and at most would occasionally share a meal with her. They’d scarcely had time alone, not even a silent moment side by side as now.

A sudden fear crept into her heart. Was she doomed to drift in the air forever, never to appear before Ling Zetian again? She remembered trying to return to her body, only to be repelled—yet that body could move on its own. Could it be… a corpse come to life?

A cold sweat broke out on her forehead as another thought struck her. The former Feng Qiuji had been fond of Lu Wenwen, and that body still clung to him. Could it be that the original soul had returned, leaving no place for her?

It dawned on her then: she had been a guest in another’s body for so long, but now, with the true owner returned, must she yield and depart?

And if so, where could she go? The thought brought to mind her attempt to drift back to the twenty-first century, where she’d found no trace of her own body. What if it was gone? What would become of her?

No, not “what if”—surely by now her body would be long gone. She’d spent almost a year in the Ling Dynasty; if any remains existed, they’d have decayed by now.

At that moment, a clamor erupted on the deck. Feng Qiuji turned to see the Imperial Guards crowding onto the deck, whispering excitedly among themselves.

“Look! Land ahead!”

“Yes, it’s land—Fusang at last!”

She looked up, and in the distance a strip of land appeared. It was winter, so the trees were bare and the landscape bleak.

These Imperial Guards were all locals from around the capital, most having never even explored the Ling Dynasty, let alone ventured abroad. Now, seeing Fusang for the first time, their excitement was palpable.

Feng Qiuji watched them with exasperation. They hardly seemed the dignified guards of the Inner Court, but rather a group of children who’d never seen the world.

Half an hour later, Ling Zetian and his party landed ashore. The small port was deserted, not a soul in sight—not even a single guard. Only a few battered little boats bobbed at anchor, rising and falling with the waves.

Once ashore, they headed straight for the city. Ling Zetian led the way, followed by Ling Zexin, then Lu Wenwen, with Feng Qiuji insisting on trailing behind Lu Wenwen. Considering a large group would only attract attention, Ling Zetian instructed Wei Long and Yu Fan to lead the Imperial Guards to camp outside the city.

Feng Qiuji drifted alongside Ling Zetian, taking in the unfamiliar city. The streets were equally desolate—doors shut tight, a chilling silence. Only the cold wind swept through the empty avenues; there were no bustling crowds, no hawkers, only the elegant buildings that hinted at the city’s former glory.

“Since the old ruler’s passing, chaos has reigned in the country,” Lu Wenwen explained, anticipating their confusion. “The court was split in two: one faction supported Prince Kimura Xinghen, the other Prince Kimura Xingye. While the old ruler lived, tensions were kept in check, but after his death, civil war broke out at once.”

At the mention of the old ruler’s death, Ling Zetian’s brow furrowed. As a vassal state, Fusang was required to send annual tribute to the Ling Dynasty, and even the enthronement of a new ruler had to be sanctioned by Ling. Yet now, Fusang dared to conceal the news, a clear sign of disregard.

Listening to Lu Wenwen’s explanation and glancing at the deserted streets, Feng Qiuji couldn’t help but sigh. In ancient times or modern, war always brought suffering to innocent civilians. What a blessing it would be to live in peace—yet politicians, driven by self-interest, would so readily plunge their people into war.

She recalled the old lament: In times of prosperity, the people suffer; in times of ruin, the people suffer.

“For the three days since the old ruler’s death, all institutions and transit in the country have collapsed. In his lifetime, the old ruler favored Prince Kimura Xingye, so it was Prince Kimura Xinghen who kidnapped the young prince this time, hoping to use him as leverage against the Ling Dynasty and secure the throne.”

Ling Zetian found Lu Wenwen’s words almost laughable. Did Kimura Xinghen truly believe that seizing Anuo would force his hand? If that were so, what respect would the other vassal states have for the Ling Dynasty? “So, Master Lu, you support Kimura Xinghen?”

Lu Wenwen smiled. “Her Majesty the Empress Dowager recommended me, so naturally I support Prince Kimura Xinghen.”

They walked for some time without seeing anyone, only patrols pacing back and forth, barring entry and preventing anyone from leaving. Since the outbreak of civil strife, all border checkpoints had been sealed.

Soon, Ling Zetian and his party were halted by patrolling soldiers demanding identification. At last, it was Lu Wenwen’s turn to act: as Right Minister of Fusang, he held considerable authority. The soldiers saluted him respectfully and let them pass.

“Why not stay at my residence for now?” Lu Wenwen suggested, seeing not a single inn or tavern open along the way. “Let’s settle in first and plan our next steps.”

Ling Zetian, having seen the deserted streets, could only agree.

The Right Minister in the Ling Dynasty was equivalent to a top-ranking official. Clearly, Kimura Xinghen valued Lu Wenwen, as evidenced by the grand mansion bestowed upon him.

Once they were settled, Feng Qiuji turned her attention to a pressing matter—finding Anuo.

In truth, before her journey through time, she had never liked children, finding them troublesome and difficult to communicate with. But after meeting Anuo, she realized that children, despite their annoyances, could be endearing—especially one as clever as Anuo. She didn’t mind interacting with a child like him.

She found that drifting through the air had its advantages: no need for food or sleep, freedom to roam, and even the ability to scold or hit Ling Zetian without consequence—he could neither see nor hear her.

But none of this was what she truly wanted. She longed to stand before Ling Zetian, even if it meant being scolded or disliked, rather than never being seen by him again.

Meanwhile, chaos reigned in the Fusang palace. The old ruler was dead, the mourning not yet complete, and the harem was awash in tears, the consorts weeping for their uncertain future. The ministers agreed the country could not go a day without a sovereign, but could not agree on who should ascend the throne, resulting in the present chaos.

As Feng Qiuji drifted into the palace, she beheld this scene: loyal consorts, despairing at the ruler’s death, seeking out tree branches or beams to hang themselves; countless maids and eunuchs, bundles on their backs, trying to flee despite the guards’ attempts to stop them.

It was a scene of utter misery, and Feng Qiuji could only sigh at the sight. Such was the fate of a small country—one death at the top and all descended into panic.

But she was not here for this. She was here to find Anuo. Where might he be? By convention, captives were usually held in dungeons or secret chambers, but she was unfamiliar with this palace and had no idea where to begin.

It was a vexing problem. Invisible to everyone, she could not even ask for directions. But she would not rest until she saw Ling Shunuo safe and sound. She did not know when she’d started to care so much, but as his nominal mother, she could hardly help but worry.

Lost in thought, she did not know where she had floated to, but before her appeared a space draped with white mourning banners, a hall of mourning, and within, someone was kneeling.

She drifted in, curious to see who would remain here in such chaotic times, when everyone else was desperate to escape.

— End of Chapter —

The computer is truly uncooperative—Canyan is about to die of frustration, updates are always so late…