Chapter One

On the third day after the marrow exchange, Mu Guanghan was in such agony that he could no longer remain conscious.

In a haze, he heard footsteps approaching.

That person, as always, carried the scent of peony incense.

A white jade pendant shaped like a peony dangled from the hem of his robe; as he sat beside the Biyou bed, the jade struck the bed’s edge, emitting a crisp, clear chime.

“A-Han,” his voice was low and slightly hoarse, “rest assured. Once Xiaotang recovers, I will petition the King of Nanyue to grant him a fief and send him far away. Then, at my side... there will be only you, only you will be treated well.”

“I’m sorry for your suffering.”

“I promise you, this will be the last time.”

Mu Guanghan wanted to speak, but he simply lacked the strength.

The last time.

Wei Liuyi always said it was the “last time.”

At first, it was to ask him for help to cure an illness; then, it was to take his blood; later, it was his marrow. He had been slow to realize it, and only when he was on the verge of death did he finally understand—there was never a last time.

After a while, the fragrance of peony faded into the distance.

In his fevered dreams, Mu Guanghan remembered their first meeting at Yanhuai Mountain.

He still recalled that drizzling day; he was alone inside, leisurely brewing tea, when he heard an unusual commotion outside the door. Opening it, he saw a young man collapsed in the pouring rain, his fine clothes soaked through with blood, lying before the humble thatched hut where he practiced medicine.

Moved by a healer’s compassion, he hurriedly dragged the man inside and treated him.

He used up a pile of precious herbs, and even made the man drink several bowls of his own blood—eventually, he saved his life.

The next day, the rain ceased and the sky cleared.

Sunlight streamed through the bluish gauze window of the medical hut; he carefully wiped the young man’s face. Only then, once the bloodstains were gone, did he see the youth’s eyes tightly shut, his features strikingly handsome. For a moment, he was transfixed, butterflies fluttering wildly in his stomach from the beauty.

Love at first sight.

A few days later, the man awoke.

Mu Guanghan’s face was half-disfigured, and he could not help feeling inferior. Even with half a mask covering his face, he was uneasy.

But he did not show it. His hands, redolent of medicine, picked up the man’s family heirloom—an engraved peony jade pendant. He twirled it with a hint of pride in his eyes:

“I know you’re Wei Liuyi, Marquis of Wuheng, wanted by Xiliang. There are still many soldiers searching for you inside and outside Hengcheng these days.”

“Luckily, fate smiled on you. You ended up in the hidden valley’s medical hut, and I found you.”

“...”

“Marquis of Wuheng, you must have heard the saying, ‘The famed doctor Mu Han of Yanhuai Mountain is eccentric—he treats the weak, young, and old for free, but swears never to treat beauties.’”

“Unless... the beauty is willing to offer himself in return.”

At this, he smiled mischievously: “Why not offer yourself, Marquis? Then I can keep you safe.”

Wei Liuyi was stunned.

Clearly, he had not expected anyone to tease him so brazenly.

Mu Guanghan had only meant it in jest, never expecting him to agree—yet, in the end, Wei Liuyi nodded, albeit reluctantly. But that was already enough to make Mu Guanghan’s heart feel sweet as honey.

Simply having the chance to be together was enough.

There would be time in the days to come.

...

What Mu Guanghan did not know was that, although Wei Liuyi’s collapse outside his door that day had seemed accidental, it was not entirely so.

Wei Liuyi had come seeking him.

He was there to ask the renowned healer of the hidden valley to save his beloved. Unfortunately, he encountered Xiliang’s patrols on the way, and fell wounded at Mu Guanghan’s door.

Half a month later, Mu Guanghan followed Wei Liuyi to the Marquis of Wuheng’s residence.

From the moment he saw the pale, frail beauty—Ye Jintang—lying on the sickbed, his heart sank.

But Wei Liuyi soothed him, saying Xiaotang was merely his cousin, and Mu Guanghan, foolishly, believed it.

He had always been like this—once he fell for someone, his mind became clouded. Whatever his beloved said, he believed; if his beloved felt sorry for his cousin’s illness, then Mu Guanghan swore to cure Ye Jintang, no matter what.

Ye Jintang’s illness was complicated.

Born frail, later poisoned—the poison was called “Thousand Mechanisms.” Not fatal, but tormenting. Without the antidote each month, he would suffer terribly on the night of the full moon.

Who could be so cruel as to poison such a delicate youth?

Luckily, Mu Guanghan had studied medicine since childhood and soon prescribed a remedy. If the prescription was followed and care was given, Ye Jintang would gradually recover, and within a few years the poison would be gone.

That should have been the end of it.

But when Mu Guanghan cared for Wei Liuyi in the hidden valley, he often used his own blood to ease his pain and help him sleep.

He belonged to the Moonlight Clan—his blood was different from ordinary people.

Thus, when Ye Jintang suffered on the full moon, Mu Guanghan had no choice but to cut his own wrist to ease his pain too.

Once, twice.

After taking his blood, Ye Jintang’s complexion improved. Long bedridden, he could now walk, and even excitedly went to play by the pond—only to fall in, develop a fever, and not recover.

Wei Liuyi kept vigil through the night; the medicine was slow, so Mu Guanghan again bled himself to save him.

Three times, four times...

Ye Jintang’s minor ailments were endless—complaining of headaches and leg aches, crying and acting spoiled toward his “cousin.”

Mu Guanghan knew Ye Jintang was sometimes faking.

He’d cry on Wei Liuyi’s shoulder, but his eyes would slyly glance over, a faint red glow flickering—there was a seductive hint to it.

Yet, despite Mu Guanghan’s hints, Wei Liuyi did not believe him.

He believed only Ye Jintang’s weeping, fragile beauty.

And so, Mu Guanghan had nothing more to say.

...

Before coming to Wuheng, Mu Guanghan spent his days raising ducks and growing herbs at the medical hut, a life of cheerful freedom.

Afterwards, his days became quieter and more solitary.

At that time, Xiliang’s army often harassed Wuheng’s borders, and Marquis Wei Liuyi was busy—visiting less and less frequently.

Sometimes, Mu Guanghan would remember the old days in the hidden valley; the two of them lying beneath the apricot tree, talking endlessly, playing music and composing poetry together, discussing the world. In hindsight, it all seemed like nothing but an empty dream.

That late autumn, in Wuheng, Wei Liuyi came to see him again.

Drunk, with the scent of wine about him, his gaze unfocused, he caressed Mu Guanghan’s wrist, tracing old and new scars. On his usually cool, reserved face, there appeared rare guilt and remorse.

That night, beneath the luminous moon, Wei Liuyi leaned on him, muttering incoherently: “A-Han, Xiaotang’s father and brothers... all died defending Wuheng. I owe him so much, I can’t bear to see him suffer every day. That’s why I’ve wronged you...”

Mu Guanghan lowered his eyes.

Truthfully, he did not feel so wronged.

He’d never had much luck; every time he fell for someone, there was always a more beautiful person by their side.

A beauty who needed do nothing—just a slight frown was enough to elicit pity.

As for him, no matter how many scars crisscrossed his wrists, they only made the ugly ones on his face more prominent. No one cared.

After tasting enough grievance, one no longer feels aggrieved.

Once, in his youth, he had confronted those who trampled on him, but all they did was protect the beauty at their side, coldly snapping, “Enough.”

Only then did he wake up—looking as he did, he was never meant to have a say.

Only by remaining silent and obedient did he receive a semblance of false tenderness.

Mu Guanghan no longer wished to be looked at with such icy eyes by his beloved, so he quietly gave Ye Jintang his blood for half a year.

The turning point came that winter.

King Yan Zhi of Xiliang attacked Hengcheng, setting fire to the medicinal pools of Donghu.

The antidote for Ye Jintang’s poison required a crucial herb—Heartlake Indigo—delicate and growing only in Donghu. With the fields burned, Ye Jintang was left without medicine.

All Mu Guanghan could do was rack his brains for substitutes, while overseeing the replanting at Donghu.

But Heartlake Indigo was temperamental, flowering every two or three years, fruiting only after four or five—if things went well. If not, it might take a decade, or never bear fruit at all.

Wei Liuyi could not bear to see Ye Jintang suffer another ten years. At this time, someone presented an ancient book, which recorded that the blood of the Moonlight Clan was not only a powerful tonic—extracting their marrow and forming a pearl could resurrect the dead, healing Ye Jintang without medicine.

That night, Mu Guanghan made up his mind to flee.

The Moonlight City had hidden away for generations, separated by the Kunlun Mirror, with an iron law that only the city lord could leave—because outsiders were so greedy and cruel. Knowing the power of Moonlight blood and marrow, they had hunted and imprisoned clan members, extracting blood and marrow for medicine. Forced into hiding for a thousand years, only then did the legends fade.

Yet now, the ancient book had been found again.

Mu Guanghan, foolish in love as he was, knew there was a difference—bleeding would not kill him, but extracting his marrow would. Especially over seven days, the process would be agonizing and fatal.

If not now, then when?

But he failed to escape, captured and bound.

They shot his shoulder, broke his hand, and tied him cruelly to the sacrificial Biyou bed.

The feel of the bed was a chilling, bone-deep cold.

Perhaps Wei Liuyi knew how heartless the matter was; he hid for days, only daring to visit once Mu Guanghan had been gutted and tormented past recognition.

He held his hand, speaking with unprecedented tenderness.

He promised to send Ye Jintang away, and never fail him again.

Wei Liuyi could make such promises, perhaps because Mu Guanghan had always seemed resilient—he never considered that, after half a year of bloodletting, Mu Guanghan’s body was already failing.

...

Knowing he was going to die, Mu Guanghan no longer wished to drag it out for seven days.

He did not want to die, gaunt and unsightly.

So he used his last ounce of strength to speed things along. What should have taken seven days, formed into a pearl in just four.

“Xiaotang... he’s saved!”

Wei Liuyi was overjoyed, hurrying to take the marrow pearl to Ye Jintang. He had left Biyou Palace, only to return again.

“A-Han,” he murmured, holding his hand, “wait for me, I’ll be back soon.”

Whatever else he said, Mu Guanghan could no longer hear.

His hand was cold, but Wei Liuyi, lost in his own happiness, failed to notice.

...

On the fifth day, Ye Jintang was already up and running about.

On the sixth, Wei Liuyi arranged for his departure.

A subordinate asked, “Marquis, do you truly mean to send Young Master Ye away?”

Wei Liuyi lowered his eyes: “I have promised A-Han. I cannot break my word.”

On the seventh day, Wei Liuyi moved Mu Guanghan to his own chambers. The brazier was burning warmly, the palace redecorated, and he paced, waiting for A-Han to awaken.

Before, whatever he did, A-Han never blamed him.

But this time, forgiveness would not come so easily.

On the eighth day, Wei Liuyi realized something was wrong. Mu Guanghan’s hands were ice-cold, his breathing faint—he seemed unlikely to ever wake.

Distraught, Wei Liuyi’s fingers trembled as he picked him up—his first time holding him.

He gently shook him, and the half-gold mask slipped from his face, revealing scars twisted across pale lips.

“A-Han?” he called softly, pressing his fingers to his pulse.

A moment later, his expression changed drastically.

...

Half a day later, in the Wuheng capital’s palace, physicians knelt in rows.

Wei Liuyi paced with agitation, nails digging into his palms. “How can there be no pulse? He was fine yesterday! Find more, summon every doctor in the city! Whoever revives him will be rewarded with a thousand gold!”

But the physicians only shook their heads.

Who wouldn’t want such a reward? But... the man was already dead—how could he be saved?

Wei Liuyi protested, “The book clearly says that marrow exchange is not fatal!”

At last, an elderly retainer could not help but say, “Young master, the book says ‘most’ marrow exchanges are not fatal... but perhaps Doctor Mu was among the unlucky few?”

He trailed off, cowed by Wei Liuyi’s expression.

In all his years of service, he had never seen his usually elegant master look so terrifying.

...

Two days later.

Beyond Moonlight City, in the realm of shadows.

Mu Guanghan lay in the endless, snowy wilderness, staring blankly at the sky.

“My lord, the ground is cold. When you’ve lain long enough, get up, won’t you?” Xun Qingwei came skipping over the snow, his pale fingers adorned with a black flame ring, flirtatiously playing with the red fox fur collar—a flash of fire in the snowy expanse, swaying with delight.

Mu Guanghan did not move.

Xun Qingwei teased, “Not had enough of that icy Biyou bed, so you’ve come to lie in the snow?”

Stung, Mu Guanghan grabbed a handful of snow and flung it at him.

Xun Qingwei dodged with ease. “Addicted this time, were you? Fell in love, only for your lover to kill you?”

Mu Guanghan raised a sleeve to cover his face—and his ears.

This time had been too humiliating; he could not face anyone, and so remained on the ground for a long while.

Only when he was completely numb from the cold, after half an hour, did he reluctantly roll over and climb to his feet.

Nearby, Xun Qingwei had somehow conjured a stone table and stools and was leisurely pouring hot tea amid the snow and white plum blossoms.

The tea smelled wonderful.

Xun Qingwei sighed, “Didn’t I tell you, all crows under heaven are black? Yet, my lord, you insist on running into walls until battered and bruised. Alas.”

Mu Guanghan wanted to retort.

But he could think of nothing to say.

Xun Qingwei drank three cups in a row before hearing Mu Guanghan’s soft, dejected words: “I thought... he was different. I really believed there was at least a little affection for me in his heart.”

Xun Qingwei sighed. “But you knew from the start—he approached you with ulterior motives.”

“Yes, I knew.” Mu Guanghan lowered his gaze. “But with my ugly face, if I wanted true feelings in exchange for my own, I had to offer something in return, give more, and endure more bitterness than ordinary people.”

“Otherwise, why would someone so handsome, so talented, and ruler of Wuheng, ever look at me?”

“...Perhaps I was too naive. Always thinking that if I gave everything, one day someone would not care about my appearance, and would walk beside me for a while.”

“Enough—my luck is poor, and my hopes were foolish.”

Mu Guanghan sighed, brushing the snow from his clothes.

Xun Qingwei put away the tea. “My lord, shall we return to the palace together, or shall I accompany you around the city?”

A good question.

Mu Guanghan rubbed his sore stomach. “Let’s go to the city. First, find something to eat and drink nearby. Dying really doesn’t feel good—I’m starving.”

Xun Qingwei’s eyes curved in a smile.

In the past, whenever his lord suffered heartbreak, he would always starve himself in silent misery.

This time was different—at least he still had an appetite.

Clearly, people grow stronger with every setback.

Cheerfully, he followed Mu Guanghan, calling, “Let’s go—accompany my lord to eat hawthorn rice balls in the city!”

...

Xun Qingwei was happy too soon.

Moonlight Palace.

Ever since the city lord returned and feasted on a pound of hawthorn rice balls and a pot of cassia wine at the busiest “Snow Round Pavilion,” he had locked himself in his chambers, refusing food and drink for three days.

The city lord of Moonlight City was like a sodden, broken mushroom, buried in the darkest corner without a sound.

Old steward Fu was anxious. “Master Xun, it’s clear the young lord is still deeply troubled. Please, do something to console him?”

Xun Qingwei replied, “Certainly~”

Yet, with a flick of his fox tail, he bounded out of the palace.

“Master Xun?” the steward called in dismay.

Xun Qingwei said, “I heard that Luo Chuan’s twin gem, Luo Nanzhi, is rumored to be elegant and graceful. I’ll go see if the rumors are true, for our lord’s sake.”

The old steward was speechless.

Was Master Xun’s “solution” simply to create another problem?

Xun Qingwei waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, you know as well as I do—our lord only moves on when someone new comes along. As long as the new flame is good enough, there’s no need to fear the former can’t be forgotten!”

“In any case, take good care of him. I’ll bring good news when I return~”

The fox-like beauty skipped away.

Three days later.

Xun Qingwei returned to Moonlight City, arms laden with portraits of beauties.