Chapter 8 — All I Crave in This Life Is Peace

Pho Lam drifted into a fevered dream. In the hazy, shifting landscape of his slumber, Chi Trien appeared draped in thin, translucent silk, straddling him with an intoxicating grace. Her gaze was heavy with seduction, and her fingertips traced patterns of torment against his skin, teasing him with relentless precision. His vision blurred, his breath hitching in his throat. Under the shadowy veil of the bed curtains, their figures intertwined, the room heavy with the scent of an endless, stifling spring. When he finally jolted awake, he found himself nursing a bitter resentment toward her calculated seduction, mentally branding her as shameless and devoid of virtue. Yet, deep down, he understood the truth: she was a threat he could not contain. He had always prided himself on his icy rationality, keeping his defenses impenetrable, yet for her alone, he had shattered his own rules time and again. The Prince’s manor demanded an heir without weaknesses, and his instinctual vigilance compelled him to push her further away with every passing day. He had watched the starlight in her eyes slowly dim after months of lonely waiting in the courtyard, and he had witnessed her once-innocent smile twist into something rigid and forced.

When news finally reached him that she had taken her own life, he had felt nothing—or so he told himself. He had grown calloused to the sight of death. Yet, the crabapple trees in the manor ceased to bloom, the lantern that once waited for him in the deep hours of the night was extinguished, the swing in the courtyard grew rusted, and the irises she once embroidered upon his sleeves vanished forever. The manor, once vibrant, returned to a state of hollow decay. He would never again see the young girl who had once fluttered toward him like a spring butterfly, offering her entire heart in a gesture of pure devotion. The agony of that realization, coming far too late, gnawed at the very marrow of his being, turning each breath into a labor of slow, agonizing endurance. After her passing, he buried himself in state affairs for three years, using work as a narcotic to dull the visceral pain tearing at his chest. Eventually, exhaustion claimed him, and he fell into a terminal illness, seeking her out in the beyond. With his final breath, he whispered, "I am sorry. My cold, selfish heart... it was I who destroyed you."

Had the blade struck just half an inch closer, he would have perished. By a stroke of fortune, I managed to staunch the bleeding just in time, and with the help of court physicians working for three sleepless days and nights, he was pulled back from the jaws of death. As Pho Lam regained consciousness, I instinctively stepped back, my guard raised. He looked up to see me clutching the arm of Xie Hang, his eyes filled with profound anguish, yet he managed to force a fragile, hollow smile. "In my past life, I wounded you too deeply; I no longer have the standing to remain by your side," he murmured. "You are newlyweds. I wish for you a union as harmonious as a fish in water, sweeter than the finest honey."

On our wedding night, he had abducted me. To preserve my reputation, Xie Hang had avoided a public scandal, searching for my tracks in the shadows while the world believed I was merely sequestered away, recovering from an illness. With Pho Lam bleeding and dying in the aftermath, I had finally sought Xie Hang’s aid. When we were reunited, his beard had grown wild, and he looked haggard beyond words. I threw myself into his arms, sobbing, "I missed you so dearly." He lowered his head, pressing a kiss to my temple as if cradling a long-lost treasure, and whispered, "I feared that I would never have the chance to see you again."

Twenty years into our marriage, Xie Hang and I remain as devoted as we were on our wedding day, blessed with a lovely pair of twins. The man once known for being as unyielding as iron—a stern investigator of the Grand Justice Court—transforms into a lovesick, overgrown puppy the moment he steps across our threshold, clinging to me through the long nights. "Chi Trien," he calls out. "Yes," I reply. "Chi Trien," he repeats. "I am here," I answer, never tiring of his constant need for reassurance. "Is this not a dream?" he asks, his voice trembling. "Are you truly mine?"

The soft fragrance of her body in his arms feels both ethereal and solid. During the three months I was missing, he had been haunted by nightmares of me marrying Pho Lam, living in misery, and dying of a broken heart. Waking in a cold sweat, he had wept, spending every waking hour hunting for a trace of me. Heaven, in its mercy, had finally allowed him to bring me home. "Chi Trien," he suddenly mutters, "that man Pho Lam is forty now and still unmarried. Surely he doesn’t still harbor inappropriate thoughts about you?" I press a kiss to his jealous, pouting lips. "Why bother caring about him?" He purrs with satisfaction, his mouth curling into a smug arc. "Tell me, who do you love the most?" "I love, I love, I love my husband the most." He leans in, pinning me beneath him. "The night is long, and your husband would like to love you well in return." I never understood it—our children are ten years old, yet Xie Hang’s fervor shows no sign of waning. "Gently now," I tease him with a playful kick, my voice soft with indulgence. [The End]