Chapter Fifty-Five: King Qi
“Fish swimming in the lake are originally free, yet this freedom can never escape the designs of the fisherman. Tell me, is it not so?” His splendid feathered robe was truly extraordinary, with dragons seemingly embroidered in gold thread. Of course, wealthy families across the land often wore resplendent garments, and adorning their attire with gold was not unusual. Yet so few dared to embellish their robes with dragons—for anyone not of imperial blood, nor a prince or king, such audacity was a crime of high treason, punishable by the extermination of one’s entire family. Still, those who could afford such clothing invariably depended on the royal household and would never break the rules. Common folk, for whom a meal was the greatest concern, had neither the means nor the inclination for such extravagance.
At this moment, the lake lay in profound tranquility. All around, beneath the green leaves, hints of tender yellow remained, evidence that spring’s spirit still lingered. The peach blossoms and white plum flowers had mostly withered, with only a few remnants clinging to the uppermost branches, as if to remind the world they had once graced it. Flowers bloom and fade in their time, awaiting the return of spring—this scene was the very essence of such truth. The middle-aged man sat alone at the lakeside, his gaze upon the water, reflecting a certain melancholy.
The guards stood far off, as was customary. Those who reached this place had nearly forgotten who they were; obedience to orders was their only duty. One could wonder whether this was cause for joy or sorrow, though perhaps they had no time for such thoughts. Their sole task was to ensure their master’s safety. Upon closer inspection, the middle-aged man was strikingly handsome. Though age had touched him, it had only deepened his features, adding allure to his presence. His jade ornaments were of the finest quality, and his brows and eyes possessed the sharpness of a king’s majesty.
He held a fishing rod in his hand. Spring was not the best season for fishing, for the lingering chill kept most fish from venturing forth. Yet precisely because of this, those few fish emerging after a winter’s dormancy were the most delectable, attracting those willing to spend their hours in pursuit of such delicacy. The sunlight was bright and warm, dispelling the cold and bringing a gentle comfort. With no one nearby, the man’s words seemed more addressed to himself.
“Scheming and calculation—perhaps it is a bit early to speak of such things. Husband, you say the fish cannot escape the fisherman’s designs, but when has the fisherman ever escaped the fish’s designs? Both are driven by the desire for food: one spends time, the other risks its life. Though it seems different, in truth there is little distinction.” The response came swiftly, her arrival so sudden that, in the space of his sigh, she was already there. Buildings and trees were mere shadows to her; she moved like the wind, and the phrase “wind rises from the ground” would not do her justice. In a few leaps, she stood before him. Her skill, even if not the very pinnacle of the martial world, was impressive—particularly her ability to hear his quiet musings from dozens of meters away.
The man did not turn nor reply, focusing solely on his fishing. Some things, after all, the fisherman would rather not hear. Even if he understood the truth, the allure of the pursuit was irresistible. The woman’s attire was simple—a plain dress, her hair neatly coiled, with few adornments. Her face, though, was strikingly defined: a high nose, large eyes, and a tall, graceful figure that seemed less typical of the Central Plains, instead hinting at exotic beauty from the western regions. These two, one seated and one standing, seemed well matched, though their clothing suggested worlds apart.
Yet they were husband and wife, a fact beyond dispute. The woman’s expression was calm, unfazed by the man’s arrogance. She gazed at the lake, and perhaps due to the atmosphere, a sudden breeze arose from nowhere, sending ripples across the water and lifting strands of her hair. The long veil fluttered, giving her an ethereal, almost otherworldly grace.
“I know you dislike such words, so I’ll say no more. Gu She is a capable subordinate, and the task was executed cleanly. It seems that Shen Wansan, such a renowned hero, is destined to become a pawn of your Highness, Prince Qi. The matter in Chang’an must be approaching, and whether it ends in victory or defeat, the throne you seek—does it truly mean so much to you?” The woman continued, her tone tinged with resignation. She knew her words were futile, spoken only out of a wishful heart. Who was Xiao Jinghao? Others might not know, but Dawa Zhuoma understood him perfectly. Once he made up his mind, nothing could sway him. Yet, even now, she held onto a sliver of hope.
“Ever since I journeyed west to Kunlun and first met you, you should have known what manner of man I am. If I could be swayed by a few words, I would not be Xiao Jinghao. You understand this better than anyone. Otherwise, with so much opposition, I would never have married you. You’re not here merely to ask me this, are you?” At that moment, he turned, his gaze lingering on her, and a rare smile appeared—a gentle tenderness that would overwhelm any woman. Dawa Zhuoma was no exception; her heart softened, and warmth returned to her eyes as she looked at him. “I know who you are. Your resolve is unshakable. Whether you convene a martial gathering or unite the martial world, I will not stand in your way. I came only to tell you: a month ago, our senior brother descended from Kunlun.”
If all other words failed to stir Xiao Jinghao’s heart, the mention of “senior brother” made him visibly tremble, his face darkening with disbelief and reluctance. Soon, he turned back to the lake. The float on the water began to quiver—clearly, a fish was biting.
“I’ll say no more. You must decide for yourself. Outside Kunlun, our senior brother has only the two of us as family, yet he has not sought us out in this month. Who knows what he is doing? He was once the prince of the Kunlun tribe, and the throne was rightfully his. Yet, like you, he had an uncle with similar ambitions who seized the throne. Thus, the person he hates most is someone like you. If he learns of your plans, his skills—both of us know—are unmatched. Even if we joined forces, we wouldn’t last ten moves against him, let alone…” At this point, she paused, worry evident in her words. Still, she did not linger. Xiao Jinghao was a clever man; having spoken this much, he would grasp her meaning, and anything more would be superfluous. As expected, his expression grew grave, deep in thought. Dawa Zhuoma vaulted onto the eaves, ready to depart, but suddenly stopped, speaking softly without turning: “Jinghao, if you could choose again, would you still be so resolute—even to the point of breaking with your family? If you had married the daughter of the national general, your ambitions might already have been achieved, don’t you think?”
Her question came suddenly. She did not know why she felt compelled to ask, yet for this alone, she had no regrets. If she must name anything, it was a lingering sense of indebtedness toward this man. Now, she waited for his answer, as if steeling herself for some decision. He did not turn. With a strong jerk, he lifted the rod, and the fish leapt from the water, tracing a perfect arc through the air. His gaze, once more gentle, fell upon the still-jumping carp, as he replied calmly: “I have always said, I have never done a single thing in my life that I regret—including you. You should return. You are the elegant, noble fairy of Kunlun Mountain, unsuited to the dust and chaos of the mortal world. To linger here would only sully your purity and dignity—this is the last thing I wish to see, do you understand?”
Such words, spoken by a man, could easily be deceptive, but in this moment, Dawa Zhuoma found no reason to doubt. A satisfied smile spread across her face, and her figure soon vanished from the sight of the waiting guards.