Chapter 1: Touched by Devotion (2)

The one who saved her was none other than Gu Yanran. The moment she spurred her horse into a wild gallop, he had immediately leapt onto his own mount and raced after her, catching her just before a single misstep could become a lifelong regret.

She trembled all over in his arms, still shaken by the near miss. When she finally lifted her head, she was even more startled.

She saw his expression—eyes reddened, brows tightly furrowed, the muscles of his face twitching, and that look in his eyes: shock, anger, fear, and an indescribable, helpless panic.

Since the day she had first known him, this was the first time she had ever seen such vivid emotion on his face. From that moment on, she could never forget it.

Cheng Mulan came back to herself and stared blankly at the man before her.

He was still extraordinarily handsome, yet the sharp vitality of youth was gone. Skin darkened by the fierce sun of the battlefield, fine lines at the corners of his eyes carved by the northern winds, and the faint creases between his brows—all of it spoke of the hardships he had endured, of years that had weathered and worn him down.

He was three years older than her. In the year she turned fourteen he had gone to the battlefield and thereafter vanished without a word. If not for the words Amber had spoken while delivering the hairpin just now, she truly would have believed the orchid wood pin had been a gift from the Heir.

At sixteen she had married into Prince Rui’s household. Barely three months after the wedding, news came that the Tartars were invading the northern borders. The Heir, confident in his own martial prowess and eager to win glory, had volunteered for the front and been assigned under the Northern Garrison General Wu Ying—becoming comrades-in-arms with Gu Yanran.

Then that incident occurred. The Heir led a small squad in a coordinated advance with Gu Yanran’s unit, only to fall into a trap laid by the enemy. Gu Yanran’s squad managed to withdraw in time. It was said that by the time he rushed back hoping to rescue the Heir, the latter had already been pierced through the heart by a thousand arrows and was beyond saving.

Prince Rui and his consort both blamed Gu Yanran. They believed that if he had not been a step too late, or if they had simply exchanged pursuit routes that day, the one who died would not have been the Heir.

They even suspected that Gu Yanran had been afraid of death and deliberately pushed the Heir into danger so that the Heir would die in his place. Thus they hated him to the bone. Upon receiving the news, she herself had fallen seriously ill.

While she was gravely sick, scattered rumors began circulating through the household: that she was born under an ill-fated star, that she had already “overcome” her own birth mother, and now her husband as well—and that in the future she might even “overcome” the heirs of the prince’s household.

Indeed, only after marrying the Heir had she learned that her husband already had a legitimate eldest son by a maid who had grown up alongside him. Fearing scandal, the Wangfei had taken charge: the mother was removed, the child kept and raised for the time being in a separate courtyard, to be brought back and formally acknowledged when the time was ripe.

After the Heir—who should have inherited the title—passed away, the child was naturally brought back early. She was forced, after becoming a widow, to also become his official stepmother.

Although the child had returned to the household, he was not raised by her side but kept under the Wangfei’s personal care. She understood that her parents-in-law feared this stepmother might harbor resentment and deliberately ruin the child.

More than five years had passed. Her days in the prince’s household had stretched like years. The pride and mischief of her youth, the bright, carefree feelings of a young girl, had long since vanished, leaving behind only inches of longing that turned to ash…

“Suisui, don’t be afraid. From now on, just stay with me.” Gu Yanran’s hoarse voice drifted through the private room of the restaurant, lingering like an eternal vow.

Cheng Mulan stared at him as he stroked the orchid wood hairpin inch by inch, murmuring soft words to it, then carefully tucking it against his chest as though he were taking her with him.

Was he treating that hairpin as her? How foolish!

Cheng Mulan felt that she hated him—after all, he had left without a word that year, gone off to the battlefield of his own accord, then vanished completely, and later caused the death of her husband.

Yet looking at him now in this foolish state, she was no longer certain. Perhaps she did not truly hate him. What she felt more was resentment—resentment that he had never held their childhood-like bond in his heart, resentment that he could turn and leave without a single word, so resolute and heartless.

“Suisui, the northern borders are peaceful now. I won’t go back to be any commander. I’ll retire and take you traveling the four directions—how does that sound? Do you still remember telling me that the dream of your life was to travel the whole world, to see every beautiful sight under heaven, and never be confined to the inner courtyards, watching over that little plot of land?”

He asked the waiter for a pot of rough wine and two cups, filling each seven-tenths full as though sharing a drink with her, all the while murmuring on.

“I’ll take you to Jiangnan to see the little bridges and flowing streams. I’ll take you by boat downstream to see the bustling harbors. I’ll take you along the Silk Road to taste the grandeur of ‘the bright moon rising over the Tianshan, amid a vast sea of clouds.’ I’ve even heard that beyond the great desert lies an empire as majestic as a soaring eagle, where the roses bloom brilliant and fragrant… In short, wherever you wish to go, I’ll take you. All right?”

As he drank, tears suddenly began to fall. He spread a sheet of xuan paper on the table, dipped a brush in ink, and began to paint, stroke by stroke.

Cheng Mulan watched from the side for a long time before she realized he was drawing her. The other features were rendered vividly and lifelike, yet when it came time to paint the eyes, his hand trembled so badly that he could not set the brush down.

At last the brush fell, and he collapsed onto the table, weeping.

“Suisui, I’ve forgotten… I’ve forgotten what your eyes looked like when you looked at me… Were you smiling, or filled with resentment? Have you hated me ever since we parted? Suisui, I can’t paint them… I can’t paint your eyes. I’m afraid… afraid that you hate me, and even more afraid that I never existed in your heart…” He sobbed uncontrollably, tears streaming down his face like a child’s.

Cheng Mulan stood beside him in a daze. Before she knew it, tears were streaming down her own face as well.

Was it like this? So it was not that she had no place in his heart, but that there was too much of her—so much that the weight of his feelings had become unbearable, and that was why he had left without a word that year?

“Suisui, I regret it so much…”

Don’t cry… I’m right here beside you, right in front of your eyes—can’t you see me? I’m right here!

Cheng Mulan shouted desperately by his ear, waving her hands before his face, trying to touch him, wanting to share a cup of that rough wine with him. But she could not. She was only a soul lingering in the world of the living, unable to lean against him or respond in any way to his deep, sincere love.

For a full two years afterward, Cheng Mulan remained by Gu Yanran’s side.

He truly kept the promise he had made to her. He retired from the army and, together with several former comrades who had also been discharged because of injuries, formed a merchant caravan that traveled the Western Regions along the Silk Road.

He took her across rivers, through the great desert, past the Tianshan and the sea of clouds. Sometimes they camped in the open wilderness, and on quiet nights he would play the Qiang flute for her.

In several towns he bought shops and residences. One of them, a three-courtyard house not far from the capital, was especially spacious. Inside he had a Jiangnan-style garden built—complete with little bridges, flowing water, and moon-gate corridors. In a side room of the main house he kept a finely carved box filled with keepsakes related to her.

A scented sachet she had once used. A sword tassel she had woven herself and given him. A hair ribbon she had dropped while riding one day. A pressed-flower bookmark once slipped between the pages of a book. A handkerchief she had used to bind his wounds.

There were also the riding crop and saddle he had made for her with his own hands—items she had deliberately left behind at her natal home in a fit of pique when she married. She had no idea how he had managed to retrieve them from the duke’s mansion through connections.

And there were the letters he had written to her in the military camp—one every month—yet never once sent.

She wanted to read those letters, but could not touch them. Frustrated and resentful, she wished she could give the man dozens of forehead flicks. How foolish he was! Clearly he missed her, yet he never dared let her know!

Once, a sudden heavy rain fell and the night turned bitterly cold. He woke from a dream with groans, rubbing his knees again and again. Only then did she learn that he suffered from old cold legs—a lingering injury from the battlefield that flared up whenever the weather turned cool and rainy.

And this ailment was connected to the Heir of Prince Rui as well.

That day, one of his former comrades came to visit with roast chicken and good wine. Seeing him limping slightly from the pain in his legs, the man could not help sighing.

“You, ah… If you hadn’t turned back that time to save that blasted Heir of Prince Rui, you wouldn’t have had to freeze in the icy river. It was the depths of winter! You risked your own life to save someone, and what did their Prince Rui’s household do? They pinned the Heir’s death entirely on you. It was clearly he who wanted to snatch the credit and nearly dragged our whole squad to their deaths along with him. Why wouldn’t you just speak the truth? Do you know how much it pains us brothers to see you keep your mouth shut like a sealed gourd?”

Faced with his comrade’s heartfelt reproach, Gu Yanran remained completely unperturbed. “The dead are the most important. There’s no point in my saying these things. Besides…”

“Besides what?”

Gu Yanran did not explain. But Cheng Mulan, listening nearby, suddenly understood—it was for her sake.

He was unwilling to destroy the image of her husband in her heart. He would rather bear the injustice himself than let the Heir who had once stepped down from the clouds in her eyes become a man who greedily sought glory and charged recklessly ahead.

With every day she spent following Gu Yanran, Cheng Mulan understood him a little more—his contradictions, his pain, and the hidden feelings buried deepest in his heart that he could never speak of to anyone.

Time passed. Winter gave way to spring. In the blink of an eye it was once again the anniversary of her death. Clutching the orchid wood hairpin to his chest, he came to the riverbank, poured libations of wine, and mourned her.

“First I wish my lord a thousand years,

Second I wish this humble one always in good health,

Third I wish we be like the swallows upon the beams,

Year after year meeting again.”

He recited the poem in a low voice. With each line he took one step closer to the water’s edge.

Watching him draw nearer and nearer to the river, Cheng Mulan’s heart rose in panic. What was he intending to do? Surely he wasn’t going to throw himself into the water?

A fierce gust of wind swept up, lifting the hems of his robes so that they fluttered like an immortal’s. He swayed, on the verge of falling…

“No!”

With that heart-wrenching cry, Cheng Mulan felt as though she were being pulled into a vortex that threatened to tear her completely apart. In an instant she lost consciousness. When she next awoke, she found herself in a realm of illusion. Beneath her feet stretched an endless sea of clouds; ahead lay only boundless emptiness.

Where was this? Cheng Mulan looked around in shock, her thoughts in turmoil.

“Gu Yanran, where are you? Gu Yanran!”

That foolish man hadn’t really thrown himself into the river, had he?

“Rest assured, he is unharmed.” A distant voice suddenly sounded, as though it had heard the thoughts in her heart.

Cheng Mulan froze. Looking back, she saw that at some unknown moment a beam of pure white light had descended from the distant horizon, within which vague human silhouettes flickered.

“Do you wish to return?” The clear, cold voice came from every direction at once—near yet far, impossible to grasp.

“Return where?” she asked in bewildered confusion.

“Return to the past. Return to the year you were thirteen, and begin again.”

Cheng Mulan was greatly startled. “Return to when I was thirteen? How is that possible?”

“Here, all things are possible.”

“So I won’t have to part from Gu Yanran anymore? I won’t have to marry the Heir or enter Prince Rui’s household?”

“Since you have been given the chance of rebirth, whether to marry or not, whether to part or remain together—all of it is yours to choose anew.”

Cheng Mulan was deeply moved. She truly could return to Gu Yanran’s side—in a physical body, as the legitimate eldest daughter of the duke’s household, rather than as a powerless wandering soul as she was now. And yet…

“If I go back, what about him? Gu Yanran… can he go back as well?”

“He must remain here.”

“What do you mean? Once I return, everything can start over again. I can’t leave him alone like this any longer. I want to stay by his side!”

“After you return, the Gu Yanran of that place will naturally follow a different line of fate. But the Gu Yanran of this place also has his own line of fate.”

“What ‘this place’ and ‘that place’? I don’t understand…”

“Simply put, parallel timelines. If you return to the year you were thirteen, Gu Yanran’s fate will branch at that point—one timeline is the present one, the other is the new one you will create after rebirth.”

Parallel timelines. Branching lines of fate.

Cheng Mulan seemed to understand. In other words, after she was reborn she would only create a new timeline, but the present one would still exist. The Gu Yanran of this place would still have to bear the pain of losing her, still live in such loneliness and desolation.

If she returned, even if she could find happiness with another Gu Yanran, the foolish man of this place—who day and night clutched an orchid wood hairpin to his chest and cherished a lifeless object as though it were her—would remain alone, still suffering the torment of old cold legs whenever the weather turned cool and rainy.

“Will the Gu Yanran of this place continue like this forever? Will there ever come a day when he meets a woman who loves and respects him, who stays by his side so that he is no longer lonely?”

“That is still unknown at present. Perhaps there will be, perhaps there will not.” Perhaps his entire life was destined to be lonely until old age.

Cheng Mulan felt she understood the implication in the mysterious voice’s words, but she was unwilling to accept it. She could not bear for Gu Yanran’s second half of life to be left to the gamble of an unknown future. The thought broke her heart.

“Can’t I be that unknown? Can’t it be me who loves him, respects him, and stays with him until old age? I want to remain here, in this timeline…” Two lines of tears slid down as she spoke with a choked voice, her heart aching beyond endurance.

She did not want to leave him alone—especially after these two years of following him every step of the way as a soul. She was even more reluctant to part from him, longing desperately to repay his sincere, wholehearted affection.

“Can’t it be me? I won’t go back. Let me stay by his side. I beg you.” She did not even know what she was pleading for—only that she wanted a chance to soothe his pain.

After a long silence, the voice responded. “I can allow you to remain in this timeline. However, you will no longer be the legitimate eldest daughter of the Dingguo Duke’s household. Cheng Mulan’s physical body has already been buried. You must enter the body of another woman at the moment of her death.”

In other words, she would have to become some other girl? Anyone would do, so long as in this life she could grow old together with Gu Yanran without parting.

“I accept.”

“Go!”

As the voice fell, she was once again drawn into a deep vortex, casting herself into another fate—rushing toward the unknown that belonged to Gu Yanran.

Gu Yanran, wait for me. Your Suisui is coming back.