Seven days ago.
That night when the moon hung alone high above, the travel-worn Zhang Zhicun only stood in the tent with his hands behind his back in silence. Xie Queshan already understood what he wanted to say.
As long as he died to quell the rumors, the opposing ministers would have no more excuses, and His Majesty could order troops to be sent.
If he were still that Xie Queshan confined on the ship, who loathed himself and only wished to die to atone, at this moment he would have agreed without any emotion, even proposing this solution himself before Zhang Zhicun’s arrival.
But now he was different from before. He had encountered someone like Hua Tuo reborn, who had cured the malady in his soul and made him flourish like withered wood meeting spring. He had gained some unprecedented light. He very much wanted to live, even cherishing his life more than ever before—for his family, his lover, his friends, and for himself.
Zhang Zhicun remained silent, and he remained silent too.
Finally, Zhang Zhicun gritted his teeth and spoke: “Let me be the villain then! Master Xie, he who tied the bell must untie it. Now all the turmoil centers on you, and only through you can this deadlock be broken. If you’re willing to sacrifice yourself for the greater good, I can guarantee the reinforcements will enter the city at fastest speed. If you’re unwilling, I absolutely won’t make things difficult—seeking to survive is human nature, and what you’ve done for Great Yu is already enough. Whatever decision you make, Zhang will bow and thank you on behalf of all the people of Li Du Mansion, on behalf of all court officials, on behalf of His Majesty!”
Having said this, Zhang Zhicun lifted his robes and knelt before Xie Queshan, his forehead striking the ground heavily. This scene carried a tragic and heroic air.
“Zhang Zhicun! What performance of righteousness for family and country is this! You’re clearly forcing him!” After a moment of silence, it was actually the gentle Song Muchuan who first erupted in fierce opposition.
Ying Huai was also stunned, momentarily unsure how to respond to this cruel proposal and the chaos before him.
“Get up!” Song Muchuan stepped forward to pull up Zhang Zhicun, roughly pushing him away. “What right do you have to say this! There must be other ways!”
Zhang Zhicun stood dejectedly, his official robes askew from being pulled. He seemed unaware of his disheveled state—those words had exhausted all his dignity and strength. He couldn’t answer Song Muchuan’s questioning.
Song Muchuan shouted loudly, but felt increasingly powerless. Actually, he knew Zhang Zhicun was qualified to say these words. Zhang Zhicun was also an undercover agent—his impassioned speech wasn’t building castles in air. He had personally experienced the hardships and knew this plan was the last desperate resort.
But Song Muchuan was full of selfish motives. He didn’t want Xie Queshan to consider the possibility of this proposal. He was terrified, because he understood his dear friend too well. He looked at Xie Queshan tremblingly, as if he were the one awaiting judgment.
Xie Queshan simply raised his face calmly, gazing into Zhang Zhicun’s eyes. He knew they understood each other—if facing the same situation, he too would choose death.
The tent fell into prolonged silence. Ying Huai stood helplessly, seeing Xie Queshan looking at Zhang Zhicun like this, not knowing what he was thinking—how could he agree to such an unreasonable request? Ying Huai wanted to speak to smooth things over, but heard Xie Queshan speak first.
“Fastest speed—how fast is that?”
Ying Huai was stunned. He hadn’t expected Xie Queshan to ask this question at this moment.
“Three days to report to court and obtain execution approval… after that, at most two days for reinforcements to enter the city.”
Xie Queshan didn’t answer, rising to leave the tent.
Everyone wanted to stop him, wanted to say something to him, but each person seemed frozen in place, unable to do anything.
The final decision could only be made by Xie Queshan himself. He probably needed some time.
But strangely, after leaving the tent, Xie Queshan’s mind seemed to stagnate. He knew he needed to make a decision, but he couldn’t think. His whole body was numb. He saw the weight crushing between his insignificant life and the grandeur of a city—the scales held completely unequal stakes. Did his decision even matter?
He could only have one choice.
He wandered under the absurd moonlight, at this moment only able to think of Nanyi, who had stubbornly covered his ears in front of everyone amid Lu Jinxiu’s sharp curses.
At this moment he very much wanted to see her, and so coincidentally, she happened to be waiting for him too.
He was too selfish. The moment he saw her, he unexpectedly felt very happy. People have the ability to deceive themselves. He briefly forgot what he would face after dawn, only enjoying being with her indulgently.
An absurd night belonging to a man about to die—finally he had time to think about “what Xie Queshan wanted.”
He wanted to solidly hold her hand and foolishly watch some sunrises and sunsets, to cycle through four seasons, to grip that real feeling tightly. He wanted to look into her eyes, gaze at her face.
Would she regret it?
He wouldn’t.
Even with such an ending, even leaving her with a lifetime’s wound, he didn’t regret falling in love with her.
But he hadn’t figured out how to say farewell. Several times he wanted to speak, but shamefully remained silent each time. Should he weep with her and promise to meet again in the next life? Or let her forget him and live well for the rest of her life? The people in this world who cared about him might be sad for a while without him, but ultimately would all find their own places. But he knew she depended only on him—she would have no other refuge.
Would she know? Actually, in every second facing her, he desperately wanted to live. How could he use the same old trick again? Every time leaving her a mess—he, this cowardly worthless man, had failed her too many times.
Wanting to speak but stopping himself, he held her until dawn, then still sent her away. Let her hate him—he should owe something, so he could find her in the next life.
May her return be the day of great victory—this was his final gift to her.
After watching Nanyi leave, Xie Queshan immediately received an unexpected letter.
Zhang Yuehui wrote carelessly in the letter: “Hearing my son faces many obstacles in battle, why not come to Shu to seek refuge with your old man? No matter who rules the world, from now on eat well and drink well without worries.”
Xie Queshan understood Zhang Yuehui’s reverse meaning—he had done enough, done his utmost as human affairs go and listened to heaven’s will. Why keep forcing himself? Why not cast aside everything and retire to Shu? For a moment, Xie Queshan actually felt some longing for the life he described. The gloom in his heart seemed dispelled by this irreverent letter, and he smiled as he wrote a reply.
“Boss Zhang has suspicions of stealing my wife—I must respectfully decline.”
Just as he prepared to send the letter, Song Muchuan burst into his tent and pressed the letter down.
“You and Nanyi going to Shu—I think that’s quite good.” Song Muchuan’s attitude was rarely firm.
“How did you become just like Zhang Yuehui?” Xie Queshan smiled, spreading a new memorial on the table himself and offering a brush. “My confession—you write it.”
Though already prepared, hearing him say this so definitively, Song Muchuan still couldn’t accept it and knocked away Xie Queshan’s hand. His expression was probably extremely fierce: “Impossible! At worst, we won’t defend Li Du Mansion.”
“Really not defend it?” Xie Queshan asked back, leaving Song Muchuan unable to say it righteously a second time.
Tears fell from his eyes.
This was fundamentally a choice with no choice.
Xie Queshan insisted on stuffing the brush into his hand: “I’m not at ease unless you write it.”
Song Muchuan clenched his fists, stubbornly refusing to take the brush.
“If you don’t write, I’ll knock you unconscious and write it myself,” Xie Queshan smiled at Song Muchuan, as if making a harmless joke. “But don’t think you can escape guilt toward me this way.”