What a splendid east wind, bringing a hundred flowers into bloom.

April in Guangling is often rainy; the fine drizzle is as precious as oil, and the east wind brings a hundred flowers into bloom. Xu Guiyi walked alone beneath her umbrella on the long street. Ahead, after a turn, lay the Marquis Cheng’s estate; a little further on stood the sealed gates of the Wu Jing Marquis’s residence, closed for many years.

Someone had arranged to meet her here. She moved forward, forlorn, the sound of rain pattering softly. Her heart was lost in confusion, uncertain and helpless.

So be it—what must be faced cannot be avoided. She entered through the side gate, slipping smoothly into the Wu Jing Marquis’s residence. The courtyard, desolate yet familiar, blurred amid the rainfall, the water washing away the old scenery before her and pushing open the door of memory.

Xu Guiyi raised her umbrella higher, and saw more clearly the bricks and tiles, the grass and trees, the people and shadows before her. The clarity of light and shadow in the sparse rain, a gust of wind, a falling leaf, a speck of dust—all were illuminated with sharp brightness. A green cloak, a pale jade umbrella, a beauty turned to face her: lotus-like features, phoenix eyes; the world around was tranquil. Black and white, clear as day—this was the world Xu Guiyi longed for.

Her eyes were cold and resolute, her spirit unsteady; rain dampened her crow-black lashes, which lifted slightly, and in her gaze lingered distant memories, deep as snow collecting in a well, frost upon a windowsill. Raindrops fell before her umbrella; Xu Guiyi blinked, and her eyes returned to their usual calm, dark as a thousand-fathom pool.

The beauty glanced back, her almond eyes lowered, a tassel brushing her brow, her voice as melodious as pearls rolling on jade: “Azhao, it has been so long. Do you still remember me?”

She had slipped up, after all. She had deceived the Emperor and Empress, had concealed herself from Fu Lancheng and so many others, but she could not fool Cheng Hewei.

Xu Guiyi had been lost in thought, silent for a while before she smiled faintly. “You called me here in the rain just to speak of this? Hewei, we could have discussed it in the Eastern Palace as well.”

She neither argued nor admitted, nor did she panic—she always had a way out.

Unwilling to speak in the rain, Xu Guiyi walked several paces, ascended the steps, closed her umbrella, and stood beneath the eaves, gazing at Cheng Hewei with a touch of melancholy in her eyes.

Cheng Hewei followed, closed her umbrella, and took Xu Guiyi’s as well, placing them together in the corner. She had thought that seeing Pei Zhaojin again would make her happy, excited, even overwhelmed or flustered. Yet, when the moment came, she was astonishingly calm.

The eaves sheltered them from the rain, droplets falling steadily to the ground with a deep, clear sound—could water truly wear away stone?

“Is it true that Zhang Wei died in the southern frontier?” Xu Guiyi wasted no time with pleasantries.

Cheng Hewei was taken aback by her directness, paused for a moment, then nodded: “I heard he died of sudden illness. Zhang Wei betrayed his lord for glory; his death is no loss.”

Sudden illness? How convenient!

“Azhao, since you’re still alive, why didn’t you contact us? Did you not trust us?” Cheng Hewei’s voice trembled with pain.

Xu Guiyi pressed her right hand to her brow, collecting her cool composure, and answered gently: “So, the Marquis Cheng also believes the Pei family was wrongly executed?”

She needed to know if Cheng Hewei’s position was aligned with her family’s.

Cheng Hewei’s expression wavered. Her empty hands instinctively tried to grasp something, but standing in the rain so long had stiffened her fingertips, leaving her unable to move. She steadied her racing heart and said with effort, “Since General Feihong died, Fourth Uncle has led the troops in the northern border and hasn’t returned, except when Grandmother passed away…”

A non-answer was answer enough. With that single sentence, Xu Guiyi understood Marquis Cheng’s position. Over these years, Cheng Jingyun had become the emperor’s chief confidant; she had always known it would be so.

At the time, Wen Xianqing had told her that if she continued to investigate Zhang Wei, she would inevitably find herself probing into Marquis Cheng’s affairs. Cheng Jingyun was not as incompetent as Zhang Wei; if she pursued him, her own identity would surely be exposed.

“Azhao…” Perhaps feeling the chill, Cheng Hewei suddenly embraced Xu Guiyi from the side, her voice choked by emotion—the agony of loss and recovery.

Once, they had been childhood companions, the Pei and Cheng families close as kin. Cheng Hewei was two years younger than Pei Zhaojin, but having lost her parents early, she matured quickly. In their youth, adults often remarked that Second Miss Cheng, though young, was steadier and more sensible than Pei’s unruly son.

One year, when Madam Cheng celebrated her birthday, General Feihong happened to return from the northern border, bringing Pei Zhaojin to pay respects. The hall was filled with friends and relatives, joking that the Pei and Cheng families had been close for years; since the match between General Feihong and Marquis Cheng never came to be, perhaps their children and grandchildren could be joined, fulfilling Madam Cheng’s long-held wish.

General Feihong laughed and drank three cups, saying only that he wished to adopt Cheng Hewei as his goddaughter, and never mentioned anything further. Yet the jest, though careless, lingered in the heart; the young Cheng Hewei thought, if only she could play and live with Azhao every day, she would be willing to marry him.

Those memories, when recalled, still echoed in her ears. Yet her Azhao had become a woman, a peerless beauty, consort to the Crown Prince.

How absurd!

The rain gradually eased. Cheng Hewei lifted her head from her reverie. Xu Guiyi wiped away the tears from the corner of her eye, her gaze flickered, stirring ripples in her heart. She gently touched Cheng Hewei’s stray hair and said earnestly, “Thank you, Second Miss Cheng, for your concern all these years. The Pei family is deeply grateful. But I… am not Pei Zhaojin.”

A drop of rain fell crisply into the hollow of the flowerbed, cold and clear.

“No, you are Azhao. We grew up together. Your brow, your temperament, your preferences, every gesture—no matter how you try to change, I can still sense it. You are the Azhao I once knew.” Cheng Hewei spoke rapidly, desperate to confirm that the person she held was indeed her Azhao.

Xu Guiyi let herself be held, her gaze cool and distant: “Because our faces are similar, our tempers align, our preferences match—so you are certain I am Pei Zhaojin?” Was that not enough?

Cheng Hewei suddenly felt her arms weaken; she was gradually loosening her embrace.

“Do you know why I so closely resemble Pei Zhaojin?” Xu Guiyi’s voice was cold, so cold it discouraged closeness.

Why, indeed? Cheng Hewei was stunned, her body icy, her eyes wide, tears threatening to fall.

Xu Guiyi was slightly taller than Cheng Hewei; she looked down into those moist phoenix eyes, “Because… my birth mother… gave birth to twins.”

Twins—so that was the truth?

Cheng Hewei abruptly pushed Xu Guiyi away, recoiling two steps. She stared at her as if she were a stranger.

“As you suspect, our birth mother was someone else—not General Feihong. We were born together, but since he was a boy, the vast Pei household needed an heir, so he was taken in by the Pei family. I, weak at birth, was raised in a temple, neglected and forgotten.” Xu Guiyi’s tone was icy, leaving Cheng Hewei no room for hope.

Cheng Hewei trembled uncontrollably, her voice hoarse with anguish: “Impossible, impossible, impossible!” Why must it be so? As she drew closer to Xu Guiyi, step by step confirming she might be Azhao, she was both sorrowful and secretly delighted.

She grieved that her Azhao had become a woman, could never openly marry her.

She rejoiced that even if her Azhao was a woman, it mattered not—so long as she returned, so long as she was Azhao.

But the person before her told her she was merely Pei Zhaojin’s twin sister, not Pei Zhaojin.

“Hahahahaha! I must be mad! I thought my Azhao had returned, that Heaven had pity on me, that my Azhao had not died, but come back safe and sound…” But reality showed her that Heaven pities no one. It showed no mercy to Pei Zhaojin, nor to Cheng Hewei. “Hahahahaha!” Cheng Hewei’s face twisted, her laughter wild and terrifying, tears falling uncontrollably.

Xu Guiyi reached out to steady her, but her hand stopped in midair. She, too, wished to go mad with Cheng Hewei, to weep together, to cry out to the heavens—why must fate be so cruel?

She, Fu Lancheng, and Cheng Hewei had once been the dearest of friends, growing up together, destined to accompany one another until old age. But behind them were their clans, the court, and countless secrets and conspiracies they could never voice—they could never truly be themselves.

The happier the youth, the deeper the sorrow that followed.

Within just a few days, after the dual questioning from Cheng Hewei and Nangong Mingchen, Xu Guiyi felt as if the entire city of Guangling was filled with watchful eyes, following her day and night, giving her no space to breathe. Fortunately, in a few days she would accompany the Empress to Five Elements Mountain to pray for blessings. The quiet years in the mountains should help her restore her scattered heart.

After returning from the Wu Jing Marquis’s estate, Cheng Hewei locked herself in the East Jade Hall, refusing to see anyone. Lu Zhirou, unaware of what had happened, came looking for Xu Guiyi, but she could not tell her the truth, merely offering another excuse.

She asked her to help embroider a few sachets for offering before the Buddha. Lu Zhirou busied herself with the task and had no time to concern herself with Cheng Hewei’s seclusion.

On the eve of her journey to Five Elements Mountain, Xu Guiyi visited the Cheng’en Duke’s estate, to see Duke Cheng’en Xu Da and the heavily pregnant Xu Zhuning.

“When you give birth, I ought to be at your side, but Her Majesty is growing old and needs someone to care for her,” Xu Guiyi said gently.

Xu Zhuning’s voice was soft: “I am well in Uncle’s estate; your duties are more important.”

Xu Guiyi smiled, asked Wen Jing about Xu Zhuning’s daily meals, and gave many detailed instructions. “You’ve been sitting most of the day. Tomorrow I leave for Five Elements Mountain and need to check my preparations. You should rest well,” Xu Guiyi said, rising to take her leave.

Just then, Xu Zhuning called out urgently, “Third Sister!”

Xu Guiyi turned back. “Yes? What is it?”

Xu Zhuning waved her hand, signaling Wen Jing and the others to wait outside. Only the two of them remained in the room; clearly, there was something private to discuss. Xu Guiyi sat down again, curious.

Xu Zhuning hesitated, embarrassed. “Third Sister, regarding the events of the past, I apologize on Fourth Sister’s behalf.”

Xu Guiyi: “…”

Her heart turned; so that was what she wanted to say.