Midday found them on a small plain pass. A light breeze rippled the grass, and the sun baked down, though not too intensely. The carriages stopped, soldiers began to stretch and water and feed the horses; the women settled in their carriage, the handmaiden served lunch to the Young Lady, and then they stepped out to stretch their legs.
Yunsheng, sitting on the ground next to one of the carriages, barely touched his bowl of rice. His gaze constantly slid toward Jihua, who was cautiously examining the surroundings and talking with her assistant. He understood: one must not show feelings in front of the entire squad, must not attract unnecessary attention.
At that moment, Houwei approached him. His comrade's face was serious, his gaze persistent. He sat down next to him, not saying a word immediately, as if choosing the right words.
"You're a fool," Houwei began quietly. "This will lead to nothing good."
Yunsheng tensed. Last night? His conversations with the Lady?
"What do you mean?" he asked cautiously, trying not to betray his thoughts and feelings.
"I see how you look at her and…" Houwei hesitated, shifting his gaze to the ground, then looked at his friend again. "If you act imprudently, you could harm both yourself and her."
Yunsheng felt his chest tighten. He knew Houwei was saying this not out of malice, but out of care. And despite his internal resistance, he understood that his comrade's words were true.
"I understand," Yunsheng replied quietly. "I will try to be careful."
Houwei nodded and stood up; his gloomy face did not change, but a slight anxiety flashed in his eyes.
The camp was struck quickly and without unnecessary words. Even the soldiers sensed it: tomorrow everything would change. By noon they would reach the Governor General's residence, and the journey, which had seemed long and dangerous, would end. But along with it, that rare, fragile space around them would end too.
The fire burned lower than on previous nights. The wind was cooler.
Yunsheng sat by the fire but barely saw the flames. His thoughts were far away—in words, glances, in every short moment spent near Jihua over these days.
The last night…
This thought would not let go. His mind raced, finding no peace. He knew: tomorrow she would become a stranger. Tomorrow her life would finally turn toward a place where there would be no room for him. And from this, it became heavy inside, as if something slow but inevitable was settling on his chest. On one hand, caution held him back; on the other, if he did not take the risk, he would regret it for the rest of his life.
He saw Jihua's carriage standing motionless. Inside—silence. He knew: she was not sleeping. He felt it as clearly as one feels the presence of a person behind one's back.
"I have no right, when Athit is Jihua, but neither can I let go."
Yunsheng clenched his fingers, then slowly unclenched them. He rose, took a step… and stopped.
That same night, Jihua lay staring into the darkness of the carriage. Sleep did not come. Yunsheng's face appeared before her eyes again and again, his voice, his gaze—calm, yet seeming to carry too much within it.
"Why does he seem so close to me? Why do I not want to pretend when I am near him?"
She feared tomorrow. Feared the road, feared the new life, feared that she was to become someone's wife without ever understanding what was happening in her own heart.
This is the last night when she can still just be herself… She slowly clenched her fingers on the fabric of the blanket. And the last night he is near.
Yunsheng sat by the fire until it had almost died out. He did not approach. Did not speak. Allowed himself not a single word.
Jihua never came out of the carriage.
They did not meet that night.
But both knew—this night was the heaviest of all. And the most memorable.
Dawn came too quickly. The sky was just beginning to lighten when the camp was already waking up. There was none of the usual bustle—people moved silently, as if everyone understood: today the journey ends.
Yunsheng stood by the fire, which had long since gone out. He had not slept. And had no need for sleep.
Today.
This word sounded in his head like a sentence.
He did not look toward the carriage until he heard a slight movement of the curtain. Jihua came out first, outwardly calm, but with that special expression people have before an important farewell.
She did not seek his gaze, but he found her anyway. Their eyes met for only a moment—briefly, cautiously, as if both were afraid to allow themselves more. In this look, there were no tears, no words. Only understanding.
This is it.
Houwei watched them from the side. He saw that look. Saw it too well. His face remained calm, but inside something clenched—heavily and painfully.
He turned away first.
The road took less time than it seemed. The Governor General's residence appeared around the bend, majestic, cold, as if it were the boundary between past and future itself.
The gates swung open. Soldiers lined up. Servants were already waiting. Jihua was helped out of the carriage. She stepped onto the ground slowly, as if this step finally separated her from her former life. Yunsheng stood motionless. He did not approach her; he could not. Passing by, she turned her head for a moment, and he did the same. Their eyes met for the last time. She was led away. Yunsheng watched her go until her slender figure dissolved among people and doors. Only then did he straighten up. Houwei stepped closer.
"They are waiting for you," he said quietly.
Yunsheng nodded. He did not look back again and went to the residence to report to the Governor General.
Behind him remained the road, the night, the moonlight, and the girl he loved in another life.
The hall was colder than outside. Yunsheng dropped to one knee without raising his head.
"Escort Commander Yunsheng reporting."
The Governor General did not answer immediately. Only after several moments did his even, heavy voice resound:
"Report."
Yunsheng spoke clearly: about the road, the squad, the order. Not a single unnecessary word. The General listened in silence, interrupting only occasionally with short, dry questions. In his gaze, there was neither interest nor approval—only assessment, like a man accustomed to looking at people as tools. When the report ended, silence hung in the hall again.
"Have You served long?" he asked.
"Since the age of sixteen."
"So you are accustomed to obeying."
"Yes, my Lord."
The General narrowed his eyes slightly.
"Remember, Yunsheng. In this world, it is not feelings that are valued. It is utility. People who forget this do not live long."
"You will do," the General continued. "You have no unnecessary emotions. Such people are easy to direct."
Yunsheng barely maintained a calm expression.
"Thank You for your trust."
The General rose slowly.
"You will remain at the residence. I will decide where to send you next."
Yunsheng bowed his head.
"As you command."
The General had already turned away, making it clear that the conversation was over. Yunsheng left the hall, maintaining an even pace, but inside he felt as if he had just looked into the future—cold, cruel, devoid of choice. And that was precisely why he became certain: he feared for her. Not because of words, but because of what kind of man this was.