One year later, in the early morning, the warm, gentle sunlight of spring poured down, casting a serene and peaceful atmosphere over the An Family's estate—yet a sense of heaviness lingered, a feeling that had persisted since the beginning of the year. An Zimo had returned to the estate for a brief stay today, and she had done so frequently over the past year. At breakfast, An Ziyuan still hadn't appeared, deepening the already somber mood. After a moment's thought, An Zimo set down her chopsticks and spoon. "Father, Mother, I'll go and fetch my brother." "No," Yun Qingqing gently stopped her, "Today is your sister's memorial day. Don't disturb him." An Zimo remained silent, quietly picked up her utensils to eat, her mind still preoccupied with An Ziyuan, and she found the meal rather unappetizing. She had never imagined that her elder brother, born to fellow citizens, would transform so dramatically because of a woman. It wasn't that he had grown cruel or withdrawn—rather, he had entirely changed. Once a celestial immortal from heaven, he now seemed to fade into mere vapor. The person remained the same, visible yet elusive, as if only a hollow shell remained, ethereal and intangible. That day, when the fire broke out in the imperial prison, she was also in the palace. Upon arriving at the scene, she saw An Ziyuan rushing wildly toward the flames, unyielding despite the steady stream of attendants trying to hold him back. In the end, it was only when she seized the moment and struck him unexpectedly that she managed to knock him unconscious and calm his frantic behavior. He didn't stay unconscious for long and woke up soon afterward, ignoring the pain in his neck and staggering toward the door. An Zi Mo didn't know what had happened. At first, she had knocked him out to prevent him from moving, and only later, when he was unconscious, she asked Unchanging about the situation—only to learn that her future sister-in-law had also been imprisoned in the Heavenly Prison. But the great fire had already reduced the entire prison to ashes, and not a single convict had survived. She had no idea that He Suowan was still alive, nor that An Ziyuan held such deep feelings for her. That day, however, she had seen An Ziyuan lose control—dazed and wandering among the bodies, each one unrecognizable, searching back and forth, until finally, at a woman’s corpse nearly reduced to ash, he tore at the body with frantic energy, as if driven mad. An Ziyuan didn’t know what he had seen—only that his tall frame shook violently, nearly collapsing, and on his refined, ethereal face, she had never seen such utter despair, a profound sense of disbelief and sorrow that enveloped him completely. That despair had spread from that day and lingered through to today. For the past year, he had scarcely spoken or smiled. His only speech had been to raise his sword toward Emperor Yanjing, nearly severing the emperor’s head. Yun Qingqing’s single breath of sigh pulled An Ziyuan back from that memory. She looked at Yun Qingqing, who in turn gazed at An Mu Chen, "You'd better think of something. Can you just let him suffer like this?" As a mother, seeing her own son deteriorate, she felt deeply concerned, yet she could do little—she hadn't even met the girl named Yun Rao before she suddenly vanished. The fire had severely shaken An Zi Yuan, whose already frail body, weakened by blood loss, collapsed right then. He lay unconscious for over a week, half-dreaming, half-aware, constantly calling out Yun Rao's name in a low, broken voice. With each whisper, it felt like a heavy blow striking her heart, each one aching deeply at the very core. He regained consciousness after half a month, and appeared much better physically, yet grew increasingly quiet and cold. He spent most of the day in a daze. They moved him back to his villa in Weizhou, where Yun Qing and An Mu Chen stayed with him to keep an eye on him. He showed no obvious signs of distress, merely often staring at one spot, growing increasingly distant and hazy in his gaze as the duration of his gazing lengthened. A deep, unrelenting sorrow permeated his entire being. What kind of woman could have transformed him into this state? Yun Qing gazed at An Mu Chen, who sighed, set down his bowl and chopsticks, and looked at her. "There's truly nothing we can do about this. That profound sense of utter hopelessness—no one else can truly comprehend it." As someone who had experienced it firsthand, the feeling was deeply etched into his memory, indelible throughout his life. Fortunately, back then, Yun Qing had only been out of the way for a brief half-month due to Yun Zhihan's mismanagement. But An Zi yuan was different—his life had been completely extinguished in that great fire, and he had already been laid to Yun Qingqing glared at him, "Are we really going to let him just continue like this?" "Bro!" An Zimo suddenly called out. Yun Qingqing and An Mu Chen instinctively turned toward the door. Upon hearing the sound, An Ziyou glanced back and softly said, "I'll be out for a while." He was already gone. He slowly knelt down before the tomb, his palm gently caressing the characters "Yun Rao" inscribed on the stone slab, brushing back and forth as if touching not the cold, rigid tomb, but rather the delicate contours of her face. "Yun Rao," he called her name, each utterance sending a sharp, piercing ache deep into his chest.