No one answered him but the rustling mountain wind. An Zi yuan merely stared at those two characters, repeatedly running his fingers over the ones he had himself carved, pressing harder with each pass, as though he wanted to carve them right through, into the soil, and embrace the bones of her body, asking her whether she had truly found peace. "Yun Rao, you've finally achieved your wish. Are you happy?" An Zi yuan still gazed at the characters beneath his fingertips, his voice calm yet faintly lifeless. No one responded, and he said nothing further—only continuing to trace her name, gently at times, then more firmly. Day after day, time slipped away in his silence. Under the shade of the trees not far away, Yun Qing Qing sighed deeply, his face already clouded with sorrow. Though he had never expressed any distress, all his deep grief had been held back, growing heavier with each passing moment, restrained yet unspoken. When she went out in the morning, she was afraid something would happen to him and wouldn't let him go alone. Yun Qingqin had always sent people to follow him. When he hadn't returned by the end of the day, she had to go herself to search for him. Today, the Emperor Yan Jing had also come out of the palace to look for him, only to find him staying here all day. "Zi-yuan... has he always been like this?" Gazing at that solitary figure, the Emperor asked, his voice strained. Once so refined and serene, the man now seemed enveloped in an inexplicable melancholy and loneliness—so deep it seemed to radiate from within, as if life had grown still and lifeless. "Yes," Yun Qingqin nodded lightly. Though she didn't know what to say. An Zi-yuan hadn't done anything to worry his family—he still went about his daily duties, busy when needed, resting when needed—but the quiet, deep melancholy that seemed to seep from his very bones always pierced her heart with a persistent ache. The Emperor lowered his gaze and fell silent. The sun dipped toward the western slope of the mountain, gradually fading as the last glimmers of sunset receded. As the vast night began to envelope the earth, An Zi yuan seemed entirely unaware, maintaining his posture without a single movement. Yun Qingqing sighed and approached, "Let's go back." Emperor Yanjing stared at Lin Zheng, asking in a low, slightly impatient voice. At that moment, he truly intended to take Yun Rao's life—both to send a clear message to Yun Ze, who was currently in a state of agitation, and to completely free An Ziyuan from Yun Rao. If a man gave up his life for a woman, then that woman could not remain. He watched her hold the cup of poisoned wine, her brow untouched, her expression calm as she prepared to drink it, as though the wine in her hands were merely plain water. Such composure made him hesitate. When the cup touched her lips, he spilled the wine. He had heard the physician say she was deeply poisoned and unlikely to survive. So he decided to send her out of the palace, letting her fend for herself. Her survival was a blessing; if she did not make it, it would simply be because she had no fate in common with An Ziyuan, whose health could not be burdened by her illness. He sent people to escort her and her two attendants out of the palace and arranged for the burning of the celestial prison—also hoping that the blaze might save one woman, the one who had attempted to assassinate him, who, by law, should have been executed, yet whom he now harbored a deep, unyielding resentment for. He had originally dispatched officials to monitor the three of them continuously, precisely to prevent a recurrence of today's incident. Yet he had not anticipated that, within just one month, she would have escaped, vanishing completely from his sight, even though he had sent search parties throughout the entire half-year, and still could not find her. "Your Majesty," the flat physician said, bowing his head and lowering his gaze, "I believe that when Miss Yun left, the toxic residue within her body had not yet been fully cleared. Now, nearly a year has passed. I fear she may have already passed away." A young woman, alone in the outside world, carrying a child and burdened with a severe illness, would surely have faded away long ago. In such a search, like fishing for a needle in a haystack, it would be difficult to know when the quest might finally conclude. As for the Emperor Yan Jing, how could he not know the underlying uncertainty in his heart? Should An Ziyuan one day discover that it was he who had been quietly orchestrating everything, the entire state would surely fall into chaos. He hadn’t doubted the fire incident at all—only that he had handled it with flawless precision, leaving An Ziyuan unable to find any evidence. Aside from the day after the fire, when he nearly slew him with a single sword stroke, Emperor Yan Jing had not set foot in the palace for the entire year. No matter how many imperial edicts he issued, it was clear he no longer regarded the Emperor as anything more than a mere figurehead. Yet, paradoxically, An Ziyuan simply could not manage him. "You may all retire now," said the Emperor, weary, propping his forehead with his hand. He dismissed everyone in the room. With a half-closed gaze, he reached again for the medicine beneath the imperial table—cloud Rao’s medicine, left behind the day before, which she had specifically instructed him to give to An Ziyuan. He had the flat physician examine him and knew exactly what was involved. He had several times intended to administer the medicine to An Ziyuan, but with no update from Yun Rao, he remained hesitant—afraid that if the medicine was given here, Yun Rao might find him and, even more so, that An Ziyuan would notice the medicine when drinking it and press him to reveal its origin. His mind often returned to the image of him, in the late afternoon, standing alone before a solitary tomb, his figure slender and weathered, a scene that unsettled him deeply, making it impossible to find peace. Holding the medicine in his hands, he felt as though it were scalding—willing to set it down, yet unwilling to let go. This very burden he had created for himself now seemed impossible to ignore. With a firm bite of his teeth, Yan Jing Emperor collected the medicine and the next day summoned An Ziyu to the palace, instructing her to administer it to An Ziyuan’s tea. An Ziyu was unaware that Yun Rao might still be alive, and seeing An Ziyuan in this condition, she felt deeply distressed and agreed. In the afternoon, An Ziyu sent someone An ZiMo pushed the door open and set the soup down on his table, then called out, "Bro." An ZiYuan came back to himself, turned to look at her, his expression calm and composed. "How come you managed to come by today?" An ZiMo frowned slightly, clearly unimpressed. "I've been back for several days now. You'd think with your memory, you'd remember that." She sighed, not pressing further, picked up the soup, and poured a bowl for him, speaking softly. "I heard from Mom that you've been eating less lately. I asked the kitchen to prepare a gū soup—have it warm and drink a little while it's hot, to strengthen your body." An ZiYuan glanced at her, his lips curling slightly into a smile. "You're just listening to Mom's nonsense. You two always go out of your way to worry. I'm fine." Yet he still reached out and took the soup she offered. An ZiMo watched the smile playing at his lips, her heart aching, almost to tears. "Bro, why do you have to keep burdening yourself like this? It's already been a year. By now, even An Zi yuan paused slightly, lowering his gaze, his expression calm and almost indistinct, his tone equally gentle: "I know I've worried you." This was the first time An Zi yuan had spoken so much with his family. An Zi Mo watched him slowly blowing on the hot soup, and couldn't help asking about Yun Rao: "Brother... what's your sister-in-law like?" Though they hadn't married yet, since An Zi yuan had already included Yun Rao in the family ancestral graves, An Zi Mo had begun calling her "sister-in-law." An Zi yuan remained silent for a while, his grip on the spoon tightening. An Zi Mo glanced at his hand, regretting her earlier interruption, and quickly urged, "Brother, don't worry—just drink your soup first. It'll get cold if you wait." An Zi yuan gently exhaled, then looked up at An Zi Mo: "A very beautiful, kind, yet rather pitiful woman." "With that, a gentle smile played at her lips—a deep sense of self-mockery. Her own vulnerability had been carefully cultivated by him. Each time, he had personally driven a sharp blade into the wounded heart of hers, until even heaven could no longer bear it. Anzi mo's eyes glistened as she watched Anzi yu's smile, her chest growing heavier with each passing moment. "Brother, let's set this aside and have some soup first." Anzi yu smiled softly again, shook his head slightly, and remained silent, taking a spoonful of soup. Anzi mo nearly held her breath, watching as he brought the soup to her lips, only to see his face suddenly change—his expression stiffened, and with a sharp "thud," he set the bowl down on the table. His lifeless black eyes transformed into two sharp, piercing blades, fixed directly upon Anzi mo. "Where did this medicine come from?" Startled by his sudden outburst, Anzi mo still managed to feign ignorance. "What medicine?" The Huanjing Emperor had clearly stated that the medicine was colorless and flavorless—how could that be? "Anzi mo!" As the words fell, An Zi yuan's hand shot out, seizing her throat, his voice deep, even with a barely perceptible tremor. "Where did this medicine come from?" "Zi... Zi Mu gave it to me," An Zi mo said, opening her mouth instinctively under his sharp gaze. The moment the words escaped, her throat loosened, and when she regained her composure, An Zi yuan was already gone.