Liang Yue stepped out of her room and into the courtyard.
And there—standing beneath the open sky—was Chen.
For a heartbeat, the world seemed to forget how to move.
Liang Yue froze where she stood. Her breath caught softly in her chest, as though her heart had suddenly remembered an old pain it had never truly let go of. Chen stood a short distance away, his posture calm, his shoulders relaxed, yet his eyes were no less still than hers. A faint smile rested on his lips—not bright, not bold, but gentle, as if it had been waiting there for a very long time.
Their gazes met.
In that single glance, words became unnecessary.
Liang Yue's eyes searched his face instinctively—his brows, his eyes, the familiar line of his jaw—afraid that if she blinked, he might disappear. Chen's gaze lingered on her just as quietly, carrying a softness that time had not erased. There was relief in his eyes… and something deeper, something unspoken.
A single thought echoed in Liang Yue's mind, over and over again:
He has come for me.
Only for me.
Before she could stop herself, her body moved ahead of her thoughts. She took a few quick steps forward, almost breaking into a run, and stopped right in front of him. Up close, his presence felt unbearably real. Warm. Alive.
Without warning, she threw her arms around him.
Her grip was tight, as if she feared he might vanish if she loosened it even slightly.
"Why did you take so long to come?" she asked, her voice trembling, half complaint, half longing.
Chen was startled for a brief moment. Then his hand lifted slowly, hovering in the air, unsure whether to return the embrace. His eyes softened further.
"I wanted to come much earlier," he said quietly. "But something held me back. For a reason I couldn't avoid." He paused, then added gently, "But I'm here now."
Liang Yue lifted her head and looked at him, a smile blooming through the moisture in her eyes. It was a smile filled with relief, with warmth, with a happiness so fragile it felt like it might break if spoken too loudly.
Chen looked at her for a long moment before asking, almost casually, as if testing the ground beneath his feet,
"The hairpin I gave you… did you keep it safely?"
Liang Yue's eyes lit up at once.
"Yes!" she said quickly. "I'll bring it right now."
She turned and hurried back into her room, her steps light, her heart racing. Kneeling beside her bed, she pulled out a small wooden box—the one she always kept close. Her fingers trembled slightly as she opened it.
But the box was empty.
Her breath stopped.
Her smile faded as panic crept into her chest. She searched the box again, then the table, then the corners of the room. Her movements grew hurried, almost desperate.
It's not here.
It was here… I know it was.
From outside, Chen's voice called her name.
She froze.
What should she say?
How could she face him without it?
Her chest tightened, and just then—
"Yue'er."
Her father's voice.
Liang Wenqing was calling her from the doorway.
Suddenly, everything shattered.
Liang Yue's eyes flew open.
Morning light filtered softly into the room. Her arms were empty. The courtyard was silent. Chen was gone.
Tears welled up before she could stop them.
It had only been a dream.
Chen had not returned.
Swallowing the ache in her throat, she answered her father and rose to open the door. Liang Wenqing stood there, calm and composed, asking her to go to the riverside forest and collect some medicinal herbs.
After he left, Liang Yue stood alone for a moment.
Then, suddenly, she remembered the dream—the missing hairpin.
Her heart began to pound.
She rushed back, opened the small wooden box once more—
And there it was.
The hairpin lay quietly inside, exactly where it belonged.
A shaky breath escaped her lips, as though life had finally returned to her lungs. She picked it up carefully and pressed it against her chest, holding it close to her heart.
As if holding onto him.
Standing by the riverbank, Zhao Ren kept kicking small stones into the water, one after another. The stones skipped briefly across the surface before sinking, just like the plans he had carefully built in his mind.
After watching him for a while, Han Bo finally spoke, his voice cautious.
"Your Majesty… what will you do about that shop now?"
Zhao Ren turned sharply and shot him an angry glance. The anger was not meant for Han Bo—yet every time the shop was mentioned, something inside Zhao Ren snapped. The word itself felt like salt on an open wound.
Han Bo immediately lowered his head.
"Forgive me," he said quietly.
Zhao Ren said nothing. Instead, he kicked the stones harder now, faster, his movements rough and restless.
"I thought Liang Yue would come to that shop," Zhao Ren muttered bitterly. "I thought within three or four days, I would win her heart. But every plan I made… failed."
Just then, both Zhao Ren and Han Bo noticed a familiar figure in the distance.
Liang Yue.
She was still far away, but she was walking in their direction.
Zhao Ren reacted instantly. With a quick gesture, he signaled the soldiers standing nearby to leave. Without hesitation, they obeyed their king's silent order and disappeared from the area.
As Liang Yue came closer, Zhao Ren stepped toward the edge of the river and suddenly raised his voice.
"I don't want to live anymore," he said loudly. "What is the point of living?"
Han Bo froze in shock. He rushed forward and stood in front of Zhao Ren.
"What are you saying?!" he whispered urgently.
Zhao Ren shot him a sharp look and gestured subtly—play along.
Then, raising his voice again, Zhao Ren cried out dramatically,
"Brother Bo, I want to die! I really want to die!"
Passing by the riverbank, Liang Yue heard his voice and stopped.
She turned and saw the clerk from the herbal shop—the man who had always seemed clumsy and quiet—now speaking of ending his life.
Zhao Ren gestured again, this time telling Han Bo to hold him tightly.
The next moment, Zhao Ren tried to throw himself into the river.
Han Bo grabbed him firmly, his arms locking around Zhao Ren as if his life truly depended on it. His voice trembled, thick with false tears.
"Brother, don't do this. Please don't!"
"What's the use of living like this?" Zhao Ren cried out. "After wandering for so long, I finally found a job—and now I've lost even that. What will happen to me and my sick mother? She can't work at all. She depends on others for everything. If she hears this news, she won't be able to bear it."
Han Bo was stunned by Zhao Ren's words.
Liang Yue, listening from the side, assumed that Zhao Ren's mother was disabled. Her heart tightened with pain—for him, and for the unseen mother he spoke of. Zhao Ren had chosen his words carefully, fully intending for Liang Yue to misunderstand.
Han Bo turned to Liang Yue and said, as if seeking her judgment,
"Please tell him—can a job ever be more important than a person's life?"
"Never," Liang Yue replied without hesitation. "Life is the most precious thing. As long as you are alive, you can always find another job."
Zhao Ren looked at her, his eyes filled with carefully crafted despair.
"A precious life belongs to someone like you," he said softly. "You heal the sick. As for me… forget becoming a physician. I couldn't even keep a simple job."
Then, as if overwhelmed by hopelessness, he struggled again, trying to jump into the river.
Liang Yue stood frozen, unsure of what she should do.
Suddenly, she spoke, her voice firm yet gentle.
"Stop," she said. "If you want to fulfill your dream, then you must stay alive."
At those words, a faint smile appeared on Zhao Ren's lips.
Liang Yue was standing behind him—she did not see it.
Only Zhao Ren knew.
He understood then that his plan had succeeded.