I’m picking this up (๑•᎑•๑)
The thirty-fifth year of Qingxi, winter.
Gu Wuyou stood at the city gate, draped in a fox-fur cloak. On either side, the kneeling commoners lowered their heads, weeping inconsolably. Beside her stood many people—her crown prince cousin, her princess cousin, as well as her and Li Qinyuan’s family… Behind them, the officials wiped away their tears in silence.
This was a grand spectacle.
Such a scene had not been seen in many, many years—since the previous Duke of Wei, her father-in-law, fell in battle on the battlefield.
That time—
Gu Wuyou had still been in Langya and had not witnessed it personally. She had only heard that His Majesty had led the officials to stand before the long street, personally welcoming the general home amid the cries of the people.
It had been a winter day much like this one. The snow had fallen heavily, accumulating in thick layers on the ground. One step down would leave a deep imprint… Gu Wuyou had once loved such snowy days. She had loved standing by the window, holding Li Qinyuan’s hand as they admired the snow. She had loved reaching out her hand when he wasn’t looking, letting the snowflakes land on her palm and melt into water—then watching as he, indulgent yet helpless, wiped her hand dry. She had loved—truly loved—pouting and acting spoiled so that he would carry her on his back to the plum garden to pick the most vibrant plum blossoms.
But now—
There was nothing left.
So many people stood around her, yet the most familiar figure was absent.
Her husband, her great general—he would never again carry her on his back to pick plum blossoms.
Bai Lu held an umbrella for her at her side. She looked at Gu Wuyou’s face, calm as still water, seemingly wanting to say something. Yet after parting her lips slightly and hesitating for a few seconds, she said nothing in the end.
In truth, wasn’t everyone around Gu Wuyou desperate to speak to her?
They were all worried about her. Ever since the news of Li Qinyuan’s death arrived, Gu Wuyou had become as silent as if she had lost her voice overnight. She did not utter a word, nor shed a single tear.
She still woke up at the usual time, went to bed as usual, and handled the household affairs as if nothing had happened. Only her increasingly gaunt figure betrayed that she was not as indifferent as she appeared.
They would rather she cried—cried her heart out. That would be better than forcing herself to endure like this.
“He’s here…”
Someone murmured these words.
All eyes turned toward the city gate. For the first time in many days, the calm expression on Gu Wuyou’s face wavered. In a place where no one could see, her hand clenched into a tight fist. Her already sharp chin was even thinner now, her face taut, and her lips, chapped and purpling from the wind and snow, pressed into a hard line.
As if only by doing so could she keep her emotions from spilling over.
The first thing in sight was the national flag of Great Zhou. Further back, several battle banners bearing the character Li (李) came into view.
At this moment—
The banners, swept by the frigid wind, flapped fiercely in the icy expanse. Behind them was a pitch-black coffin, slowly pushed forward by silent soldiers. No one spoke. Even those who had been sobbing uncontrollably fell silent the moment the coffin appeared.
Gu Wuyou could see nothing else.
Her clear, cold eyes remained unblinking, fixed solely on that coffin.
It was now before the city gate.
The wheels came to a halt.
Fu Xian, covered in snow, stepped before Gu Wuyou and knelt on one knee. The once high-spirited man now had white snow clinging to his hair, making him look ten years older. Kneeling before her, his eyes were red, and his voice hoarse as he choked out:
“I…” His voice broke. “I failed to bring him back safely.”
Gu Wuyou did not respond.
It was as if she had not even heard him speak. Her gaze remained fixed upon the coffin.
Suddenly.
She moved.
“Madam…”
“Le Ping…”
No one knew what she was about to do, so they called out to her. But Gu Wuyou neither listened nor responded. She walked straight to the coffin. Dressed in mourning white, she seemed to blend into the vast expanse of heaven and earth. Yet the snow above did not cease falling. In just a short moment, a thin layer of snow had settled on her hair, and even her raven-feathered eyelashes were dusted with white, blurring her vision.
She did not say a word.
She simply reached out her hand and, inch by inch, brushed the snow off the coffin, wiping it clean.
But how could she possibly wipe it clean?
No sooner had she cleared one spot than another layer of snow would fall to cover it again. Her hands and face had long since gone numb from the cold, yet she seemed utterly unaware, continuing her movements as gently as if she were wiping the face of a beloved.
“Le Ping…”
Xiao Jingxing could not bear to watch any longer. He stepped forward, holding up an umbrella to shield her from the falling snow. With a soft sigh, he said, “Stop now.”
“Cousin.”
Gu Wuyou finally spoke.
It had been nearly ten days since she last uttered a single word. Her voice, when it came, was soft and hoarse.
“He liked to be clean. I cannot let him go home like this. He wouldn’t be happy.”
“Le Ping…”
Xiao Jingxing opened his mouth, as if to say something, but no words came out.
He could only watch her.
Everyone was watching her—watching this frail woman as she stood by the coffin, wiping it inch by inch, as though she were tending to the most precious thing in the world.
No one spoke.
The wind howled louder, as if someone were weeping.
Gu Wuyou’s long hair was tousled by the wind, yet she paid it no mind. Someone held an umbrella over the coffin. Then more people came, more umbrellas appeared—silent, solemn figures, all with reddened eyes, watching as she wiped the coffin clean.
Finally—
The coffin was clean.
A faint, serene smile appeared on Gu Wuyou’s delicate face. She rested her cheek against the coffin.
“Great General…” she murmured, “I’ve come to take you home.”
“We…” She spoke softly, her voice full of tenderness. “We are going home now.”
The cold wind howled.
Gu Wuyou stood beside the coffin, holding her umbrella. The people remained by her side, and the citizens of the capital knelt along the long street, welcoming their Great General home in this solemn, unwavering manner.
—
Li Qinyuan’s funeral was kept simple.
Throughout the preparations, everyone feared that Gu Wuyou would collapse, but she remained composed and clear-headed. She neither cried nor caused a scene—calm and steady throughout.
She received guests, selected the burial site, never revealing a single moment of weakness or despair.
—
After the funeral ended.
Fu Xian, dressed in mourning clothes, knelt before Gu Wuyou.
“How did he die?” she asked, her gaze lowered, her expression tranquil.
“He… He was already gravely wounded in the Battle of Yanmen Pass. Later, we were ambushed. He… he shielded me and was pierced through the heart by a rain of arrows.”
Fu Xian lowered his head, but he could not conceal the exhaustion that had aged him. His eyes were bloodshot, his hoarse voice laden with grief. The once proud and upright man now knelt with his back hunched, as if he could no longer bear its weight.
“If not for me… he wouldn’t have died.”
“He told me before,”
Gu Wuyou looked at him and spoke of something seemingly unrelated.
“You two grew up together. When you were children, you protected him often. So now, he protected you in death. I do not blame him.”
“Sister-in-law…”
Gu Wuyou raised her hand, cutting off his guilt-laden words. She only asked, “Did he leave any words for me?”
“When I reached him, he was already gone,” Fu Xian’s voice trembled. “But in his hand, he was clutching a sachet… tightly.”
With shaking hands, he retrieved a blood-stained sachet from his robe and handed it to her.
Gu Wuyou looked at it, her gaze flickering slightly. The hand resting on the table trembled ever so faintly.
For a long moment—
She finally reached out and took it.
This was the sachet she had given Li Qinyuan the year they were married. At that time, her embroidery skills were poor, and her stitches were uneven. She had always intended to make him a new one later. But he had stubbornly refused, never minding how crude it looked, and had carried it at his waist ever since.
The blood on the sachet had long since dried.
She clenched it tightly in her palm. She could almost picture him, in his final moments, holding onto it.
Even if he had not left her any last words, she could still guess what he would have said. He—he was the kind of man who, even in death, would make sure she was well cared for, ensuring she would never suffer. That was simply who he was—whether he was there or not, he would always leave her a path to retreat.
Outside, the wind and snow still had not ceased. Their howling only made the silence in the room feel even deeper.
She did not know how much time had passed—
Until she finally spoke. “You may leave now.”
Fu Xian still worried for her. After everything that had happened, this woman had yet to shed a single tear. But as an outsider, he could not linger any longer. He could only say, “I’ll have Bai Lu come in.”
With that, he turned and left to find Bai Lu. But before he could, he caught sight of Zhao Chengyou and his wife approaching.
The couple walked toward him, sharing an umbrella. Fu Xian and Zhao Chengyou exchanged a glance, but neither spoke.
Fu Xian despised Zhao Chengyou, but he had no right to stop him—after all, his wife was Gu Wuyou’s cousin.
So, he could only watch as the couple walked past him without a single sideways glance. Pressing his lips together, he continued on his way to find Bai Lu.
When they reached the tightly shut doors, Zhao Chengyou finally spoke. “Wait outside.”
His tone was indifferent, entirely unlike one addressing his own wife.
Wang Zhao’s sharp nails dug into the flesh of her palm. Her eyes flashed with hatred and resentment, but she suppressed her voice, though she could not suppress the bitterness in her heart.
“You’re really that confident?” Her tone was cutting. “That now that Li Qinyuan is dead, she’ll return to you?”
“She despises you. She has long since erased you from her heart. Even with Li Qinyuan gone, she will never leave with you!”
Zhao Chengyou’s expression darkened instantly. He turned his head abruptly.
The face that had always been as warm and gentle as jade was now grim and stormy, his hostility barely concealed.
“If you still want to be Lady Zhao,” he said coldly, “then shut your mouth.”
With that—
He no longer cared how she reacted and directly pushed open the door.
Wang Zhao stood there, watching as he turned away.
In that instant, she saw it.
He had wiped away all traces of his previous rage. His movements became gentle, his brows and eyes softened with tenderness—completely different from his usual false warmth.
This time, it was real.
Even his deep, phoenix-like eyes shone with an undisguised light.
She clutched her chest, her eyes red, watching as her husband, filled with anticipation and joy, stepped into another woman’s room.
The woman she called cousin.
She could already imagine how Gu Wuyou would react after hearing what Zhao Chengyou had to say.
Gu Wuyou must feel so proud.
She had schemed and fought to take Zhao Chengyou from her, spent years struggling to become Lady Zhao, and yet, in the end, she still had to watch her husband abandon her—
To chase after her.
How….utterly ridiculous.
The old door creaked, no matter how gently it was pushed open.
Zhao Chengyou carefully closed it behind him, as if afraid of disturbing the silence within the room—or perhaps afraid that the cold wind outside would chill her. Only after sealing off every last draft, only when no trace of cold air remained, did he finally call her name.
“Manman.”
He spoke softly, gently.
But his heart pounded with excitement, his face unable to hide the smile tugging at his lips.
He was elated to be able to stand so close to her again. His heart thudded wildly in his chest as he stepped forward, inch by inch. Yet as soon as he saw her standing by the window, holding Li Qinyuan’s memorial tablet in her arms, his brows furrowed. Still, his voice remained warm.
“The wind and snow are heavy outside. Why are you standing there?”
“You’ve come.”
Gu Wuyou seemed to have expected his arrival. She did not turn around, only speaking when he moved to close the window.
“Leave it open. I want to watch the snow.”
Zhao Chengyou’s hand hesitated midair.
But in the end, he yielded to her wish, withdrawing his hand and standing beside her.
The moment he saw her face clearly, he couldn’t help but be momentarily dazed…
So many years had passed. They had all changed under the weight of time.
Only she remained the same.
Time seemed to have treated her with particular kindness, leaving no trace upon her features. If anything, she was even more beautiful than when she had left him all those years ago.
“I remember,” Zhao Chengyou murmured, as if lost in the past.
“When it snowed, you used to curl up in my arms, making me move the chaise lounge to the window so we could sit together and watch the snow outside…”
Perhaps it was the memories of their past affection that overtook him, but his entire being softened. A smile curled at the corners of his lips.
“Manman,” he said, voice coaxing, “come home with me, won’t you?”
“Home?”
Gu Wuyou lowered her head, fingers tracing the name etched into the memorial tablet.
She chuckled lightly.
“I have no home anymore.”
Zhao Chengyou’s face darkened at once.
That day at the city gates, he had wanted nothing more than to pull her away from that coffin. But in front of so many people, he had held back.
Now, he had no more reason to restrain himself.
His voice carried a suppressed fury. “How could you not have a home? I’m still alive!”
Realizing his own outburst, he took a deep breath, forcing down the jealousy and resentment clawing at his heart.
Then, in a much gentler voice, he said, “Manman, I know I was wrong before. Give me another chance. Let’s start over, alright?”
“You don’t have to care about what others think. You don’t need to worry about their opinions.”
“I’ll treat you well. I’ll cherish you, hold you in the palm of my hand. I will spend my whole life loving you.”
The more he spoke, the softer his voice became.
His broad palm came to rest atop her head, stroking her hair inch by inch, as if she were a rare and precious treasure.
“Isn’t this what you always wanted? From now on, I’ll give up everything for you. No one else matters—only you. Whatever you desire, I will give it to you.”
Gu Wuyou looked at him, then slowly shook her head.
“It’s too late.”
Zhao Chengyou’s expression stiffened.
Seeing the anger flash in his eyes, she remained completely unafraid. Instead, she smiled.
“You always do this,” she said, voice light but sharp.
“Every time, you only realize your mistakes when it’s far too late.”
His face darkened further.
He opened his mouth, as if to argue, but no words came.
Gu Wuyou, as though she couldn’t care less about what he was thinking, turned away.
She let the wind and snow rush in, turning her gaze back to the plum blossoms outside.
“Before he died,” she said softly, “he told me that every winter, he would carry me on his back to pick plum blossoms. Even if we grew old, and he could no longer carry me, he would still hold my hand.”
She smiled.
Looking at the snow resting on her shoulders, then down at the thin layer of white covering the memorial tablet, she murmured with a quiet, wistful laugh:
“If the snow covers our heads, does that not count as growing old together?”
From behind her came the sound of grinding teeth—
Zhao Chengyou’s voice was hoarse with fury.
“You love him that much?”
Gu Wuyou smiled.
She thought back to their very first meeting—to the man who had stood before her with furrowed brows, saying, “You were always like this, taking your suffering in silence.”
She laughed and wept at the same time, heartbreak mingling with devotion.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I love him so much.”
“So much… I love him so much…”
She could no longer hold it in.
Tears slipped down her cheeks as she whispered, voice trembling, “So much… I love him so much.”
“Gu Wuyou!”
Zhao Chengyou’s furious voice rang out in the room.
“I forbid—”
But before he could finish his sentence, the woman standing before him—the one who had held her back so straight and tall—suddenly collapsed backward.
His breath hitched.
His body reacted faster than his mind, arms instinctively reaching out to catch her.
“What’s wrong with you?”
His voice was thick with confusion.
The words had barely left his mouth when he saw it—a thin line of blood seeping from the corner of Gu Wuyou’s lips.
Zhao Chengyou’s eyes widened in shock.
As if realizing something, his lips trembled violently.
“You…”
His eyes turned red.
Whether from fury or despair, even he could not tell. His shaking hand reached out to wipe the blood from her lips, but no matter how many times he wiped, the crimson stain would not go away.
It drove him mad.
He wiped, over and over, his movements frantic.
“Call a doctor! Hurry, bring me a doctor!”
The door was flung open.
Wang Zhao stood frozen in the doorway, staring blankly at the scene before her.
Then came Bai Lu’s scream—”Madam! What’s wrong?!”
Zhao Chengyou just held her, his eyes rimmed with red.
Over and over, he pleaded, “Don’t die…”
“Manman, don’t die. Don’t leave me.”
“I forbid you to die!”
But Gu Wuyou paid no heed to his voice.
She only clutched that wooden memorial tablet tightly against her chest.
Her consciousness was slipping, her mind hazy.
Somewhere between the blurring edges of reality, she thought she saw him—
Li Qinyuan.
He stood before her, his expression filled with helplessness and sorrow.
She suddenly smiled.
Raising a hand toward that familiar figure, she laughed softly.
“Great General, take me home.”
—-
TL: The author suggested this as the bgm for this chapter: https://youtu.be/7C-RgvZg-6Y?si=u2aIGQtElLM3x2tS