Old man, why are you here?

Evening. Imperial Palace. Imperial Garden.

The pavilion in the Imperial Garden was the perfect place to admire the moon. Gazing at the starry sky and moon reflected in the shimmering lake, it felt as though there were two heavens. One’s worries seemed insignificant when compared to the vast and proud night above—so trivial, in fact, that they hardly warranted a thought. Since her troubles were so inconsequential, why should she let them burden her? Unable to sleep, Hui Yue’er wandered out for some fresh air and, without realizing it, found herself in the Imperial Garden. With her mastery of martial arts, it was effortless to avoid detection by the patrolling guards. Standing in the pavilion, she sometimes raised her eyes to the sky, sometimes gazed down at the lake. Then she smiled to herself, thinking, How foolish—why dwell on so much? After all, I don't have more troubles than there are stars in the sky! Thinking of the stars, Hui Yue’er couldn’t help but glance at the bracelet on her wrist.

Suddenly, a deep male voice emerged from the darkness: “Little girl, why are you here all alone?” Any ordinary girl would have been frightened and fled, but today he encountered Hui Yue’er—an entirely different matter.

Imperial Palace. Thatched Cottage.

After so many years roaming the martial world, Hui Yue’er was no stranger to the art of transmitting one’s voice over a distance—such a skill required powerful inner strength. She quickly discerned the direction from which the voice came and, employing lightness skill, flitted across to a modest courtyard. Above the doorframe hung a plaque inscribed, “Thatched Cottage.” Curiosity piqued, Hui Yue’er pushed open the door. Inside, she found a simple courtyard and a somewhat dilapidated tiled house—so out of place amid the splendor of the palace.

She moved toward the lit room, treading softly, pondering: Is this the Cold Palace? But that couldn’t be—how could there be a man in the Cold Palace? Besides, it wasn’t supposed to be this small, and there were no guards. It felt more like an abandoned house. Who, then, lived here? Filled with questions, Hui Yue’er pushed open the door. Her courage was indeed remarkable—any other girl would have hidden, not dared enter.

Inside, she saw the back of a man. He was well aware of her arrival, calmly sipping his tea, before saying in a measured tone, “You’re quite brave, young lady.” He exuded an air of inscrutable wisdom.

Hui Yue’er sat down opposite him and, upon closer inspection, realized he was the eccentric old man she’d once met at the Qin-Se Teahouse. Delighted, she burst out laughing, “Old geezer, what are you doing here?” It felt like meeting a familiar face in a strange land.

The old man glanced at her and said, “Little girl, are you here to become a royal consort as well?” His mood was unreadable. He was Xuanyuan Ren’s uncle, also his uncle-in-law, named Yang Jinshun. Once falsely accused and placed under house arrest by Xuanyuan Ren’s father, he’d spent three years here with Xuanyuan Ren’s aunt. After her death, Xuanyuan Ren restored his innocence. Yet Yang Jinshun was reluctant to leave, so Xuanyuan Ren granted him the Thatched Cottage, allowing him free access to the palace.

Pouring herself a cup of tea, Hui Yue’er took a sip and said, “I never imagined there’d be such a cozy spot in the palace. Do you live here alone?” She didn’t answer Yang’s question; from her demeanor, she was clearly not here to become a royal consort.

Yang shook his head. “There’s someone else—my wife.” Seeing Hui Yue’er glance around curiously, he smiled and tapped his chest. “She’s here, forever in my heart.” How deeply devoted he was.

Hui Yue’er understood and grinned, “Old man, who exactly are you? How can you live freely in the palace?” She spoke with a natural casualness, not out of disrespect, but because she felt no distance between them.

Yang looked her over and countered, “You find it odd, do you? That there’s such a place and such a person in the harem?” The two began exchanging riddles, but after a moment, Yang relented, “My surname is Yang. Just call me Old Yang from now on.” It was nice to have a young companion to keep him company.

Hui Yue’er agreed readily, “Alright, Old Yang. I’m Hui Yue’er. From now on, we’re friends. If I ever get into trouble, you must help me!” She could tell at a glance that Old Yang was no ordinary man—anyone who could come and go freely from the palace, and possessed such profound inner strength, surely had a remarkable background. No doubt she’d need his help someday, so she reserved the right in advance—he’d have no excuse to refuse.

Old Yang regarded this clever girl and asked, “Hui girl, are you here to become a consort?” His nephew, it seemed, was every bit as stubborn as his father—like father, like son.

Hui Yue’er sighed, “It’s just my bad luck. I saved the Emperor once, and he insisted I enter the palace. But he promised: if, after three months, I still wish to leave, he’ll let me go.” Seeing that the moon was now high overhead, Hui Yue’er hurriedly said, “I must go back, or my sister will worry. I’ll come have tea with you again!” With that, she rushed off, while Old Yang watched her retreating figure with a thoughtful, meaningful smile.

Ladies and gentlemen, young and old, and all those in between—shower me with your gold medals, red envelopes, and gifts! Don’t hold back; let the wild storm rage ever fiercer!