100. Mr., but the wind, flowers, snow, and moon have passed.

At the banquet, Yue Qingbo sat in silence, drinking his wine. He watched as Mo Yan moved gracefully among the guests, conversing with ease, a perpetual smile gracing his handsome features. Suddenly, it all seemed meaningless to Yue Qingbo.

He drained his cup in one gulp, stood up, and left the table without attracting much attention.

Returning to the courtyard where he was temporarily staying at the Xiao Mo residence, he instructed Feng Yue to start packing, intending to find an opportunity to speak with Mo Geyi and then return to the capital. Still, before he left, an unshakable thought persisted: he wished to see Gu Fei once more.

The thought became action. Seeing that it was still early and knowing Mo Geyi would not seek him out for a while, Yue Qingbo set off alone for the Gu household.

Gu Fei was in the ink room. Even upon hearing of his arrival, she did not come out to greet him but had someone lead him directly to her.

Thus, when Yue Qingbo arrived, he saw Gu Fei busily adjusting a delicate little scale, weighing ink ingredients. He did not interrupt her, only stood quietly at the door, watching her pale and earnest face, her movements deft and practiced, an arresting beauty radiating from her entire being.

He frowned. He had long known Gu Fei possessed skill in ink-making, but he had never understood the true extent of her talent. In the capital’s Mo family, the radiance surrounding Mo Qingge, celebrated as the city's greatest beauty, was so dazzling that few ever noticed Gu Fei. Moreover, Gu Fei rarely ventured outside the family estate. Even he only knew she could make ink, and assumed her talent was inferior to Mo Qingge's—after all, Mo Qingge was the eldest legitimate daughter of the Mo family.

"Fei, I've never asked you—what was your ink-making aptitude back then?" Remembering this, Yue Qingbo voiced the question.

Gu Fei’s hand paused over the grinding of powder. Without looking up, she resumed her task after a moment, her voice cool and detached. "Whatever it was, in the eyes of the world, it was not as good as Mo Qingge’s."

Hearing this, Yue Qingbo frowned, puzzled by her implication. "Qingge is the eldest daughter of the Mo family. It's no surprise she’s gifted. Still, since childhood, I’ve seen many ink pellets you’ve made. Your talent can’t be low. Even if you fall short, you shouldn’t belittle yourself."

A cold laugh escaped Gu Fei. She simply stopped working and looked up at him. Seeing the righteousness written across his strong, handsome face, resentment surged within her. "If that’s so, why are you asking me?"

Her anger was unmistakable, and Yue Qingbo, hearing it, was all the more confused, not knowing what he’d said wrong.

A mocking chuckle left Gu Fei’s lips. Her slender fingers, stained with ink, were dirty to the point her nails were hidden. She gazed down at her hands, a bitter irony in her heart. Mo Qingge would never let her own elegant fingers be sullied like this; those hands were meant for refined arts—music, chess, calligraphy, painting. Still, Gu Fei continued, "The world is foolish. I never expected anyone to see the truth. Not even you, Yue Qingbo. Your eyes are veiled; you see only what others wish you to see."

At this, memories of the past in the capital flooded her mind. In truth, her talent far surpassed Mo Qingge’s. Ten years ago, the Old Madam of the Mo family recognized her gift and brought her to the capital, publicly claiming she was a companion for Mo Qingge. Only much later did she realize that Mo Qingge was utterly devoid of ink-making talent. Gu Fei was merely a stand-in, ensuring Mo Qingge’s status as the legitimate eldest daughter. Every ink creation of hers, once presented, became credited to Mo Qingge. Her extraordinary talent, under the Old Madam’s manipulation, was claimed by another.

So, while other children still played, she was forced to memorize every formula in the Mo family’s collection. While Mo Qingge attended poetry gatherings and banquets, gaining fame as the city’s foremost beauty, Gu Fei wielded a hammer in the ink room, laboring over ink bases. In the end, every pellet she made became part of Mo Qingge’s glory, and all recognition and praise bypassed her entirely.

If that had been all—if the dirty dealings had been laid bare and the benefits made clear, she would have understood. The Mo family had countless recipes and rare materials; they never let her want for food or clothing, and from the day she entered their home, whether Mo Qingge’s affection was genuine or feigned, she was treated as a sister. Perhaps she would have willingly served as Mo Qingge’s shadow.

But it was all an illusion. The Mo family always feared she would one day be exposed. Mo Qingge, jealous of her childhood bond with Yue Qingbo, eventually dispensed even with pretense.

With a sharp crack, Gu Fei threw down the ink mold. Recalling all this, a surge of murderous rage threatened to overwhelm her; she wished she could drag the Mo family down from their centuries-old pedestal and let them taste the despair of utter ruin.

"You should go." She took a deep breath, her eyes closing slightly, unwilling to see Yue Qingbo.

Yue Qingbo stepped inside, seeing the darkness cloud Gu Fei’s face. "Fei, I came today to tell you I’ll soon return to the capital. Will you really not come with me?"

At his words, Gu Fei’s eyes flew open, instantly catching the implication she’d hoped for. "Mo Geyi is already in Yizhou?"

Though she already guessed as much, she could not help but confirm it with Yue Qingbo.

He nodded. "Yes. That’s why I must go back. Fei, come with me. Believe me, I won’t—"

"Qingbo!" Her voice was sharp as shards of ice. When he looked at her, she spoke in a tone both complex and uncertain. "Haven’t you understood? We can’t go back to how things were. Mo Fei no longer exists; there is only Gu Fei now."

"No, it shouldn’t be like this," bitter pain filled Yue Qingbo’s eyes, his noble brow and bright gaze full of longing. "Fei, don’t be like this. Didn’t we swear to grow old together? Without you, what has my life in the Mo family meant all these years?"

Gu Fei smiled silently, a smile steeped in bitterness. Did she not know why Yue Qingbo, with his own family in Yunli, stayed so many years in the capital’s Mo household? He claimed it was for the family business, but she knew she was the real reason.

"Qingbo," she called softly, her eyes bright as the morning, and slowly reached out. Her cool fingertips brushed his face—the strong lines, the shifting shadows, the warmth she cherished. "Go back first. Give me a year, two at most, and I’ll return..."

In the end, she could not bring herself to speak the words of finality, wishing to leave them both a sliver of hope, however illusory, for reconciliation. Perhaps she and Yue Qingbo would not end as enemies.

Hearing this, Yue Qingbo knew he should not press her further. He silently set aside his urgency. "Very well. Remember what you’ve said. I will stay in the capital for another two years. If you don’t return by then, I’ll come and take you back to the Yue family in Yunli myself."

He spoke as if in jest, but there was no more solemn promise. He knew that if two years passed without seeing Gu Fei in the capital, he would indeed do just that.

Gu Fei’s almond-shaped eyes curved in a smile, her lips soft and pale, as pure and fragrant as a white gardenia in bloom. "I remember."

For now, they had reached a fragile understanding, their conflicts buried beneath the surface, neither willing to disturb the peace. One day at a time was enough.

Soon after, Yue Qingbo left. Alone in the ink room, Gu Fei sat motionless for a long while. As dusk faded into night, she did not light a lamp but remained seated in stillness from sunset to moonrise.

At some point, You Hu arrived. He did not enter, merely leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, his peerless face full of disdain. "Foolish. If you don’t end it today, you’ll suffer for it in the future."

Gu Fei did not spare him a glance, as if she had not heard. After a long pause, she spoke in her faint, ethereal voice, "Sir, have you ever been swept up by passion?"

Surprised that the question was turned on himself, You Hu frowned, then quickly relaxed. "No. For women, it’s nothing more than a way to while away desire. Most of the time, long hair means short wit. At critical moments, it leads to disaster."

He paused, then added, "I once thought you were different, with your first-class cunning and decisive will, able to plan with the best of men. But today..."

He shook his head, saying no more.

"But today, I am still indecisive, entangled in sentiment, my heart softened." Gu Fei finished for him, fully aware of what You Hu meant to say.

In the dim light, You Hu curled his lip. Now and then, a breeze stirred his scholar’s robes, making him seem almost a celestial being, unreal and distant.

Gu Fei turned her head. Her black eyes shone with icy clarity, as if washed by countless torrents. At last, she spoke slowly, "Sir, have you considered that when I return to the capital, after a year or two away, many things will be unclear? But if Yue Qingbo is still willing to stand with me, he’ll give me everything he knows. That’s better than being completely in the dark."

Outwardly, it was calculation; privately, it was protection. If You Hu weren't as shrewd as Gu Fei herself, he might have been deceived by her words.

He chose not to expose her, only made a loose fist before his lips and laughed lightly. "Since you have a plan, it was presumptuous of me to speak."

With that, he took his leave. Yet as soon as he turned, the smile on his lips froze to ice. Gone for one or two years, and things would be unclear? She still needed to placate Yue Qingbo? At this, a vague anger surged within him. For Gu Fei to say so—where did that leave him? At the very least, he was still her adviser. If he could not even gather intelligence, how could he hope to help her?