Ah, your Yueqing Harbor.

Le Qingbo strode in with an air of serenity. Today, he wore splendid garments, cloud-patterned silk shoes, and in his hand he idly caressed a jade pen-carving at his waist, exuding noble elegance from his brows and gaze.

He swept his eyes roughly around the room, and when he looked up, the jade pen-carving slipped from his grasp. “Ah Fei…”

Her face, seldom touched by sunlight, was pale as snow and delicately beautiful; only her clear, lacquer-black eyes stood out—so strikingly lovely that one could never forget them at first glance. Even the habitual coolness at her pale lips made him feel a dreamy sense of unreality.

Le Qingbo took a deep breath, closed his eyes, then opened them again. The figure who had haunted countless nights of his dreams was still there, just a few yards away, gazing at him in silence. She was not vanishing, as she always did when his dreams dissolved at dawn.

He pushed aside Wang Huaiyuan, who stood in his way, and took a difficult first step—then walked faster and faster, finally bounding up the stairs in a few strides—

“Sir, please mind yourself.” Before Feng Lizhi could move, You Hu acted more swiftly, sidestepping to block Le Qingbo.

Le Qingbo’s handsome brows furrowed, impatience and anger flared within him, and the arrogance of a noble scion surfaced as he barked coldly, “Move aside!”

You Hu remained unmoved, his lips curled in a slight smile, his long phoenix eyes narrowed, regarding Le Qingbo’s imposing air as nothing.

Curiously, Feng Lizhi now found You Hu more agreeable. He leaned on the stair rail, blocking the other side, and said, “Sir, if you wish to go upstairs, please calm yourself. This place is narrow—if you bump into something, it would be unfortunate.”

He could easily see the odd tension between this man and Gu Fei, but as long as Gu Fei said nothing, he would stubbornly shield her. In his eyes, Gu Fei’s ink-making skills earned his respect, but aside from that, he never forgot she was a frail young woman, shunned for being an illegitimate child, and unloved at home. He often felt pity for her and was willing to protect her whenever he could.

Le Qingbo felt anger surging in his chest. The hand half-hidden in his sleeve clenched and relaxed, as he forcibly suppressed a multitude of urgent, restless, longing emotions. He steeled his face and bowed, saying, “I am Le Qingbo of the Le family from Yunli Kingdom, an old acquaintance of the lady behind you, whom I have searched for a long time. This unexpected meeting has left me flustered. Please, grant me passage.”

For someone of Le Qingbo’s status, these words were already humble. After all, he was the second son of the prestigious Le family, renowned for their brush-making, and the current queen of Yunli Kingdom was also from the Le family.

The Le family was as illustrious as the ink-making Mo family in the capital—a century-old lineage.

Feng Lizhi pondered for a moment, standing firm alongside You Hu to block the stairs. He glanced at You Hu, who gave no sign, then turned to seek Gu Fei’s opinion—only to be stunned.

Gu Fei’s pale lips were bitten until blood emerged. Crimson drops stood out like red plum blossoms in snow, carrying a chilling sense of cold.

No one knew how much torment Gu Fei endured in that instant.

From the moment she saw Le Qingbo, watched him rush forward, then be stopped by You Hu and Feng Lizhi, her breath forced her to wrench herself from the mire of emotion.

Meeting Le Qingbo again, the memories of those days and faces, everything flashed before her eyes, and her legs throbbed with sudden pain. It was as if that past defeat, with its humiliation and near-death, had engraved a hatred and agony deep in her body.

Every reunion forced her to taste it all anew, from start to finish.

This dual torment—of body and mind—snapped her back to clarity. Rationality returned in a rush, as if she split into two: one self still lost in the childhood affection she once shared with Le Qingbo, the other coldly dominating her body, viewing her own suffering with almost merciless detachment, able to analyze this meeting with clear eyes.

“Lizhi, You Hu,” she called gently, her voice ethereal and distant, as if echoing from far away. “No need to be tense. He truly is an old acquaintance.”

Hearing Gu Fei’s explanation, Feng Lizhi quickly dismissed his earlier doubts. He stepped aside and saluted Le Qingbo, “Sir Le, forgive my rudeness.”

You Hu, however, remained more guarded. He did not move, but tilted his head to look at Gu Fei, meeting her abyss-black gaze for a moment before slowly yielding space.

Le Qingbo’s heart leapt with joy; he didn’t even hear Feng Lizhi’s words. In a flash, he rushed to Gu Fei’s side, his eyes bright as glass as he gazed at her, afraid it was all a dream. He wanted to reach out and touch her, but as his hand lifted, his fingers trembled uncontrollably. “Ah Fei, am I dreaming?”

At this moment, Gu Fei felt she ought to smile as she used to, eyes curved in a gentle laugh—but she could not. In stark contrast to Le Qingbo’s excitement, she was too calm, as still as dead water, and her words were soft, “You are not dreaming. I am right here before you.”

Le Qingbo gave a low laugh, but as his eyes fell on Gu Fei’s legs and the wheelchair beneath her, his joy turned to disbelief and pain, shock he could not hide. “Ah Fei, your legs…”

Gu Fei nodded, her gaze drifting to the crowd in the Dragon Phoenix Pavilion who watched them with curious eyes. She pressed her lips together, “This is not the place to talk.”

At her words, Le Qingbo snapped back to awareness and called down the stairs, “A Da, prepare a private room for me.”

A Da, whose attention had been fixed on her since their arrival, let a deep shadow sweep across his weathered face. He glanced quickly at Gu Fei and answered, “Yes, sir.”

Gu Fei’s own gaze toward A Da was equally clouded with hidden hostility. She lifted her chin and asked Le Qingbo, “He is your guard? Why haven’t I seen him before?”

Le Qingbo, torn between happiness and sorrow, answered without thinking, “He arrived from Yunli only recently, so it’s normal you don’t know him.”

Having learned what she wanted, Gu Fei placed her hand on the wheelchair wheel. You Hu moved swiftly, taking over the task of pushing her.

Only now did Le Qingbo spare attention for You Hu, scrutinizing him, then glancing at Feng Lizhi, his manner regaining its graceful composure.

Today, the entire Dragon Phoenix Pavilion was reserved by the Ink Merchants’ Guild. Le Qingbo’s request for a private room was easily fulfilled.

Once inside, Gu Fei considered for a moment and said to Feng Lizhi, “Lizhi, I recently made a new cinnabar fragrant ink. I brought one for you today; I’ll have a maid take you to fetch it.”

Feng Lizhi understood that Gu Fei was intentionally giving him an excuse to leave. He felt no offense, and indeed was pleased—he pulled Nightingale along and left at once.

Le Qingbo personally poured a cup of cool tea for Gu Fei, saying, “Fengyue, you and A Da, go out.”

He likewise dismissed his attendants, longing for solitude with Gu Fei.

You Hu, perceptive as ever, left without needing instructions. He smiled, adjusted the black obsidian fox hairpin in Gu Fei’s hair, and departed, closing the door behind him.

Now, only Le Qingbo and Gu Fei remained in the private room, and for a moment, Le Qingbo found himself speechless. Earlier, he had a thousand words to say, but now, simply being able to gaze at her in silence surpassed all his longing.

Gu Fei held her teacup, not drinking, just turning it in her hands, her head bowed, watching the ripples of cool tea in the white porcelain, lost in thought.

“Ah Fei…” At last, Le Qingbo spoke. He rose and came before her, then knelt, his eyes level with hers, his hand resting on her knee. “May I see?”

Gu Fei’s hand trembled, tea spilling onto her gauze skirt in heavy droplets.

Le Qingbo carefully took the cup from her, his hand sliding from her knee down to her ankle. “Is it all right?”

In the shadow cast by her falling hair, Gu Fei curled her lips and slowly raised her eyes to meet his, asking with ambiguous meaning, “Qingbo, what does it matter if you see, or don’t see?”

Le Qingbo felt a pang of grief. Hearing her words, his heart ached as if scraped by a dull blade. He gripped her slender ankle firmly, resolute. “Let me see.”

Feeling his tone too harsh, he softened it. “Ah Fei, the person before you is not a stranger. I am Le Qingbo—your Le Qingbo.”

Gu Fei wanted to laugh, but her heart was barren, a desert stretching endlessly in her eyes, with no light, only darkness.

She used to say these words, believing that with such a childhood companion, what more could she desire?

Her ten years in the Mo family of the capital, those beautiful years of youth, were like any other girl’s dreams of romance, all centered on the man before her.

He was indeed outstanding—upright, compassionate, and clear in love and hate.

She had always admired his purity; in his eyes, the world was either black or white, evil or good, never a third shade. Like ink pellets, black ink—utterly pure.

“Ah Fei…” he pleaded softly, rare in his vulnerability. “No matter what, I’ll bring you back to the capital or Yunli. I’ll find the best doctors; you will walk again. But now, let me see.”

Gu Fei looked at him, her pale fingers pinching her skirt hem, her voice devoid of emotion. “As you wish.”

She slowly lifted her skirt: delicate white embroidered shoes with pink lotus tips, then white silk stockings, the hem climbing higher to reveal a bit of creamy skin, and then—

“Ah!” Le Qingbo cried out, springing to his feet and involuntarily stepping back, staring at Gu Fei’s legs as if seeing something terrifying.

“You’ve seen them, so what now?” In an instant, Gu Fei swiftly let her skirt fall. She knew she shouldn’t be so harsh with Le Qingbo—for without him, she would never have escaped the high walls of the Mo family so easily.

Yet the resentment and the grievance she had never shown anyone suddenly surged, unstoppable as bamboo after rain.

Le Qingbo opened his mouth, perhaps to comfort her, but seeing her calm face, he could say nothing. His throat was sore, “Ah Fei, I’m sorry…”

Gu Fei shook her head. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Indeed, her enemy was not him; what apology was needed?

He went to her side, sat close, and, unable to help himself, wrapped her in his arms. “It was my fault for not protecting you. I shouldn’t have gone out with Mo Ge Yi those days. Ah Fei, come back with me. Let me take care of you…”

The familiar heartbeat and breath softened Gu Fei’s heart. She did have feelings for him; these past months, struggling between life and death, she would be lying if she claimed not to miss him. But she was unsure—unsure if she was still worthy.

Once, her talent matched his—he made brushes, she made ink; their skills complemented each other perfectly. Now, seeing the gap wrought by power and the ugliness in people’s hearts, she could trust no one, much less walk forward hand in hand.

Even if his affection endured, what of the years to come? She was now disabled, unable to walk. Le Qingbo might not care, but his family surely would.

These were things the old Gu Fei never considered. Her life once revolved around only two things: ink-making and Le Qingbo. Now, her mind was deep and scheming, advancing by stepping over others.

She allowed herself to lean on him for a brief moment, savoring the last warmth, then sat upright and shook her head. “Qingbo, I am no longer the same…”

“How are you different?” Le Qingbo laughed, pinching her nose tip, but suddenly stopped. “I never asked—Ah Fei, who did this to you?”

Gu Fei lifted her lips, her gaze intense and enigmatic as she looked at him. “Who do you think, Qingbo?”

Le Qingbo frowned, thinking. “You never left the mansion, only saw a few people each day, and your elder sister Qingge was there too. I really can’t imagine who would dare harm you so openly.”

Hearing the name “Mo Qingge” again, Gu Fei’s smile grew deeper. She spoke in a low, ambiguous voice, “If I told you…it was Mo Qingge who hurt me, would you believe it?”