Chapter 1
“Have you heard of people born holding hands?”
A teenage elder sister patted her younger sister through a thin, faded quilt, coaxing her to sleep with a story.
Moonlight filtered through the half-closed gauze window, illuminating two identical childish faces.
“Impossible!” Li Xia exclaimed in amazement. “How could anyone be born holding hands?”
“But we were born holding hands,” Li Zhi replied with a laugh.
Li Xia grew excited and tried to sit up. Gently, Li Zhi pressed her back into the soft brocade quilt.
“Really? Were we really born holding hands?” Li Xia’s crescent-shaped eyes sparkled, her innocent face glowing with a joy as pure as a small animal’s delight.
“Yes, it’s true. The midwife told me,” Li Zhi said softly. “When Mother gave birth to us, I was born first. Just as the midwife was about to announce the good news, she noticed—oh!—this little baby was clutching a hand!”
Li Zhi paused deliberately, teasing Li Xia, whose wide eyes urged her to continue.
“And then? What happened next?”
“Then the midwife told Mother to push harder, saying there was another one. Half an hour later, you were born. When you came into the world, the night-blooming cereus that mother planted also bloomed. The next day, everyone discovered that night, every cereus in the capital had bloomed! People said it was a sign of great fortune!”
After hearing the story, Li Xia fell into thoughtful silence. Li Zhi, thinking her younger sister was finally lulled to sleep, closed her eyes to rest. But then Li Xia reached out and took her hand.
Slender, soft fingers found hers, slipping into her palm, intertwining and holding tightly.
Li Zhi opened her surprised eyes and looked at her younger sister.
“Elder Sister, will we always be together?”
The fearless little sister now wore an unusual expression of worry. Li Zhi couldn’t help but smile.
She stroked Li Xia’s hair with a maternal tenderness, her gaze brimming with warmth.
“Of course we’ll always be together,” she said.
She clasped Li Xia’s hand tightly, her voice full of love, like the pure, clear melting snow of a spring day.
The moon generously showered its light, turning their cramped, old room into a silver sanctuary, as radiant as a noble’s grand chamber. Outside, the soapberry tree rustled softly in the still night.
This promise was carved into her bones and soaked into her blood.
“We will always, always be together.”
Unnoticed, tears soaked Li Zhi’s face. She opened her mouth to say something, but only broken murmurs emerged.
A cold wind suddenly roared, shattering the quiet moonlit night. The scene before her fragmented; the twins’ faces dissolved like bubbles, and a pungent odor invaded her senses.
Awakened by instinct, she opened her eyes abruptly, only to be met with a deeply lined face looming over her.
“…I thought you were dead,” said a woman.
The woman, burdened with a wooden yoke, straightened her slouching body. Her hand, about to reach for Li Zhi, withdrew sullenly.
Glancing at the direction of her gaze, Li Zhi surmised the woman’s original intent.
“You misunderstood, Auntie,” she said lightly. “I was just too tired and fell asleep.”
She shook out her sleeves to hide the shell bracelet on her wrist. Her long, almond-shaped eyes curved as she smiled harmlessly.
Seeing no opportunity to exploit her, the woman’s greedy gaze wandered elsewhere, fluttering toward the front of the line like a tattered flag.
A strong, dry wind swept past, and Li Zhi instinctively pulled her thin cloak tighter.
The heavy snow of the capital had turned into powdery drifts on the wilderness. Whenever the wind rose, silver dust swirled like sinister serpents, sneaking into collars and sleeves.
“Get up, it’s time to eat!”
A sharp shout broke the oppressive air. Two officers carrying wooden buckets filled with food approached the exiles.
Missing one’s ration, even if it fell at one’s feet, meant it could be snatched away by the desperate and starving people.
Li Zhi had witnessed such scenes repeatedly on the journey of exile.
“Catch!”
A hard, grayish-white object was thrown towards her. It was a moldy steamed bun, likely fished out of slop water—small, hard, and barely enough to feed an eight-year-old.
Li Zhi picked up the bun and brushed off the dirt lightly.
The officers continued to distribute rations to the exiled people as if feeding livestock.
Among the 340 exiled people, all those over the age of sixteen wore wooden collars weighing 25 pounds. Two long-term guards led the convoy, joined by four to six temporary guards at each city, who escorted them to the next checkpoint.
The exiles destinations varied by their crimes. The lighter the crime, the shorter the journey; the heavier, the farther.
In this process, death was expected—whether by natural or unnatural causes. The officers faced no consequences for delivering only 70 or 80 survivors out of an initial 340.
Death was the natural “fate” of exiled people.
As food was distributed, someone begged for more, only to be kicked to the ground.
Some gobbled their meager ration while eyeing other’s portions greedily.
Others bit off a piece of the rock-hard bun, saving the rest for their children.
Li Zhi, however, had no appetite, perhaps due to the pain in her numb feet.
Her shoes, worn since leaving the capital, were riddled with holes. Rough gravel scraped her soles, sharp grass cut her ankles, and her once-tender feet were now calloused and blistered, the wounds refusing to heal.
Beyond physical suffering, she faced the malicious gazes of other exiled people, the uncertainty of the future, and the despair of inevitable death if she fell ill.
For a fifteen-year-old girl who had once been a noble lady, this was a catastrophe beyond measure.
Yet, she felt neither anger nor sorrow. Her ever-smiling eyes captivated anyone who spoke to her.
Taking advantage of the others’ focus on their rations, Li Zhi propped herself up and quietly moved toward the convoy’s lone carriage at the rear end.
The lone carriage was far from where the exiled people gathered, sitting in the desolate wilderness with a thin layer of snow atop its roof.
Li Zhi stopped in front of the carriage and gently knocked on its wall with her knuckles.
There was no response from inside, and the curtains didn’t budge.
The light seemed to recede, leaving Li Zhi dimmed in its absence.
The weak winter sun still hung atop the mountain peaks, but the assertive shadows had already sunk into the valleys below.
A crab-colored haze stretched across the pale sky, cut through by jagged green-gray mountain ridges. The dim light scattered across the intricate curtain embroidered with patterns of plum blossoms, bamboo, and pine. The gold, silver, and soft pastel threads—pink, grass green, stone blue, pale blue, and lavender—looked faded and desolate in the twilight.
A slender, elegant hand emerged from behind the curtain. It was slightly pale, like a statue carved from cold marble.
The five alabaster fingers rested on a bamboo rod and gently swept the curtain aside. A sudden gust of wind stirred the fallen snow, revealing the face of a boy that seemed born of moonlight.
The moonlight spilled down as snowflakes danced. He seemed bathed in an ethereal glow.
“…Miss Li,” the boy said.
His voice was low and hoarse, like the drip of melting ice from an eave, easily swallowed by the winter air.
Li Zhi extended the steamed bun she had held tightly the entire way. Her voice rose slightly, betraying her emotions.
“A small token, Your Highness. I wish for your speedy recovery.” She smiled gently, her dusty face unable to hide the light in her eyes.
But he didn’t look at the bun.
“…You don’t have much yourself. Keep it for your own use.” he said. As he spoke, he coughed, covering his mouth. Though he turned his head away, Li Zhi could still see the pain etched between his furrowed brows.
Xie Lanxu, the last surviving bloodline of the deposed crown prince.
From their interactions over the past days, Li Zhi found him to be as noble and courteous as the rumors claimed—a paragon of virtue, with an elegance that mirrored his father.
Had the crown prince not been deposed, someone like Li Zhi, a concubine-born daughter, would never have had the chance to speak to him.
“Your Highness, rest assured. I’ve already eaten,” Li Zhi lied smoothly.
She placed the bun, carefully wrapped in a broad leaf, on the carriage and gave a polite bow before walking back the way she came.
A faint cough echoed from behind her, followed by a barely audible word of thanks.
Li Zhi walked a distance before turning back to look at the carriage.
The embroidered curtain of plum, orchid, and bamboo had fallen back into place. Snow swirled in the wind, and the lonely carriage seemed isolated in its own world.
Many believed he would not live to see the Mingyue Tower.
Almost everyone thought so.
They said that if not for Xie Lanxu’s lifelong frailty, the emperor would not have spared him. He was the sole bloodline left alive after the crown prince’s rebellion.
The crown prince’s treason implicated many officials, none more so than Li Qiaonian, the powerful Chancellor of the Empire.
The Li family, over four hundred strong, was either executed, exiled, or scattered. Once powerful families associated with the Li’s dissolved overnight, fleeing to avoid any connection.
Only the elderly Li matriarch and the second branch of the family, which had split off years earlier, escaped the purge. Of the Li family, barely a dozen survived, and all of them were here.
By all accounts, the Li family had every reason to hate Xie Lanxu to the bone.
Since she didn’t join the others in their shared hatred, Li Zhi became an outcast among her own kin.
No one could understand why she didn’t despise the son of the man who had destroyed her family.
Li Zhi didn’t need them to understand.
When she returned to her resting spot, the exiled people had already finished their pitiful rations. Once again, they became the familiar walking corpses, huddling and staring blankly, their expressions a mixture of sorrow and numbness.
The Li’s were no exception, forming a circle against the cold wind. At the center sat the family’s matriarch, Madam Wang, and the only legitimate son, Li Huizhi.
Li Huizhi’s chapped, frozen face lit up with a pure smile when he saw Li Zhi return. He opened his mouth to say something, but Madam Wang pulled him close, silencing him.
Li Zhi was used to this subtle ostracism. She sat down and, when Madam Wang wasn’t looking, waggled her eyebrows at Li Huizhi, making him laugh—a rare moment of childhood innocence on the road to exile.
The night in the valley fell quickly. At some point, the sky turned silver-white, and the mournful moon rose over the peaks, its gentle glow mesmerizing the sleepless Li Zhi.
As the biting night wind swept across the land, she sneezed.
Instinctively, she reached for her ever-present handkerchief, but it wasn’t there. She searched again, unwilling to give up, only to realize it must have been lost on her way to the carriage earlier.
On the road to exile, every possession was precious, and her handkerchief was her only one.
Though it was likely already claimed by someone else, Li Zhi stood up, deciding to retrace her steps and look for it.
The nearby guards cast her a lazy glance but didn’t stop her. As long as she stayed within the encirclement of guards—six to eight officers spaced out around the convoy—they wouldn’t intervene, no matter the commotion, unless it became excessive.
Li Zhi walked toward the lone carriage at the rear, scanning the ground under the moonlight for cracks in the soil or spaces between rocks.
The exhausted exiled people remained motionless, like lifeless objects as she stepped around or over them.
Fortune favored her. Halfway to the carriage, she found her handkerchief caught between some rocks, untouched by greedy hands.
She crouched to retrieve it, brushing off the dirt and carefully tucking it into her chest.
The night wind rustled through the forest, and Li Zhi instinctively looked up. The bright moonlight shifted, exchanging places with shadows as the scene before her changed. At the far end of her sight stood the lone carriage, the embroidered curtain of plum, orchid, and bamboo drawn back slightly, catching her eye.
Almost without thinking, she stood and stared, taking in the scene at the edge of her vision.
The cold moon shone brightly, frost covering the ground.
The boy sat in the carriage, his features graceful and delicate, his skin luminous as jade. He watched impassively as a pack of wild dogs fought over the bun she had given him.
Author’s Notes:
- This story involves intense and unconventional dynamics.
- The characters actions are defined by their personalities and circumstances, not necessarily by moral alignment.
- Both the male and female leads have never experienced romantic relationships prior to the story.
- Feedback is welcome, but please refrain from abusive comments or overly subjective criticism of the plot or characters.
- The early chapters depict the hardship of exiled people, so bear with it—this suffering is part of the setup. Rest assured, I’m not an antagonist to my own protagonist.
- Most characters, including the leads, do not fall in love at first sight.
- The female lead is not a love-struck fool, though the male lead might lean that way (but she is absolutely not naïve or sugary-sweet).
- Error reports are appreciated! For premium chapters, the first person to report a mistake receives a small token of appreciation.
- Some narrative liberties have been taken for dramatic effect but won’t stray too far from plausibility (e.g., a regular person holding their breath underwater for one minute, while the protagonist might manage two).
Translator’s Note:- Hello guys, this is a new novel, I found interesting and will be translating. It has 133 chapters completed. Updates will be little slow in the starting as i have just started to translate it.
If you like the novel, please bookmark it.<3<3
