How could something that had happened be treated as though it never had? Everything in this world left traces. Where there was a cause, there was an effect; where there was love, there was hate. Qiqi believed she saw things more clearly than most, yet even someone as clever as she was had moments of confusion. People changed. Since Hu Xiaotian's wedding, she had suddenly matured a great deal, though it was a maturity outsiders could not discern. Even her long-held views on many things had begun to waver, and that was the source of her recent confusion and turmoil.
Deep down, she had dearly hoped Hu Xiaotian would return with Murong Zhan to report to her. The heights were cold and lonely. Although she had attained the supreme position in the Great Kang Dynasty as she wished, the loneliness that came with it grew stronger with each passing day. She had many ministers around her, but not one person with whom she could speak freely. Hong Beimo, Ren Tianqing, Murong Zhan, and their ilk intended to use her. The ministers led by Zhou Ruiyuan regarded her with awe and fear. And Quan Dean, her utterly loyal subordinate, had devoted half his life's efforts to her and would even sacrifice his life for her. Yet Qiqi still felt an invisible barrier between them. To whom could she speak of her pain and confusion?
In truth, Qiqi had long known the answer. On Hu Xiaotian's wedding day, when she saw Long Xiyue brimming with happiness, she had suddenly understood something: women who sought no quarrel with the world often found happiness more easily.
The ancient camphor tree in front of the Great Xiangguo Temple was over a thousand years old. It took five people joining hands to encircle its trunk, and