BLPSG Chapter 101: The Finale

A buzzing filled Wen Qingci’s ears.

For an instant, it felt as if the wind and snow had been paused mid‑air, frozen in place.
Only the cool touch on the tip of his nose slowly spread outward.

Seeing the two of them standing still for so long, Xie Fuyin finally couldn’t resist peeking through her fingers.

But before she could see anything, Wen Qingci suddenly brushed the snow from his nose onto Xie Bufeng’s shoulder, then immediately turned away and walked forward with the umbrella.

A faint smile curved at Xie Bufeng’s lips.

“Let’s go.”

“O‑okay!”
The little girl clung tightly to her brother’s shoulder, glancing up at him, then sneaking looks at Wen Qingci.

Why was Brother Qingci’s face a little red?

The snow on the plains grew heavier.

A white veil draped over the world.

Held in her brother’s arms, Xie Fuyin only knew that he had switched to holding her with one arm.

She did not know that Xie Bufeng’s other hand was intertwined with Wen Qingci’s beneath the umbrella.

Keeping the cold wind and snow on the outside.

Leaving only each other’s warmth at their fingertips.

*

She‑ri Festival, Mount Yi.

After snowing the entire night, the sky finally cleared at dawn.

The massive Mount Yi stood like a sculpture of white jade, quietly rising at the edge of the sky.

The civil and military officials of the Wei Dynasty, along with palace attendants and noblewomen, all stood in ceremonial dress at the foot of the mountain.

Unlike the ceremony years ago, most of the aristocratic clans had already been “dealt with” by the deposed emperor.

After Xie Bufeng took the throne, he continued to reform the government, reducing redundant positions.

Now, only a few hundred people stood at the foot of Mount Yi.

But each one looked spirited and renewed, a stark contrast to the past.

The ceremonial officer struck the great bronze chimes.

The sound echoed again and again through the clouds and snow of Mount Yi, ethereal like celestial music.

The officials slowly knelt toward the mountain.

Wen Qingci and Xie Bufeng ascended the long stone steps toward the high platform.

As they passed Xie Fuyin, the little girl secretly lifted her head and waved at them.

The snow on the stone steps had been cleared; there was no danger of slipping.

Even so, Xie Bufeng held Wen Qingci’s hand firmly in his own hands and did not release it until they reached the top.

Above them, the sky was a clear, jewel‑bright blue.

Sunlight streamed from the far side of Mount Yi, illuminating everything in brilliant color.

Wen Qingci couldn’t help looking toward the other side of the long staircase.

The last time he came to Mount Yi, he had been here as an imperial physician and had remained at the foot of the mountain.

Only now did he realize—

From the long steps, one could see the entire city of Yongdu.

Sunlight spilled over the city like sheets of gold leaf.

Farther away, the Yin River Canal shimmered faintly, like a golden ribbon wrapped around the city.

Wen Qingci’s steps slowed.

Noticing this, Xie Bufeng turned and asked softly,
“What are you thinking about, Qingci?”

Xie Bufeng had grown taller than Wen Qingci without either of them noticing.
Now Wen Qingci had to tilt his head slightly to meet his eyes.

The chimes still echoed faintly.
The ceremonial officer below was chanting something.

But in Wen Qingci and Xie Bufeng’s ears, only a distant murmur remained.

Even the people below had become tiny black dots, their faces indistinguishable.

In their world, only the two of them truly existed.

Wen Qingci smiled and answered softly,
“I was just thinking… Your Majesty has grown up.”

His voice was as gentle as the sunlight breaking through the snow, tinged with quiet emotion.

Years ago, during another She‑ri Festival, it had also snowed heavily.

A young Xie Bufeng had knelt in the snow, holding a small lamb — the only thing he possessed.

Now, he possessed the world.

That day had been the first time Wen Qingci realized that Xie Bufeng was not just the all‑powerful villain of Fuming Hall, nor a paper character, but a real boy… flesh and blood.

Xie Bufeng narrowed his eyes slightly, his fingers brushing through Wen Qingci’s hair.

The cold wind of Mount Yi carried that familiar bitter fragrance to his nose.

Like Wen Qingci, he too remembered that She‑ri Festival.

“Qingci, do you still remember that year’s She‑ri Festival?” he asked softly.

Today, Wen Qingci was dressed in a rare ceremonial finery.

Layers of pale moon‑white brocade shimmered with subtle patterns in the sunlight.
The jade crown atop his head was adorned with pearls and gemstones.

A small string of sky‑blue jade beads swayed beside his eyelashes as Xie Bufeng moved, making a crisp sound.

They sparkled faintly in the light.

“Of course,” Wen Qingci replied.

Xie Bufeng’s hand gently cupped Wen Qingci’s cheek, brushing past the corner of his eye.

His voice was slightly hoarse, his gaze momentarily unfocused.
“That night… I had a dream.”

“What did Your Majesty dream of?”

“I dreamed I had returned to Suzhuo, and by the stream outside the tomb‑keeper’s settlement… I found a little lamb.”

Even after so many years, the dream remained vivid in his mind.

Xie Bufeng’s voice unconsciously softened.

Wen Qingci also remembered the small creature Xie Bufeng had once held so tightly in his arms.

“And then?” he asked quietly.

“And then…”
Xie Bufeng’s hand slid slowly from Wen Qingci’s cheek.

“I woke up. And I realized the one I found wasn’t a lamb at all. It was you.”

He had burned with fever that night.
When he woke, he discovered that in his delirium he had been gripping Wen Qingci’s wrist the entire time.

And Wen Qingci had simply stayed beside him, sitting quietly with him through the whole night.

For the boy he had been, it was unimaginable.

“I thought I would never lose the little lamb again.”

But in the end, Wen Qingci had still closed his eyes in his arms.

Even thinking of it now made Xie Bufeng’s heart ache sharply.

That had been his nightmare.

…He saw himself as the lamb?

Wen Qingci’s fingers trembled slightly.

At that moment, the ceremonial officer finished reciting the prepared words.

The chimes slowly faded.

Only a lingering echo drifted through the mountain valley, reluctant to disperse.

Xie Bufeng finally lowered his hand from Wen Qingci’s cheek.

“Your Majesty,”
Just as Xie Bufeng was about to turn and look down from Mount Yi, Wen Qingci gently tugged his sleeve and whispered beside his ear,
“You didn’t pick up a little lamb.”

Xie Bufeng frowned slightly and looked at him.

Wen Qingci first lowered his eyes with a small smile, then suddenly lifted his gaze, meeting Xie Bufeng’s eyes with complete seriousness.
“It was the little lamb who picked you up and brought you home.”

After speaking, he took hold of Xie Bufeng’s hand hanging at his side.

Wen Qingci’s eyes curved softly, sunlight shimmering in them like ripples spreading across a deep pool after a stone is dropped at dawn.

His tone was gentle as always, but the words he spoke sent Xie Bufeng’s heart into chaos.

…Home?

That had once been the most foreign word in Xie Bufeng’s life.

But when Wen Qingci said it, Xie Bufeng felt as if, in that instant, he possessed the entire world.

Yes…on that She‑ri night, it wasn’t he who found Wen Qingci.

It was Wen Qingci who found him, a boy with nowhere to go, and brought him home.

That tiny courtyard of the Imperial Medical Bureau, so small and insignificant within the vast Taishu Palace, had been Xie Bufeng’s entire world.

The chimes at the foot of Mount Yi rang again.

Seeing Xie Bufeng still frozen in place, Wen Qingci gently shook his hand.
“Your Majesty, don’t daze off. The auspicious hour has arrived.”

He finally released Xie Bufeng’s hand and slowly picked up the incense from the golden tray.

“Alright.”

Xie Bufeng came back to himself and, like Wen Qingci, took three sticks of incense and held them solemnly in his hands.

He closed his eyes and pressed the incense to his forehead.

The She‑ri Festival was the day the emperor offered sacrifices to Heaven, Earth, and the gods of soil and grain.

With each toll of the great bell at the foot of the mountain, Xie Bufeng recited a line of the ritual prayer, just as emperors had done for generations.

Peace to the land, abundance to the harvest.

Each strike of the bell corresponded to a line of prayer.

Wen Qingci also pressed his incense to his forehead, silently reciting the prayer along with Xie Bufeng and the officials below.

The sound of the ancient bell echoed through the mountains.

With each resonance, Wen Qingci felt his heart tremble faintly.

He remembered that the prayer had five lines.

But after the fifth line was spoken, the great bell rang again.

…What was happening?

The She‑ri ceremony had been prepared for months — how could such a mistake occur now?

The officials below hesitated for a moment, then followed the bell and shouted,
“Long live His Majesty, long live, long live!”

Wen Qingci instinctively looked toward Xie Bufeng.

The emperor in black still had not lowered his incense.

He held it to his forehead and, along with the people below, continued speaking softly in time with the bell that reached Heaven and Earth:

“Sixth wish: may Wen Qingci be safe and healthy, free of illness and disaster.”

“…And may he grow old with me, our hearts bound as one, never parted in life or death.”

His voice was solemn beyond measure.

Every word was spoken clearly, as if afraid Heaven might mishear and overlook his prayer.

The incense burned down to his fingertips as he spoke, but he held it tightly, unaware of the heat, until the last echo of the bell faded into the sky.

Only then did Xie Bufeng open his eyes and place the incense into the burner with utmost reverence.

Leaving his wish forever on Mount Yi.

A spring breeze swept across the mountain, carrying fine snowflakes from somewhere unknown.

For a moment, Wen Qingci thought he smelled the soaring fragrance of magnolia blossoms…

It drifted across all of Yongdu and landed on the tip of his nose—

The long streets of Yongdu had been swept clean, petals scattered across the official roads.

The people had abandoned their work and gathered along the streets to welcome the procession returning to the palace.

Seeing this, Xie Bufeng deliberately slowed the pace of the procession.

By dusk, they finally returned to Taishu Palace.

Wen Qingci had been recuperating for half a year, but his health was still not strong.

He no longer coughed blood as before, but he tired more easily than most.

The carriage was lit with calming incense.

On the way back, Wen Qingci fell into a deep sleep.

Half‑awake, he felt Xie Bufeng carrying him back to their residence.

When he next opened his eyes, the sky was completely dark.

“…Your Majesty?”
Finding no one beside him, Wen Qingci paused, then slowly lifted the bed curtains.

At some point, his ceremonial robes had been changed into a simple cotton garment.

The warm brazier in the Imperial Medical Bureau’s bedroom glowed softly.

Neither he nor Xie Bufeng liked attendants nearby, so this room, unlike the others in Taishu Palace, was not tended by eunuchs or maids.

On the desk by the window lay the medical text Wen Qingci had been reading two days ago.

In the small red‑clay stove beside it, a pot of rice wine infused with osmanthus honey was warming.

The wine had almost no alcohol, but its fragrance filled the room.

After winter began, Xie Bufeng had ordered thick carpets laid over the wooden floor.

So when Wen Qingci stepped down barefoot, he didn’t feel cold.

But the moment he stood, he heard a soft creak.

Xie Bufeng pushed open the door and entered.

He had changed out of his heavy ceremonial robes into a simple black garment.

No matter how plain his clothing, the aura of authority he carried could not be hidden.

His gaze fell to the floor.

Wen Qingci’s feet were pale, the bluish veins stark against his skin.

Wen Qingci instinctively sat back on the bed, trying to hide his bare foot.

Though the brazier was burning, it was still winter, and Wen Qingci’s body, weakened by lingering toxins, was more sensitive to cold than most.

As he moved, Xie Bufeng saw that his toes were reddened from the chill.

“Qingci, why are you walking around barefoot again?”

Xie Bufeng frowned and stepped over the carpet toward him.

“I wanted to find you… ah!”

Before Wen Qingci could finish, the young emperor in black knelt down on one knee before him.

“Your Majesty, what are you doing?”
Wen Qingci was startled.

“Don’t move.”
Xie Bufeng caught the foot Wen Qingci was trying to hide and brought it back, then took a pair of shoes and socks from the side.
“You know your health. If you catch cold, you’ll suffer.”

His hands were dry and warm.

When they touched Wen Qingci’s cold skin, Xie Bufeng didn’t rush to put on the socks.

Instead, he first warmed Wen Qingci’s foot with his hands.

Wen Qingci: !!!

Xie Bufeng’s touch was gentle, but Wen Qingci couldn’t pull away at all.

His face turned as red as a boiled shrimp.

“All done.”
Xie Bufeng finally released him.

“…Mm.”

Wen Qingci silently vowed never to walk barefoot in the room again.

This was far too embarrassing…

The lamps were lit, but their flickering glow could not compare to daylight.

The dimness made the atmosphere subtly intimate.

Xie Bufeng was still kneeling on one knee, looking up at him with deep, unwavering eyes.

Wen Qingci’s heartbeat quickened.

He gripped the bedding and turned toward the window, suddenly remembering something.
“Your Majesty… where did you go just now?”

Xie Bufeng smiled softly.
“Qingci has been tired all day. You haven’t eaten properly since noon, so I went to the side room to make a little supper.”

He rose slowly.

Wen Qingci finally exhaled in relief.

“What did Your Majesty make?”

Xie Bufeng paused, then met his eyes and answered quietly:

“Magnolia blossom porridge.”

*

Wen Qingci put on a thick outer robe and stepped out of the bedroom.

He wasn’t sure whether it was because the cloak had been warmed by the brazier, or for some other reason —
but even though snow had begun falling again outside, he didn’t feel cold at all.

Under the great magnolia tree in the courtyard sat a low table.

On it was a small clay stove warming a pot of magnolia blossom porridge.

Beside it lay a jade‑green sachet.

—In autumn, Wen Qingci had discovered that both this courtyard and the front yard of the Imperial Medical Bureau were filled with such sachets.

At first, he didn’t know what they contained.
Later, Song Junran told him: every sachet held the antidote to Tianci poison — the antidote Xie Bufeng had begged from him.

Afraid Wen Qingci might suddenly relapse or forget to carry medicine, Xie Bufeng had placed antidotes everywhere around him.

“Qingci, try it. How does it taste?”
Xie Bufeng sat across from him, carefully ladling a bowl.

His movements were cautious and gentle, completely unlike the man who wielded a heavy sword on the battlefield, killing gods and Buddhas alike.

When Wen Qingci accepted the bowl, he found the temperature perfect, neither too hot nor too cool.

“Your Majesty, where did you learn to make magnolia blossom porridge?”
After tasting a spoonful, Wen Qingci realized that the porridge Xie Bufeng had cooked tasted exactly the same as his own.

The man sitting across from him shook his head lightly.
“I figured it out myself.”

“…Figured it out?”

Xie Bufeng slowly lowered his gaze, staring at the small stove on the table.
“When you left, you left behind a bowl of porridge. I was afraid it would dry out… afraid it would spoil. I couldn’t bear to eat it, and I couldn’t bear to throw it away.”

He was the emperor, ruler of all under heaven —
yet in Wen Qingci’s eyes at this moment, he looked like a small, loyal dog terrified of being abandoned.

“So… Your Highness learned to make it yourself, didn’t you?”
Wen Qingci spoke before realizing that his voice had taken on a thick, unmistakable nasal tremor.

Because of Xie Bufeng’s words, Wen Qingci suddenly remembered:
when he returned to the courtyard earlier, the side room had been spotless.

The clay stove and purple‑sand pot were placed neatly, not a speck of dust on them.

It seemed Xie Bufeng hadn’t merely cleaned them regularly.

He had been using the things Wen Qingci left behind.

“Yes.”
Xie Bufeng stood, walked around the low table, and sat behind Wen Qingci, pulling him tightly into his arms.
“Only this way… could I keep Qingci’s taste with me.”

Xie Bufeng wasn’t good at cooking.

He could only adjust the ingredients little by little, comparing each attempt to the taste in his memory, repeating the process again and again.

As he finished speaking, he couldn’t resist lowering his head and inhaling deeply at Wen Qingci’s hair.

Then he whispered,
“But no matter how much I learn… it will never be as good as yours.”

A sharp ache rose in Wen Qingci’s chest.

Then sadness, joy, and even relief surged through him all at once.

In that moment, Wen Qingci suddenly thought of Fuming Hall.

With memories of his past life, he had never feared death.

When he entered the palace, he had already accepted the possibility of dying.

But now — now he felt overwhelmingly grateful.

Grateful to still be alive.

“Qingci… are you crying?”

A sudden coolness touched the back of Xie Bufeng’s hand.

He froze, then realized —
it was Wen Qingci’s tears.

“Yes.”
Wen Qingci slowly raised his hand and held Xie Bufeng’s wrist.
“I suddenly feel… that being alive is truly wonderful.”

Tonight, not only were officials given leave, but Xie Bufeng had also granted rest to the imperial physicians, palace maids, and eunuchs.

Only the necessary guards remained in Taishu Palace.

The surroundings were utterly quiet.

Wen Qingci closed his eyes, listening to the sound of the wind.

As he did, the little rabbit that roamed freely in the courtyard hopped over and nudged against his side.

Wen Qingci’s tears were scattered by the wind.

Xie Bufeng, flustered, tried to wipe them away.

He had seen Wen Qingci poisoned, seen him injured.

But he had never seen him… this fragile.

The wind made the tears even colder.

When wiping them did nothing, Xie Bufeng suddenly pulled Wen Qingci into his arms.

Then he kissed him….hard….on the lips.

Their breaths tangled instantly.

Wen Qingci’s mind went blank from lack of air, his thoughts scattered completely.

He vaguely heard Xie Bufeng say:

“There is no poison in this world without a cure.”

“Tianci must have an antidote. And your hand… will return to how it once was.”

“When that day comes, I will travel with you — to Songxiu, to Suzhuo, to Changyuan.
We’ll wander the mountains and rivers, heal the sick, save the dying.”

He paused, then gently kissed away Wen Qingci’s tears.

The lips of the man in his arms were now as red as the cinnabar mark on his forehead.

Xie Bufeng’s voice was unwavering.

Wen Qingci hesitated, then lifted his gaze, looking deeply into Xie Bufeng’s reddened eyes.

“Alright.”
He smiled softly and reached up to touch the corner of Xie Bufeng’s eye.
“And there’s the Shanyu River. You said you would go back with me… to meet my parents.”

Before he finished speaking, he was swallowed by another kiss.

In a daze, he saw fireworks blooming at the distant horizon.

Warm golden sparks shot upward, piercing the night sky.

A few seconds later, they burst open, illuminating the heavens.

A cool night wind swept through the courtyard.

The great magnolia tree rustled softly.

It lifted their long hair, tangling it together.

A magnolia blossom heavy with snow fell onto the table.

Then the wind rose again.

The fallen magnolias scattered and danced like ghostly flames.

Their fragrance seeped into the bones.

Just like the day they first met.