Chapter 143

Chapter 143: Mistakenly Obtaining your Desire (Part 1)

It is said that three days ago, His Majesty returned to court and issued an imperial edict to the world, announcing 

that the rebellion led by the Phoenix Temple had been completely quelled by the court, and the rebellions in the 

Hexi and Hedong prefectures had also been suppressed. Moreover, he highly praised the unity and support of the 

people during this turmoil in the imperial edict. It is rumored that the imperial army has already advanced to 

the South China Sea coast, waiting for the slightest move by the rebels to seize the three islands.

Inside the elegant bamboo house, a soft warmth permeated the air.

A man in a light blue robe held a long flute to his lips, playing a melodious tune. The music lingered in the room, 

rippling gently in waves, carrying a certain enchanting power.

The soothing melody suddenly became rapid and shrill, then abruptly stopped. He remained in his flute-playing 

posture, standing by the window for a long time, gazing at the lush bamboo grove in front of the cottage, now 

draped in a thin layer of snow: its unyielding spirit unable to conceal its deep, melancholy heart.

The bamboo has lived for sixty years, blooming only once, sacrificing its immortality to end its life's love.

A faint sigh floated in the silence. He turned abruptly, put away his flute, and gazed intently at the man lying 

quietly on the bed.

Silently, he walked to the bedside, sat down, and reached out to touch the man's forehead, caressing the vibrant 

red lotus blossoms. His fingertips traced delicate lines across the eyebrows and eyes, finally settling on the small, 

delicate beauty mark.

He chuckled silently, a warm smile curving his lips. Seemingly curious, he poked the mole with his finger… 

It was strange; this man was harder than stone, yet he had this little thing on his face. It just didn't match his 

imposing presence. Every time he saw it, a restless urge stirred within him to poke it.

Now, his wish had finally come true.

“Heh, your concubines are truly no ordinary men. You’ve been missing for so many days, yet there’s not a sound 

outside.” He murmured to himself, taking out a small porcelain bottle from his robes. He dipped his finger inside, 

digging at something, then returned it to the face of the person on the bed, gently rubbing it. “They seem so docile 

before you, but who knew they were all so formidable.”

The sleeping person's face quickly changed under his caresses, appearing completely ordinary.

He smiled with satisfaction. "That way, they won't be able to find you." His tone shifted playfully. "Ah, your 

beloved concubine must be frantic with worry, right? Seeing them issuing death warrants one after another, if I 

were caught, even skinning me alive wouldn't quell their hatred."

"Hehe, how amusing." He laughed heartily, his shoes slipping off his feet. He rolled onto his side on the bed, his 

hand unable to resist caressing the other's face once more. "From now on, you are ours!"

He pressed his forehead against the other's, whispering like lovers, "From today onward, you are our husband. For 

the next three months, we will happily live the life of ordinary people. I'm sure you will like it."

No one understood this person better than him. Although Si Cang Qing always appeared cold and ruthless, he 

vaguely sensed a kindred spirit—the despair and emptiness that had struggled for years in coldness and darkness. 

That's why from the very beginning, he had involuntarily paid attention to the other, from the initial probing to the 

later provocation. But he discovered that this person was different. The subtle warmth beneath that coldness 

gradually drew him in, and so he became increasingly confused, increasingly yearning.

His hand slid down to Si Cang Qing's chest, gently pressing on his heart. His eyes were slightly misty—"Your 

heart has been healed by them, but who will fill the void in our hearts? Mo Qingjue's confusion, Qiang Qingmo's 

despair, my own confusion, and Ao's emptiness—who will save us?"

"This place is beautiful, the people are kind and simple. You've toiled for the country and its people for so many 

years; you'll surely love the peace and tranquility here." He snuggled closer, pressing tightly against the other's 

body. "I don't ask for more, just three months."

Three months to let him and several others be human again.

That feeling of being alive, that warm and wonderful feeling—they wanted to experience it all, to possess it 

completely.

He had held back some of what this person had said that day, and in truth, he himself deeply missed the feeling 

of being carried on this person's back; at that time, he was fully conscious.

Even though the other person remained unconscious, his warmth was something he cherished dearly. Mo Qingjue 

wrapped one arm around Si Cang Qing's waist, his body sliding slightly down until his cheek pressed against 

the other's chest.

He listened to the steady, rhythmic heartbeat, feeling the warmth seep into his heart and spread throughout his 

body. With a satisfied sigh, Mo Qingjue closed his eyes with a smile and gradually drifted off to sleep.

With a snap, the sleeping person awoke alertly. Mo Qingjue sat up abruptly, and once his eyes adjusted to 

the darkness, he relaxed. Looking out the window, the moonlight, like water, poured over the snow-covered 

ground, reflecting a cool, shimmering glow.

"It's so late..."

Having slept from noon until night, Mo Qingjue stretched lazily, then threw back the covers, dressed, and turned 

back to plant a kiss on Si Cang Qing's lips.

Walking to the window, he saw the full moon, its surface like a silver platter, paused slightly, then smiled. 

"It's already the Lantern Festival? Heh, you can wake up tomorrow, right?"

He closed the window, then put on his fur cloak, his tone slightly excited. "Yes, I'll go prepare some food. Perhaps 

you can eat it tomorrow morning."

Before he finished speaking, he had already disappeared through the closed door.

◇Cang◇Huan◇Seven◇Palaces◇

——We are husband and wife. From now on, we'll live peacefully here.

No! I only need your hands to eliminate Qiang Chouci and the entire Qiang clan. After that, I'll kill you!

——There's a vast bamboo forest here. Do you like it? The elders say when bamboo blooms, wishes come true. 

Let's wait together for that day!

Who is it? Who whispers these nonsensical words in my ear day after day?

——Wake up, Ah Qing. I've learned to cook now. Don't you want to taste my skills?

Aqing? Who is he? And you... who are you? And me? Who am I?

He walked through a chaotic world, yet felt utterly lost and helpless. Vague images flashed through his mind, 

carrying a terrifying sense of loss; he couldn't remember why he was here.

Memories seemed to be slowly forced into his mind, yet his subconscious rejected them as false. But denying 

those memories left his mind a blank void... Who was it, whispering softly by his ear?

He snapped his eyes open, only to be blinded by a harsh glare. He closed them again, waiting for his vision to 

adjust, when he sensed someone approaching. Instinctively, he lashed out, his hand clamping around the intruder's

throat. Si Cang Qing stared coldly at the other man, saying nothing.

Mo Qingjue's face turned purple as he gasped for air, panic filling his eyes. With great effort, he managed to speak, 

“Qing... Ah Qing, it's me, Qingjue...”

Qingjue? Si Cang Qing froze slightly, memories surging spontaneously into his mind. He and this man named 

Mo Qingjue had been lovers who shunned the world, fleeing war and plague to settle in this remote village. He 

recalled, too, that in his hazy consciousness, it was the one calling himself Qingjue who had spoken and whispered 

in his ear.

The grip on his hand loosened slightly, but Si Cang Qing remained wary, his gaze fixed on the man. For some 

reason, he couldn't bring himself to trust him. Yet, his memories contradicted his ‘wrong’ instincts.

Gaining a moment's respite, Mo Qingjue spoke in a slightly hoarse voice, “Aqing, you've finally awakened...” 

Then, as if realizing something, he added, “I've altered my appearance, so you wouldn't recognize this face.”

Si Cang Qing remained silent, merely observing the man coldly.

“Aqing,” Mo Qingjue's voice grew faint as he murmured pleadingly, “You are choking me so much I can’t 

breathe...”

Hearing this, Si Cang Qing paused briefly before releasing his grip. His gaze shifted, sweeping roughly around the 

surroundings. Everything felt strangely unfamiliar.

Mo Qingjue staggered, bracing himself against the headboard to avoid falling. He scrambled to his feet, pulling 

a porcelain vial from his robe. His fingers scooped out some powdered medicine, which he dabbed onto his face.

Gazing at the pale, delicate face before him, Si Cang Qing felt momentarily dazed. This man’s appearance truly 

stirred a sense of familiarity within him—a familiarity far more tangible than any memory in his mind.

Could it be true? Were they lovers?

Lovers… He vaguely understood the meaning of that word, a warm, tender emotion surging through his heart. 

But when he looked at Mo Qingjue again, Si Cang Qing was utterly bewildered.

Mo Qingjue seemed oblivious to the other's confusion, smiling gently as he tentatively reached out to draw closer. 

Yet he froze instantly, struck by the sudden chill emanating from Si Cang Qing. He stood rooted to the spot, 

sighing softly. “The doctor said you might suffer some aftereffects... It seems... you've forgotten me...”

His expression darkened.

Si Cang Qing pressed his lips together. On one hand, he felt no sorrow for this man; on the other, the memories 

in his mind constantly reminded him that this person should be the closest to him.

Thus, he instinctively pushed him away, yet rationally, he couldn't bring himself to harm him.

Mo Qingjue quickly regained his composure. “I'll help you remember.” He took a few steps back, his gaze 

fixed intently on Si Cang Qing. “You've just recovered. You should rest in bed.”

“I'll go get you some congee. After sleeping so long, you must be hungry.”

Without waiting for Si Cang Qing's response, he turned and left the room. Closing the door behind him, 

Mo Qingjue halted. The blinding white light reflecting off the snow stung his eyes.

He narrowed his eyes and smiled silently.

After the man departed, Si Cang Qing did not heed his advice to rest. Instead, he propped himself up with his 

weak body and began to move about. He stood by the window, and sure enough, a vast bamboo forest stretched 

before his eyes.

The wind blew intermittently, sending delicate fluff swaying and dancing like flying blossoms.

He had slept for a very long time. Si Cang Qing reached this conclusion in his heart, to the point where he could 

no longer distinguish reality from illusion. In his memory, he and a man named Mo Qingjue had come to this 

bamboo forest together and settled there. But within days, a plague had swept through, infecting him. What 

happened after that remained unknown.

Yet, these memories always felt unreal to Si Cang Qing, much like the bamboo grove before him. He knew it 

existed, yet he had no vivid impression of it.

What exactly happened? Was it really as Mo Qingjue said, a lingering effect of the plague?

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