Farewell is not reserved for the heartbroken alone.

At this moment, the young woman now called "Qiu Xiang" had always been known to Zheng Fanren as a formidable figure. He had naturally guessed that her true strength lay in the power behind her, yet staring at the miles-long procession outside the city, he could not help but feel a sense of awe.

Truthfully, he cared little for farewell ceremonies. There was no setting sun, no talk of horizons, nor could he utter the sorrowful phrase "the heartbroken roam the ends of the earth." In both his past and present lives, he never understood what heartbreak truly meant.

The inexplicable melancholy in his heart now irked him. Was it because the maiden was too beautiful? Perhaps it was a certain pride at work within him—pride he stubbornly clung to, though it brought him little benefit.

He still kept his composure, even with a touch of casual elegance as he handed over a scroll—a piece of calligraphy he had personally written.

The girl took the scroll and unfolded it with care. The handwriting was more fluid than before, clearly not composed in a single sitting, and between the lines, a hint of pride shone through. She did not understand why the young man wished to display such pride before her, but to Zheng Fanren, it felt necessary.

Softly, she read aloud the unfamiliar words: "Once, I was the servant and you were Qiu Xiang. Now, I am no longer a servant, and you are no longer Qiu Xiang."

After a moment, she simply asked, "What is the relationship between servant and Qiu Xiang?"

Feigning seriousness, Zheng Fanren replied, "It's an unromantic romantic story. I'll tell it to you someday when there's a chance."

"Unromantic yet romantic? Isn't that contradictory?"

"There are many contradictions in this world. I thought you were a great golden mountain in the desert, a chance for me to make my fortune, but I soon realized I could not take it away with me."

The girl nodded, saying nothing more, leaving the youth—who took pride in his clever words—a little frustrated. After a brief silence, he spoke again, with utmost sincerity: "That day on the boat, you said Dong Mei was beautiful. In truth, I wanted to tell you—you are beautiful as well!"

At last, the girl smiled: "It seems you are no different from those self-styled romantic men!"

"In this, all men are the same! Of course, I am not your suitor. Since I am not, my praise is entirely genuine—or perhaps deceitful, but I belong to the former."

"Is a suitor's praise not trustworthy?"

"Not that it isn’t, but suitors tend to be foolish, so their words must be taken with a grain of salt."

Her smile grew even brighter: "Hmm, I like that answer!"

The youth said nothing more, turned, and walked away. He thought there was no need for the usual melodramatic farewells.

He had not gone far when a slightly anxious voice called from behind: "If the golden mountain in the desert waits for you, will you return for it when you have the strength?"

"Haha, I’d be willing to marry—would you be willing to wed me?" The youth, his dignity restored, walked with an especially light step.

"How will you know if you don’t try?"

Because of that question, the youth paused, now gazing at her back. Almost no one knew that this long procession outside Luo City had come for a girl who had once served him.

...

The girl now called "Dong Mei" stood at the foot of the hill, a little embarrassed, waiting for Zheng Fanren.

Zheng Fanren tapped her head playfully, teasing, "Come on, smile for your master!"

Dong Mei giggled and ran a few steps ahead, her shapely figure accentuated by the motion.

Ahem! Ahem!

Two coughs sounded behind them. Zheng Fanren withdrew his gaze from her figure and said sternly, "Zhou, don’t you think you’re showing up a bit early?"

Zhou Ziwen replied, "The old man from Tai Xuan is violent; I’d die a horrible death, so I have no choice."

"What kind of old man is so violent? Can’t he let you die gracefully?"

"There are ways, of course. As my friend, the princess greatly admires your calligraphy. Guiding her in writing is a perfectly reasonable thing."

"You seem to shirk all responsibility. What benefit is there for me?"

Zhou Ziwen was deeply vexed—so many wanted to teach, but never had the chance. This wretched fellow was shameless to the extreme.

Outwardly, he remained confident and calm: "The consequences of kidnapping a princess are dire, don’t you think this arrangement is best for everyone?"

Zheng Fanren grinned even more broadly: "I doubt the Zhou family wants to offend the dean of Tai Xuan. Besides, I have ways to win the princess’s favor!"

Even someone as suave as Zhou Ziwen looked uneasy: "So what do you want?"

"I’ve heard few people know the entrance exam questions for Tai Xuan Academy?"

"Go to hell, that’s impossible!" Zhou Ziwen finally cursed, but even in anger, his retort was merely "go to hell," lacking any real bite.

Zheng Fanren watched the blush creep over his face and did not press further: "Fine, just one request: that mysterious artifact master was driven away by you—not me. In other words, the incident where I blocked the Ten Thousand Mysterious Artifact never happened."

After a brief pause, he continued, "I want your word as a friend, that whether it’s to your family or the dean of Tai Xuan, you’ll stick to this story."

Zhou Ziwen stared at him in silence for a moment, then finally nodded.

Soon he smiled, "Since we’re friends, I’d like to see the book you used to knock down the Ten Thousand Mysterious Artifact that day."

"I want you to answer in your own words."

"What words?"

"Go to hell."

Zhou Ziwen muttered to himself, "If it’s a battle of words, I’m hopelessly outmatched."

At this moment, Zheng Fanren asked, "Are you sure the old man is at ease?"

"What’s there to worry about? The princess has always been under my protection, never any mishap!"

"I thought I was shameless, but you all are even worse! You’d best protect her where you can’t be seen—otherwise, if the princess makes a fuss, I won’t intervene!"

Zhou Ziwen agreed with a nod and added, "I’ve already given the princess the Heavenly Eye incense and that Ten Thousand Mysterious Artifact."

...

In the following days, life became exceedingly simple: reading, practicing Tai Chi, teaching calligraphy, and exploring the mysterious force—like a blind man feeling an elephant.

Sometimes he took "Dong Mei" shopping; she was still called "Dong Mei," though she was the same person, Zheng Fanren did not believe the princess was easier to serve than "Dong Mei."

Strangely, after several days in the little Luo Xue courtyard, he had yet to see Luo Xue herself.

Zheng Fanren had no plans for twilight meetings; his current life was exceptionally comfortable. Occasionally, he could admire the graceful lines of his maid and the princess, and he was content.

Such comfort, of course, is never long-lasting—especially when living under another’s roof. When "Dong Mei" mentioned rumors and gossip, he paid little heed; but hearing it himself was another matter.

At this moment, the brothel madam, unable to endure any longer, finally appeared before him. Though she forced a smile, the youth remained easygoing.

Setting aside his book, Zheng Fanren said calmly, "I’ll move out tomorrow."

The madam was displeased: "Why wait until tomorrow?"

Zheng Fanren’s expression darkened slightly: "I thought you’d let me stay until tomorrow."

She retorted, "Young Master Nangong only paid up to today!"

The youth turned to Dong Mei, who responded sheepishly, "I have no money. Maybe you could write something for her?"

Zheng Fanren shook his head and replied with composure, "Pack up. We’re leaving."