Chapter Seven: Enduring Love in the Western Province, A Measureless Tangle of Love and Hate

At the border between the Li Dynasty and Xizhou, the atmosphere was so heavy it seemed as if water could be wrung from the air.

What was familiar were the traces of Xiaofeng’s presence and the memories they once shared; what was unfamiliar was that now Xiaofeng harbored only hatred toward him, and the Xizhou he faced was filled with hostility due to the downfall of the Danchi.

Since arriving in Xizhou, Li Chengyin had cast aside the airs of a Li Dynasty prince, quietly observing Xiaofeng’s every move each day.

Before dawn, while the stars still shimmered in the night sky, he rose silently.

Inside his tent, he carefully kindled a fire, the flickering flames illuminating his focused expression. He meticulously selected ingredients—each red date scrutinized, every grain of glutinous rice washed with care—just to make Xiaofeng’s favorite pastry.

Once prepared, he gently placed the treats on an exquisite plate, adorning its edge with tiny wildflowers dotted with morning dew, gathered from the grasslands—symbols of his cautious yet hopeful love for Xiaofeng.

He then quietly approached Xiaofeng’s tent, footsteps light as if fearful of disturbing her sweet dreams. After setting down the plate, he left a note in slightly stiff handwriting, a result of his nervousness, carefully penned: “Xiaofeng, these are the pastries you once mentioned. I hope you like them. Please do not let me affect your mood—I only wish for your well-being.” Then, like a child who had done something wrong, he quietly turned and left, his figure fading into the morning mist, lonely and desolate.

Whenever Xiaofeng went out riding to clear her mind, Li Chengyin followed her at a distance neither too near nor too far.

His gaze was as sharp as a hawk’s, never missing a hint of danger that might threaten her. The slightest rustle in the grass tightened his chest with apprehension.

One day, sunlight bathed the grasslands as Xiaofeng galloped freely, her hair streaming wildly in the wind.

Suddenly, a rope hidden in the grass, like a demon’s snare, caught the horse’s legs. Startled, the horse neighed loudly and bolted.

Li Chengyin’s heart leapt to his throat. Without hesitation, he dashed forward like an arrow released from a bow.

His eyes locked onto the frantic horse, his feet stamping deep impressions in the earth. Ignoring the risk of being trampled, he stretched out his arms with all his might. The rough reins burned his palms, drawing streaks of blood, yet he seemed oblivious to the pain.

At last, through sheer effort, the horse gradually slowed and stopped. Breathless, he hurried to Xiaofeng’s side, his eyes filled with worry and fear as his hands gently searched her body, voice trembling with emotion: “Xiaofeng, are you alright? Are you hurt anywhere?”

Xiaofeng looked at his anxious face, and for a fleeting moment, the hatred in her heart seemed to ripple, stirred by something beneath. But soon the tide of grief and resentment surged back, drowning that slight wavering.

She pushed him away forcefully, eyes cold and resolute: “Don’t give me your hypocritical concern. All of this is your fault.”

Without looking back, she strode toward the camp, leaving Li Chengyin standing dumbfounded, watching her retreating figure with a mix of loss and helplessness. His solitary silhouette against the vast grassland seemed especially lonely, yet the conviction in his heart remained unshaken—he knew he could not give up.

At night, the sky over Xizhou was deep and mysterious, studded with stars like glittering jewels.

Li Chengyin sat alone outside his tent, the cold wind cutting like knives against his skin, though he seemed unaware. He lifted his eyes to the stars, his thoughts involuntarily drifting back to the past.

Deep within the grasslands, he and Xiaofeng once sat embraced, her head gently resting on his shoulder as they gazed at the boundless sky, sharing dreams and secrets. Moonlight bathed them softly, as if cloaking them in a sacred silver veil.

Now, things had changed, and he could only taste the bitterness of loneliness and regret in the cold night wind.

He understood well that winning Xiaofeng’s heart again was like climbing a towering, thorn-covered peak. Yet he was willing to endure endless patience and tenderness to slowly melt the solid ice of her hatred. Even if the process left him battered and bruised, he would never retreat.

One day, by chance, Li Chengyin learned from Adu that Xiaofeng longed for a childhood friend in Xizhou, a friend skilled in crafting exquisite handicrafts—treasures that had once brought Xiaofeng countless moments of joy and warmth.

He silently committed this to heart and embarked on a long journey to find an artisan capable of creating similar works.

Riding across Xizhou’s tribes, enduring wind and rain without complaint, he tirelessly inquired at every settlement about a master craftsman. Though fatigue marked his face, his gaze remained steadfast.

Finally, in a remote tribe, he found a craftsman of exceptional skill.

Li Chengyin spent a great deal of time and effort, carefully describing the appearance of the handicrafts from Xiaofeng’s memories.

His detailed descriptions, even accompanied by hand-drawn sketches, conveyed his deep affection. The craftsman, moved by his persistence and sincerity, painstakingly created a piece.

When Li Chengyin presented the handiwork to Xiaofeng with hopeful anticipation, a flicker of surprise and emotion appeared in her eyes. For a moment, she seemed to glimpse the joyful times spent with her childhood friend.

But soon the mask of indifference returned. Coldly, she said, “What is this? Do you think this will make me forget my hatred?”

Li Chengyin gently shook his head, his eyes full of earnestness and helplessness: “I know this is insignificant, but I want you to know that I care about your joys and sorrows. I will do my best to make up for the harm I caused you.”

Though Xiaofeng’s attitude remained icy, Li Chengyin did not stop.

He continued to quietly protect her each day. When she strolled by the river, he would lay out the blanket she liked to sit on in advance; when she shed silent tears out of homesickness, he watched from afar with a heart full of pain, then had the maid bring her specialties from her homeland.

He persisted in his silent devotion, unwavering in his hope to heal what was broken.