Though it had only been five years since their last meeting, it felt like an entire lifetime had passed.
He still remembered the farewell. The black-clad youth, cold and distant, had merely said, “Take care,” before driving away in a carriage, not once looking back. The sound of the horse’s hooves gently crushed any remaining hope he had.
That person was still dressed in black, as he always had been, but the edges of his clothing now had some delicate embroidery—perhaps the ink bamboo design was stitched by his current lover.
That person was still the same, righteous and noble, with a soft heart beneath a tough exterior. Even though he had retired from the world of martial arts, the word “hero” seemed forever etched into his bones, shaping his very spirit. He had always sought more than just a title.
Yet, he had aged significantly.
If he remembered correctly, the man should be nearing 40. While the fine lines around his eyes weren’t as deep as those of an elder, they were impossible to ignore. Time had finally left its mark on his face… It was strange. In his mind, that person seemed as though he would never grow old.
The commotion over the stolen purse gradually settled down, and the thief was handed over to the local constable. The acrobatic performance resumed, and soon the crowd was once again clapping and cheering, louder than before.
But the black-clad youth quietly disappeared into the crowd.
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Wldt Ewbld ds zsdtla bye vbl blyav qsa lmnkvlxldv. Tl vwadle vs Dkys Nw, obs oyp pvkzz ldtaspple kd vbl rlaqsaxydnl, yde pyke, “R’x blyekdt cynj.”
Dkys Nw lmnzykxle, ekpyrrskdvle, “Zsw’al zlyhkdt yzalyeu?”
“R fwpv alxlxclale R byhl vbkdtp vs vyjl nyal sq yv vbl vyhlad. Zsw pvyu yde ldfsu vbl pbso, cwv cl nyalqwz okvb uswa rwapl,” Wldt Ewbld pyke.
Slzwnvydv vs zlyhl, Dkys Nw alrzkle, “Mbld R’zz nsxl qkde usw zyvla!”
Wldt Ewbld pxkzle yde ryvvle vbl csu sd vbl blye clqsal vwadkdt vs zlyhl.
Mbl plnsde vkxl Wldt Ewbld pyo Fbld Yszyd oyp vos eyup zyvla.
Gp wpwyz, bl oyp blzrkdt bkp qyxkzu awd vblka vyhlad, cwv sd vbkp eyu, y prlnkyz twlpv oyzjle kd—Fbld Yszyd.
Fllkdt vbyv vbl cwpu oykvla nswzed’v tlv vs vbkp twlpv aktbv yoyu, Wldt Ewbld pktble yde oldv shla bkxplzq.
“…What would you like, Sir?” The tavern’s menu was hanging on the wall, so Feng Wuhen didn’t have to go through the trouble of explaining each item. He deliberately avoided looking at the guest’s face, hoping to ignore the complex feelings stirring inside him.
“Two bottles of peach blossom wine,” the guest said flatly.
“Right away!” Feng Wuhen responded quickly, hoping to escape the situation. But the next moment, the guest called out again.
“Wait.” After a brief hesitation, the guest asked, “Do you serve any pastries here?”
Feng Wuhen paused. Due to fierce competition, the tavern had struggled for a while with barely any customers. Because of his skills from his previous life, Feng Wuhen had added a few homemade pastries to the menu, and though he hadn’t made any recently, the items had gained a good reputation. Nowadays, customers were always coming and going.
“We do have pastries. What would you like?” Feng Wuhen smiled, though his heart was racing.
In his past life, he had made countless pastries for Molan, but Molan never knew they were from him. Even so, he still felt nervous.
“…The custard buns,” Molan said after a moment’s hesitation.
“Two bottles of peach blossom wine and one order of custard buns. Please wait a moment,” Feng Wuhen said, finally finding a reason to leave. After instructing the other waiter on what to do, he hurried into the kitchen.
Pastries were always made by him personally, though lately, he had been training the tavern staff to make them. However, the custard buns were more complex, so for now, he handled them himself.
“Ah Hen-ge!”
That cheerful voice could only belong to Xiao Lu. Before Feng Wuhen could answer, Xiao Lu burst into the kitchen, full of excitement.
“Ah Hen-ge, once you’re done, let’s go out and have some fun, okay?”
Feng Wuhen had just taken the buns out of the steamer. Looking into Xiao Lu’s bright eyes, he smiled and replied, “Sure.”
After thinking about it for a moment, he decided to deliver the steaming hot custard buns himself.
The black-clad youth had already drunk quite a bit of the peach blossom wine and seemed slightly tipsy. As Feng Wuhen approached, the youth looked at him and suddenly said, “You look a lot like someone I know.”
Feng Wuhen’s heart tightened for a moment, but remembering his current appearance as “Feng Hen,” he relaxed.
Besides his amber-colored eyes, the present Feng Hen bore little resemblance to the former Feng Wuhen. He figured Shen Molan, having drunk too much, was simply seeing things.
Shen Molan picked up one of the custard buns and took a small bite. Then, he suddenly stopped.
Feng Wuhen quickly said, “The buns just came out of the steamer, so the filling is still hot. Be careful—”
But he stopped mid-sentence.
Because tears were streaming down Shen Molan’s cold and indifferent face.
Feng Wuhen could only stand there, flabbergasted, as the tears slid down Shen Molan’s cheeks. He didn’t know what to do.
Why was this happening?
Was he drunk?
Shen Molan covered his eyes and, after a long pause, said, “I’m sorry. I lost control of myself.”
Feng Wuhen forced a laugh. “No problem. I’ll leave you to it…”
Shen Molan nodded slightly and gestured for him to leave.
That familiar taste… or maybe it wasn’t. It just felt too familiar.
It was like a traveler returning home after many years and tasting their mother’s cooking once again—a wave of nostalgia overwhelmed him. Maybe his memory had embellished the past, making everything seem sweeter than it really was, but for a moment, he felt an uncontrollable urge to cry.
Caught up in the emotion, he really did shed tears, in front of a stranger.
The black-clad youth lowered his gaze and downed the rest of the peach blossom wine in one gulp.
As Feng Wuhen and Xiao Lu left the tavern, Feng Wuhen couldn’t help but glance back at the place where the black-clad youth had been sitting. The man was gone, and in addition to the money left for the wine and pastries, there were several silver notes on the table.
“Ah Hen-ge, look! Someone left extra money—silver notes, even! How generous!” Xiao Lu exclaimed.
Feng Wuhen was lost in thought for a moment before he smiled softly.
“It just means my pastries were good.” He asked the waiter to collect the money, then patted Xiao Lu on the cheek. “Come on, didn’t you want to go out for a bit?”
Xiao Lu, forgetting all about the money, looked up at him with bright eyes, full of excitement.
“Yes! Let’s go!”
As Feng Wuhen looked into Xiao Lu’s eyes, shining like stars, he smiled gently.
Time passed in the blink of an eye, and everything that came before now seemed like a dream. Was he the man dreaming of being a butterfly, or the butterfly dreaming of being a man? In the end, it seemed that fate was simply a matter of timing and missed chances.
The River of Oblivion cannot be crossed. In the end, everything is empty—there is no ignorance, nor the end of ignorance, no old age, nor the end of old age.
Meeting again is no better than not meeting at all. With feelings, one suffers; without them, there is peace.
And for that, he was content.
END
Author’s Note
Finally, it’s finished. In the end, I didn’t stray from the original outline. Thank you all for your continued support.
My initial intention in writing this was about growth and transformation, but it required a catalyst. I always wanted to explore a character who remains cold and detached throughout the story, holding onto the belief that ‘the cruelest thing is not hatred, but indifference.’1Very No One Saved Me And when that person finally dies, the survivor spends the rest of their life in regret and sorrow. A fleeting moment of attraction is not the same as love. Love is something that endures, something like growing old together, a sort of eternity.
But loss and death can perhaps be an even more profound kind of eternity.
That’s about it. I’m thinking of starting a new project. Until we meet again!
Translator’s Note
This is the longest tragic novel project I’ve taken.
Honestly, Shen Molan truly deserves to live in suffering, forever remembering that September breeze of regret.
Author’s Other Translated Works
No One Saved Me (translated by Kris Xian)
No One Knows (translated by Ebarle and Kris Xian)
His Present (translated by Hoenimochi)
I was worried for a moment there when FWH reincarnated and thought he would reconcile with SML but the surprisingly author stuck to their gun and let FWH live his new life while SML suffering for the rest of life! The ending doesn’t leave you feeling frustrated love it.
Thank you so much for translating this! 💜❤️💜❤️ This is my fourth Youlan book and the first time I don’t feel bad for the ML