The night was deep and the snow heavy, the crosswind still.
The light from the lantern at her feet seemed like a layer of faint, pale yellow mist, reminiscent of the magnificent evening glow beside Luomei Peak.
Lu Tong spoke softly.
"Lady Yun died by my hand," she said.
After completing this sentence, it was as if she had shed the last of her burdens, and a persistently heavy corner of her heart finally felt at ease.
In hindsight, some events happened too suddenly.
She had stayed at Luomei Peak for seven years, day after day, year after year, initially always thinking of trying to escape, but gradually she grew numb. Like a puppet confined to a stage, she repeated the same play over and over.
One day, she and Lady Yun went down the mountain to buy seeds for medicinal herbs and encountered a poor woman at the entrance of the Su Nan Medical Practice.
The woman was not a local of Su Nan, and with a distinct accent, she pleaded desperately with the shopkeeper.
