“We agreed not to think too much,” Zhangyue said softly. “Let’s just enjoy this rare peace while it lasts.”
“It’s my fault. My heart’s restless again. I’ll go get some air.” Zhao Xing rose and moved away from beneath the peach tree.
He sat leaning against the trunk of another tree outside the courtyard, drinking.
Moonlight and wine together; his figure, side-lit, left a lonely silhouette beneath the moon.
Once he’d taken his pose, his mind raced, scheming for a way out of the knot.
“Divine King Zhangyue is a native life of the Yellow Great World. She is bound by that great world; when its annihilation period ends, she will vanish along with it.”
“Her time of death is almost certain.”
“Yuheng, however, can live much longer — he came from the cosmos; his world’s annihilation period is far, far longer than that of the Yellow Great World.”
“The difference between a great world and the cosmos makes their lifespans worlds apart. That’s precisely why the two never truly came together.”
Zhao Xing remembered clearly: in the memoirs Zhangyue often lamented why she and Yuheng were not of the same world.
She loved Yuheng as well, but she never dared accept his feelings.
Zhangyue didn’t want Yuheng to feel sorrow over her death not long after.