Yun Yi tucked the photo into her ledger.
Daoist Xiao’s ledger wasn’t thick. Since she had transmigrated back to the modern era, she had recorded in it every day.
No matter what method she used—sleeping early to dream, going to the Xiao ancestral hall to request incense… she couldn’t transmigrate back.
It was as if those days in Yan had been nothing but a golden millet dream.
This trip to clear her mind was a promise she had made to herself.
Yun Yi wrote thus:
[December 22, 2026. The greatest achievement of a successful person: break yourself and start over.]
After transmigrating back, her account had grown from five thousand followers to ten thousand. She had always been like this—even in adversity, she could start over.
On the 24th, Yun Yi went to Seattle to spend Christmas Eve with her mother and brother.
Kelu circled the Christmas tree, spinning excitedly.
“Xiao Yi, go hang the star.” Cheng Su pressed the star into her daughter’s hand.
A crystal star rose to the top of the Christmas tree, its bling-bling light flashing into her eyes.
A scene from months ago flashed before her: Xiao Zhi crawling out of the trunk, and she, to protect herself, lifting the garage’s Christmas tree to fight back.
“Xiao Yi?” Her mother’s call faded in and out.
Her brother: “Little sister?”
“Woof!” Kelu circled his little master’s feet, wagging his tail uneasily.
In her mind appeared a scene from Yan.
Within the diamond-patterned window, the Emperor’s figure was indistinct.
He seemed to be bowing his head reviewing memorials. At the end, he took up that jade-colored imperial seal and stamped it steadily.
Someone beside him spoke—perhaps his close minister.
“Your Majesty is in the prime of his years, the harem is empty, no imperial heirs have been born.” The minister ventured.
The Emperor leaned back on the dragon throne and let out a breath, as if responding to the minister.
Yun Yi couldn’t hear clearly. Rustling static poured into her ears—her family’s calls, her beloved dog’s anxious barking.
She strained her ears desperately, laboriously filtering out a sentence or two.
The minister said the words “take consorts.”
And the Emperor responded: “Mm, I want…”
So he really did want to.
That was normal.
What emperor stayed a bachelor?
Yun Yi’s feet swayed, and she fell off the small ladder.
“Xiao Yi? What’s wrong?” Yun Xi caught her.
“Brother?” Yun Yi came back to herself. Her eyelids trembled. She grabbed her brother’s arm.
Her pattering sobs drowned out the cheerful Christmas songs on TV.
“Which stinking brat bullied you! I’ll kill him!” Yun Xi said viciously.
Cheng Su smacked his arm: “Murder is illegal.”
Yun Xi changed his tune: “I’ll stab him to death with silver needles!”
About their sister’s “breakup,” the family wanted to ask but didn’t dare.
No wonder she wanted to travel to clear her mind. No wonder she often lacked energy.
Cheng Su blamed herself greatly and took her anger out on her ex-husband. She immediately dragged Yun Guoqiang out of the blacklist and made a cross-border call, unleashing a torrent of scolding the moment he picked up.
Yun Guoqiang was overjoyed and resentful at once.
Joy: his wife had contacted him. As long as he could be in touch with his wife, what did a few scoldings matter?
Resentment: that Xiao kid was truly heartless—dumping his daughter and then vanishing from the face of the earth.
“Yun Guoqiang, I’m telling you—if you won’t care for your daughter, I will! Xiao Yi—want to continue your studies and go for a graduate degree?”
“Mom, stop scolding Dad.” Yun Yi supported Yun Guoqiang from afar. “Dad hasn’t stopped caring about me.”
On the phone, Yun Guoqiang: “Wife, listen! Our daughter is my witness! Yun Bao, miss Dad?”
Cheng Su pursed her lips and handed the phone to her daughter.
“Dad.”
America was daytime; China was night.
The sound of machines running came through the phone. No need to ask—Teacher Yun was definitely working overtime at his workplace.
—”Old Yun, look at this.”
That loud voice was unmistakably Dad’s colleague, Uncle Yu.
Yun Guoqiang: “Look yourself. I’m on the phone with my wife and daughter.”
Old Yu was more abnormal than usual. Ignoring Yun Guoqiang’s words, he forcibly pulled back his attention.
“This is a record booklet. The dynasty written on it isn’t Tang or Song.”
“Push it back—Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms.” Yun Guoqiang said carelessly.
Yun Yi held her breath.
“The Yan dynasty… what dynasty is that? The Kingdom of Yan?” Old Yu spoke with unprecedented seriousness. “Old Yun, we may have made a major discovery.”
Christmas Day.
Yun Yi boarded an international flight.
The night sky was split in two by the terminator line. Above was deep cobalt blue; below, a churning sea of clouds. A corner of the wing showed outside the window, its tip bearing a constantly lit navigation light.
She stared at the slender strip of orange-red on the horizon and remembered a pinky promise with someone: I’ll find a way to take you on a plane.
What Uncle Yu called a major discovery was that the retreat palace had yielded concrete evidence of the Yan dynasty’s existence.
That record booklet was likely a historian’s record.
Yun Yi took a deep breath. Meeting the flight attendant’s concerned gaze, she forced the corners of her mouth up and asked for a glass of orange juice.
The plane landed.
Her best friend came to pick her up.
“Why are you here?”
“Tsk tsk tsk, could I not come? Yun Xi called me.” Her best friend snatched the suitcase like a bandit and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, steering her toward the parking lot. “Why have you lost so much weight? Eating white-people food every day?”
Yun Yi collapsed limply into her best friend’s arms. After a long moment, she lifted her head: “How long have you and my brother been sneaking around?”
Her best friend stiffened, laughing unnaturally: “When did you find out? Did Yun Xi tell you?”
Yun Yi reclaimed control of her suitcase: “From the moment you called my brother by his full name.”
“Uh…”
“Well, well, Qu Mumu—you’ve grown capable!” Yun Yi bent her finger and flicked her best friend’s forehead.
“Ouch, please, my dear auntie,” Qu Mumu pulled her golden chinchilla out of the car and shielded her own head. “I’m at least your future sister-in-law. Don’t you respect the elderly and love the young!”
“Hmph, sister-in-law, if you please—I want to go to my dad’s workplace.”
.
They drove all the way.
Madam Radish, nestled on Yun Yi’s lap, licked her plump paw pads. Yun Yi pulled a jade comb from her bag and combed the cat’s fur stroke by stroke.
Madam Radish was so comfortable she dozed off.
“This comb is so smooth and lustrous. Where did you buy it?” Qu Mumu asked.
“Hm?” Yun Yi examined the comb. The water quality was moist and white. On the crescent-shaped back was carved a kui dragon pattern. This comb was the one Wang Delan had used to comb the Emperor’s hair.
The wooden comb she had carried with her had mysteriously disappeared. At the time, Xiao Zhi had said: “The palace has plenty.”
He had given her his own comb.
Qu Mumu was still chattering: “Tan Carpenter’s wooden combs are pretty expensive. This jade comb must be worth a lot?”
Indeed very expensive.
Imperial use, after all.
An internal staff work badge swung at Yun Yi’s chest. She pulled her suitcase straight into the research institute.
“Teacher Yun.” Yun Yi precisely picked out her father from a pile of sun-blackened workers.
“Yun Bao!” Yun Guoqiang’s eyes instantly lit up. “Why didn’t you take Xiao Liu’s car?”
Uh, sorry, Senior Brother Liu. Yun Yi quickly turned off her phone’s airplane mode and speedily sent Liu Ping a kowtowing apology meme, promising that the next new product would go to his girlfriend first.
Yun Yi didn’t expose her brother and best friend’s sneaking around. Instead, she urgently asked about the unearthed booklet.
A bunch of excavation-obsessed archaeology fanatics at the research institute heard the high-frequency word “Yan dynasty” and perked up their heads like meerkats.
Old Yu waved her over.
Yun Yi didn’t bother with her suitcase and darted over.
What she had imagined a historian’s record would look like: thick, exhaustively covering the entire dynasty’s history.
But this one before her.
The spine was long gone. The pages were incomplete, yellowed, and brittle.
The inner pages were spread out one by one. The institute was using professional archaeological scanners to scan and preserve each page.
A dynasty that had truly existed before Yun Yi’s eyes now survived only in a few scant damaged pages. She put on a mask and gloves and asked carefully: “Uncle Yu, may I take a look?”
“You can’t touch it. The paper is severely brittle. We’re still discussing how to restore it.”
“Alright.” Yun Yi stood to the side, her gaze falling on the pages, her eyes almost greedy.
She read the complex characters word by word.
The first page said Emperor Wu of Yan was a general of the previous dynasty. His primary wife was Lady Sun. His eldest son…
There was a hole in the handwriting, missing a few characters. Yun Yi skipped over it, her gaze lingering long on Xiao Zhi’s name.
The Yan dynasty had truly existed, and so had Xiao Zhi. So his mother’s surname was Sun.
Concubine Cui. His third son and fourth daughter died young. His fifth son, Xiao Li.
Concubine Cui—she was the Dowager Empress of Yan.
Old Yu and his colleagues began discussing.
“I remember the ancestor enshrined in the Xiao Family Village ancestral hall was named Xiao Zhi.”
Yun Guoqiang glanced at his daughter and said: “After the pages undergo dating tests, we’ll discuss authenticity.”
Old Yu nodded: “What a pity—it was only excavated from beneath the retreat palace. If it had come from a tomb, it would be more convincing.”
When Yun Yi heard the word “tomb,” her eyes instantly reddened.
If there really was Xiao Zhi’s tomb, what would she do?
The second emperor of Yan.
He had once appeared before her so vividly…
Warm palms, light breathing, silky hair.
He had a solemn, dignified face.
Yun Yi had seen him behead an assassin with one stroke, show no mercy to his brothers, use thunderous methods against those he hated.
Only with her would he unconsciously yield three parts.
She remembered the scene of pinky-swearing: fingertips connected, drawing out a tingling electric current.
Looking back, that moment had already become a memory.
Yun Yi’s eyes fell on the booklet again: The Emperor was assassinated and died suddenly. The Second Prince, Xiao Zhi, ascended the throne.
So her memories had become history recorded on paper.
It was too cruel.
“What does the second page say?”
A young expert in historical texts and ancient books explained: “If Yan’s history is real, then this second emperor of Yan never took a harem after ascending the throne. The empress’s position remained vacant.”
“Ah, if I were emperor, I’d definitely have three palaces and six courtyards.”
“No consorts? Eighty percent he was a cut-sleeve, impotent.”
“That doesn’t make sense. If he were a cut-sleeve, he’d need to maintain the Emperor’s dignity even more—widely taking consorts to cover people’s eyes.”
Yun Yi’s eyelashes fluttered. Her gaze followed the expert’s words and landed on: “The empress’s position remained vacant. The ministers advised. The Emperor was angered and gave Yue Minye twenty strokes of the cane to set an example.”
Ah… wasn’t that Yue Ying’s father? The minister who had tried every means to get his daughter into the palace?
Yun Yi imagined the scene of Yue Minye’s dream of becoming the Emperor’s father-in-law shattering, and couldn’t help laughing out loud: “Pfft.”
The archaeology institute staff exchanged glances. What was going on? Teacher Yun’s daughter, seeing Yan dynasty history, was both crying and laughing?
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