Chapter One Hundred: The Grand Finale

After Yu Hualiang returned, he stood for a long time before the sealed gates of the Seventh Prince’s mansion, overwhelmed by countless memories within. The Seventh Prince had been exceptionally kind to him—so kind that it became almost vexing. His smile, his worries, all seemed to have invisibly become the most beautiful scenery Yu longed to paint.

Each soft whisper pulled Yu back to every wild evening spent together—both troubled and unforgettable.

“Ziliang…”

Hearing this call, Yu turned sharply, only to find it wasn’t the person from his memories. Lian Sheng had stood behind him for some time; his face was pale and weary, likely from days without rest.

Yu softened his tone: “Qingli…”

Lian Sheng paused. “The name you chose… it sounds terrible.”

Yu gave a bitter smile. “Surely someone will like it.”

He glanced at Zhou Yibai behind Lian Sheng and understood the situation. Lian Sheng pretended not to hear his meaning and stepped closer. “My name… even you despise it?”

“No… I just think someone else would like it more.”

“Who do you mean?”

Yu fell silent. Just as he was about to leave, a sudden dizziness nearly caused him to collapse.

Lian Sheng frowned. “Still not well?”

Yu sighed. “The medicine is strong.”

Supported by Lian Sheng and under Zhou Yibai’s watchful eyes, a chill ran down Yu’s back.

Three days had passed; it was time for the Seventh Prince’s fate to be announced.

The emperor decreed the Seventh Prince’s execution. Yu smiled suddenly, tears scattering in the wind.

He donned white robes, drifting like willow catkins carried by the breeze—like snowflakes in the season they first met.

A plum blossom smile caught every eye—a scene Yu would never forget. The Seventh Prince looked up at the falling white catkins. With deft hands, he slowly clasped them in his palm; these snow-like petals felt warm against his skin.

Yu, clad in white, smiling softly, held two cups of poisoned wine as he approached.

Knowing the emperor’s intent, Yu had begged to personally accompany the Seventh Prince on his final journey.

He held two cups on a tray. The Seventh Prince rose, understanding his intention.

They exchanged cups in a double toast. The Seventh Prince smiled and drank deeply.

Leaving Yu standing aside, the prince snatched Yu’s cup and laughed, “You’re just my pawn. I don’t love you.”

Watching him drink, Yu’s eyes grew moist; they had agreed he would smile as he sent him off.

Yet the Seventh Prince was carefree. Tossing the cup aside, he embraced Yu and gently kissed the tears from his face.

Whispering in his ear, “I don’t love you… never have.”

Yu returned the embrace. “Neither do I… I hate you.”

They held each other until the prince’s strength waned. Yu cradled him as he sat on the ground.

The prince’s eyes closed slowly, murmuring, “Ziliang… I will remember you; even in the next life, I won’t forget your face.”

Silence fell. Before him, the past replayed—their first meeting, every gesture and smile passing like a lantern show.

From falling snow to the plum blossom grove, to the awakening rains of Apricot Flower Village, he seemed to hold Yu’s hand, shedding his identity and all burdens, two children running through a pale world of drifting catkins.

But in the end, he had to let go. Yu stood smiling, waving goodbye, while the prince alone walked toward the yellow spring road, blooming with the other shore flowers from Yu’s paintings.

Yu didn’t know how long he cried holding his body. After hiding away for days, the city suddenly buzzed with uproar.

The emperor had captured the Fourth Prince, publicly sentencing him to death, stirring mixed opinions.

Yu had no heart to watch. Picking up his brush before a blank canvas, he tried to paint but found nothing would come.

Suddenly, a flash of bright red caught his eye, accompanied by a songbird-like voice at his ear.

“Painter Yu… could you paint one for me?”

Looking up, Yu saw the red-clad woman was Qianqian. He smiled quietly, saying nothing.

Curious, the princess asked why he didn’t question her feigned death.

“Why aren’t you surprised?”

Yu thought: what was there to be surprised about? Did she want him to say her acting was terrible, that he saw through it halfway?

“Princess, you’re blessed; you won’t die,” he replied, piquing her curiosity.

“How did you know? Can you tell me?”

Yu put away his brush. “A princess of your stature shouldn’t stoop to visit my humble abode.”

“Shh, remember, when no one’s around, call me Qianqian.”

“Very well, Qianqian. How are Chun and Dong?”

The princess frowned. “The servants say both are males… Two tigers cannot share one mountain. I want to give you one to raise.”

Yu hesitated. “I’m not sure. You keep them for now. I think it’s better to separate them.”

“Why is that?”

Yu smiled bitterly at his blank paper. “Because it would turn utterly blank.”

The princess understood his sorrow and patted his shoulder. “In a few days, the Imperial Painter Contest begins. His Majesty wants you to participate.”

Yu sighed. “Thanks for the emperor’s kindness.”

On contest day, the city was lively, as if celebrating a festival—or perhaps the death of two rebellious princes.

Yu’s extraordinary skill drew all eyes. Naturally, he had a dazzling opponent: Wang Ji.

They were the hottest topic—the failed rebellion of two princes ended by these two painters.

Whichever of them won, it was the public’s expectation.

The emperor, seated on the dragon throne, eyed Yu. “The Seventh Prince’s body is missing... How did you manage that?”

Minister Meng glanced at Yu, then sipped his tea. “This Painter Yu… is a candidate scholar, naturally possessing such talents.”

The emperor smirked darkly. “Let’s see if he remains clever today.”

After winning another round, Wang Ji was restless. During the noon break, he sought out Yu.

“Unexpected… you’re still alive.”

Yu didn’t know where this hostility came from. He understood everything except why Wang Ji bore such enmity.

“Qingyi, what do you mean by that?”

“Don’t call me Qingyi!” Wang Ji shouted.

Yu frowned, baffled as to when he had offended him. He tried to explain but was summoned for the next round.

“Qingyi, I don’t know what misunderstanding lies between us... but I will try to mend it. See you later.”

He hurried onto the stage.

Wang Ji seethed, watching his retreating figure. “There is no ‘later’… Yu Hualiang.”

From his embroidered sleeve, he drew a cyan vial and poured some into a cup.

Just as he thought his plan perfect, he turned to find Ji Yuzhe behind him.

Ji only wanted to check on Wang Ji but stumbled upon this scene. Fearing exposure, Wang Ji covered Ji’s mouth.

Ji struggled for breath, heart racing; Wang Ji didn’t expect this would trigger his heart condition.

Seeing Ji Yuzhe collapse, Wang Ji felt no panic; instead, he thought, “His heart ailment is a blessing—no one will know I killed him.”

Called to the stage, Wang Ji ignored Ji’s fate and carried the poisoned tea with him.

Stepping out, he wished it wasn’t him who had done this; regret came too late.

Before all eyes, Wang Ji raised the cup to Yu. “Painter Yu, elder brother of Qingyi, though the contest is a battlefield, don’t scorn your senior.”

Yu looked at him, recalling the earlier incident—clearly, the tea was poisoned.

Smiling, he accepted the cup but set it aside. “Better to drink after the contest.”

Wang Ji dropped his feigned kindness and picked up his brush.

Yu recalled the blue stone steps at the plum blossom pavilion.

He painted a blue stone path lined with plum blossoms, sketching from memory with utmost care.

Beside him, Wang Ji depicted the entire palace, laboring hard to win, unaware that Yu’s painting conveyed emotions he could never surpass.

In the distance, the misty mountains, ink strokes depicting rain-soaked clouds and lingering sorrows, the blue stones seeming to ascend skyward, perilous and broken.

The plum blossoms were tinted a faint pink-white—not quite plum, more like apricot flowers.

Though spring’s vitality was present, petals scattered with the wind, their shadows lengthened on the stones, lonely and desolate.

On the first step, Yu painted a pair of silver wine cups—the very cups the Seventh Prince drank poison from.

One stood upright; the other lay overturned.

It was as if everyone else laughed, but he cried.

The emperor recognized the meaning. A chill ran through him upon viewing the painting. By comparison, Wang Ji’s work paled.

Lian Sheng frowned, muttering, “What are you thinking?”

Zhou Yibai beside him said, “A memorial.”

“Senior brother! Show your true skill!” Chang Zihao cheered below.

Yu smiled and dipped his brush into Wang Ji’s tea cup.

Wang Ji felt stabbed; this scene was all too familiar.

Chang Zihao laughed, mock-threatening to punch him.

Yu touched the tea-stained brush to the painting; flowers seemed to bloom vividly.

Wang Ji knew he could never beat this.

As the painting neared completion, the emperor told Minister Liu, “He’s not clever enough.”

Yu suddenly smiled at the emperor, who was puzzled.

Then Yu grabbed the tea cup and poured the tea over the painting.

The splash ruined the blue stone steps, his path forward, and scattered all the cherished memories.

Yu made a stunning entrance—and exit.

Looking at the blackened painting, he chuckled softly, shot a warning glance at Wang Ji, then shattered the cup on the ground.

The crowd gasped. Ji Yuyun carried Ji Yuzhe out, seemingly wanting to speak, but after seeing Yu’s painting, she was too shocked to say a word.

Yu knelt before the emperor, carefree. “Your subject has failed Your Majesty’s expectations and deserves death. Please punish me.”

The emperor laughed. “Painter Yu… you are clever. From today, your status as the Yu family’s painter is revoked. You are banished from the capital and may never return.”

Yu smiled, bowing. “Thank you for your graciousness.”

Minister Meng rose with the emperor, glanced at Yu, and left.

Wang Ji became the capital’s top painter but was far from happy.

Banished, Yu looked at the magnolia tree in the courtyard. “Mocai, does this tree have seeds?”

“Master, it doesn’t; it was grafted.”

Embarrassed, Yu said, “Then cut a branch.”

“This tree won’t survive outside the Yu family. I advise you to just admire it.”

Yu looked at Lian Sheng in surprise. “Why did you come back so soon?”

Lian Sheng shrugged. “I resigned, afraid you’d embarrass the Yu family alone.”

“Uh… I’m no longer part of the Yu family.”

Lian Sheng gave him a look. “I say you are! You always will be.”

Yu smiled; he did like Lian Sheng’s domineering nature.

Before leaving, they visited the Ji brothers and Doctor Wang.

“Brother Yu!” Ji Yuzhe, recovering well after his last episode, was playing the zither when they arrived.

Yu was amused to discover the seemingly capable Wang Ruosheng played terribly. He almost laughed aloud.

Wang Ruosheng noticed. “You try.”

Yu declined to avoid embarrassment.

Ji Yuzhe said, “Brother Yu, you’re here to bid farewell, right? Bring out my good wine!”

“Brother can’t drink.” The icy-faced Ji Yuyun reminded him.

Wang Ruosheng contradicted, “Who says he can’t?”

He produced a jar. “This is my homemade medicinal wine, good for your heart.”

Ji Yuzhe was touched. “Thank you, Brother Ruosheng!”

Ji Yuyun frowned. “Brother, no drinking!”

Yu laughed heartily, glanced back, and waved, “Farewell.”

Outside, Chang Zihao grabbed his collar after so long without quarrel. “Where have you been? Write to me!”

Yu blinked. “Oh… okay.”

Reluctantly, Chang Zihao released him. “I’ll challenge you in a year.”

Yu suddenly remembered something. “How about this… in a year, my apprentice comes. You help me look after him?”

Chang Zihao’s temper flared. “When did you get an apprentice?”

Yu soothed him. “Unexpected. His name’s Qi Feng… remember that.”

“No way! Why should I take care of your apprentice?”

As Yu walked away, he pulled out a golden brush and tossed it to him. “Your tones are off. Use this brush to practice.”

Chang Zihao was stunned but accepted it with a smile.

Leaving the capital, Lian Sheng asked, “Where to?”

Yu looked up at the sky. “To a place by the mountains and rivers.”

“Xiangzhou?” Mocai chimed in.

Yu smiled. “Let’s go there.”

As the carriage moved, someone called out, “Qingli.”

Yu turned, smiling. “Qingli, look who it is!”

Lian Sheng impatiently peeked from the window at Zhou Yibai’s goofy grin, then shrugged and laughed.

Yu knew—his junior brother was finally moved.

He settled in Xiangzhou, building a courtyard halfway up the mountain. To enter, one must climb that blue stone path.

Mocai planted magnolia trees by the steps. Three years later, they reached waist height.

It was bloom season, but rain kept visitors away.

Yu held an oil-paper umbrella, gazing at the mountains and rivers below, watching magnolias bloom fragrantly in the rain.

Suddenly, a deep blue figure appeared at the path’s end.

Clad in flowing dark blue robes, holding an oil-paper umbrella shielding his face.

But Yu knew—one day this man would climb his blue stone steps.

“I’ve searched for you three years… and three more. This time, you can’t escape.”

The voice spoke from beneath the umbrella.

Yu sighed softly, studying the cold, handsome face with a faint smile.

“Mu Zicheng, you’ve finally come.”

Indeed, the Seventh Prince had not died. Lin Tang had told him that night: whether or not the prince revealed the Fourth Prince’s whereabouts, the emperor would eliminate him.

Though Yu knew the prince had killed A’Liu and truly plotted rebellion, he couldn’t watch him die.

So he sought Wang Ruosheng to create a fake death potion. Wang succeeded, though uncertain of its effects.

Time was tight. Yu risked taking the medicine himself, passing out for a day before awakening naturally.

When the prince’s body was taken for burial, Ye Hao and Ji Yuyun rescued him and smuggled him out overnight.

Yu knew that as long as the prince lived, he would inevitably ascend his blue stone steps.

Mu Zicheng still tried to hold him close as before, but Yu responded with a merciless stab.

Expressionless, Yu watched Mu’s furrowed brow and withdrew the knife from his arm.

“This is for A’Liu.”

Mu staggered back, pale, but smiled weakly. “Yes… this is what I owe you.”

Then he fainted. Yu never expected this once-strong prince to become so weak.

He helped him up. When Mu awoke three days later, Yu brought him medicine.

“What happened?”

Mu smiled. “My martial arts are ruined.”

Yu was stunned; was this a side effect of the medicine overdose?

He fed Mu the medicine spoon by spoon. Mu stared silently as before, unnerving Yu.

Embarrassed, Yu set the bowl down. “Drink it yourself.”

Suddenly, Mu grasped his hand. “Ziliang… I finally see you again. This time, I won’t let go.”

Yu pulled back. “I don’t love you. When you recover, you’ll leave.”

Mu, anxious, grabbed his hand fiercely, reopening his wound.

Yu frowned. “Don’t be so reckless. I’m not forcing you to leave!”

Hearing his softening, Mu smiled and eased his grip. “Ziliang… now I can’t move… will you help me up?”

“What do you want?”

“To kiss you.”