Since all his wives were in favor of striking while the iron was hot, Zhao Changhe saw no reason to delay. Taking the translation, he made a beeline once more for the snowy mountain where Ye Jiuyou resided.0

From a distance, he saw her, still clad entirely in black, seated in quiet meditation atop the summit, allowing the howling wind and snow to lash at her figure. His heart sank at the sight.0

If Zhao Changhe had employed any deliberate strategy, it was not striking while the iron was hot but precisely the opposite. He had let it cool overnight.0

He had wanted to observe what change, if any, would surface after Ye Jiuyou passed through Chang’an and returned to the darkness. Would her heart stir? If she remained utterly unmoved, then perhaps he, too, would know to retreat. No one could warm a stone. After all, even Ye Wuming had been together with him from morning ’til night for close to three years, yet she took decisive action all the same. Calculating one moment, vanishing...0