ITVCFITB CHAPTER 121

 Chapter 121 — Sharing One Pillow

Over a single meal, Li Mingjin learned the secret Luo Shuyu had carried alone for years.

Once, he would’ve laughed it off. But after the system, after watching Shen Mingyun’s children vanish, he could only believe. What shocked him most wasn’t the strangeness of rebirth, it was realizing the person he’d vowed to protect had been protecting him all along, in his own quiet way.

Li Mingjin’s chest ached for him. If pain could be traded, he would have borne it; if one of them had to live twice, he wished it had been himself.

When Luo Shuyu finished, his whole body seemed to unclench. “I know this hurts to hear,” he said softly, “but at this point I didn’t want to keep anything from you.”

Li Mingjin filled his cup. “What hurts is that I can’t remember it with you. Whatever happened in that other life, I wasn’t there. You carried it alone. I’m sorry I couldn’t carry it with you.”

“Don’t apologize.” Luo Shuyu shook his head, calm. “One less person remembering is one less person hurting. And I don’t hurt like before. You and Chongchong are here. Even Mother-Consort is safe. I’m saying this now because I’ve finally put it down. I’m not telling you to make you feel guilty, I’m telling you because I no longer need to cling to the past.”

“If I’d known earlier,” Li Mingjin murmured, “I would never have let that ‘system’ go.”

“I thought the same at first,” Luo Shuyu said. “But something controls it from above. Letting it leave is safer than keeping it. If it hadn’t been recalled, the danger would’ve been to us. From what I’ve seen, it can only wreck our world through hosts like Shen Mingyun. Once exposed, staying serves it no purpose.”

“And if they send another?”

“I believe the ‘destruction’ it spoke of was real,” Luo Shuyu said after a beat. “They have rules we can’t know, and power that runs out. This world counts as a failed site to them. I doubt we’ll be reset. Besides, we had no way to destroy it.”

Li Mingjin exhaled. “Then we watch and prepare. May no more trouble come knocking.”

“We made it this far,” Luo Shuyu answered, a hint of a smile. “I think there’s another force on our side too. If I could be reborn at all, something out there is pushing back against the systems. I believe it will keep guarding us.”

They couldn’t solve the mysteries beyond their sky. But they could live well.

Shen Mingyun and the Fourth Prince were gone; even the visible, hateful “system” had been pulled from their world. What remained was mopping up the Fourth’s faction, chief among them, Zhou Guo’s second prince.

This time there’d be no “feed him plump” trick. Ha Chi’s tribes weren’t Zhou, he had true backing and loyalty, while a Zhou prince could be swapped like a chess piece. One stratagem rarely works twice. Now that Li Mingjin held Great Xia, the target wasn’t a single man but an entire court across the border. If Zhou Er could be made useful, he’d live, for a time. If not, he had no reason to.

On Zhou Er’s fate, Luo Shuyu deferred to Li Mingjin. He had already laid out everyone tied to Shen Mingyun in the last life; the emperor would know whether to squeeze value first or send him after Shen straightaway.

With old ghosts laid to rest, Luo Shuyu’s days felt lighter.

That afternoon he hosted a farewell feast for Consort Wei. His rank had drawn eyes for years; now where he went next would set the tone for the rest of the harem’s dispersal. Arrangements for everyone else were already made, only his remained.

As for Consort Mei, the homesick gourmet of yesterday had new priorities. She wanted family. She wanted to watch Chongchong grow. The moment Li Mingjin took the throne, the rancor that had once hollowed her out evaporated. The realm belonged to her son; she could travel home whenever she wished. With the late emperor gone, she was free.

Consort Wei felt it too, freedom.

He had entered the palace at seventeen, a hot-blooded youth dreaming of the frontier, and endured twenty years of brocade and blades. He had no regrets about his choice: he had chosen Li Mingjin, and he had been right. The difference wasn’t only the man but also his consort, Luo Shuyu’s clarity and breadth of mind mattered more than any general. He hadn’t confined himself to the inner court, and the results spoke for themselves.

Effort and grit raise a man above others. And Luo Shuyu dared.

After tonight, Consort Wei would no longer be Consort Wei. He took back his name, Wei Zhuchen, and would become a free gentleman riding the winds of the borderlands.

Mei Fei, now his close friend, was reluctant but didn’t cling. Their luck lay in the end of cages.

“You’re really set on Gucheng?” she asked.

Wei Zhuchen nodded. “I don’t want to stay in the capital. Gucheng is safe; my brothers are there. I’ve written ahead. Father and I will go together and reunite with them.”

Mei Fei sighed. “Then who knows when we’ll meet again.”

At that moment, Luo Shuyu and Li Mingjin entered with Chongchong. The little tyrant twisted to get down; Li Mingjin held on just to tease him.

Wei Zhuchen moved to salute; both men stopped him. Mei Fei promptly kidnapped Chongchong into her arms.

“You two were lamenting farewells?” Luo Shuyu asked, sitting.

“Mm. Gucheng is far. We may not see each other for a long time,” Mei Fei said.

Freed of his squirmy burden, Li Mingjin poured tea for Luo Shuyu. “That part you can stop worrying about. We’re planning imperial roads across Great Xia. Once they’re laid, the trip to Gucheng will be far shorter. What takes a month now will be half that—or better—by fast relay.”

They had sifted the system’s hoard down to what fit their era. With Luo Shuyu cross-checking against the “original text,” there was no room for sabotage. What remained were gems—materials, designs, methods on the cutting edge for their time. Li Mingjin had already prioritized what the country needed most.

They had rebuilt Gucheng’s roads once before; with improved materials, they’d go further. Carts faster, freight safer. Raise the people’s standard of living, and the treasury would fill itself.

The system had left more than tools: it had left case studies, governance, economy, livelihood, culture, from dynasties past and futures unseen. They would sort the lists, adopt only what suited Great Xia.

Wei Zhuchen, who’d heard tales of Gucheng’s growth, began to grasp the scale. “If the roads run straight to the capital, everything becomes simpler. I’ll keep my eyes open.”

Li Mingjin’s respect for him was genuine. Through all those years, Wei hadn’t joined the vipers of the inner court; he’d kept his first heart. That earned esteem.

“If you want a post in Gucheng, take one,” Li Mingjin said. “They need hands. Or work outside office, anything that benefits the people and the state is worth doing.” Ability over pedigree; merit over age or sex that was how a country balanced itself.

Wei had thought he’d wither behind palace walls. To hear such words now felt like sunlight. “Do you think I can?”

“You grew up with the Art of War, you’re no bookish shut-in, your heart holds the realm, and your sword-arm hasn’t dulled,” Luo Shuyu said, smiling. “If you aren’t ‘can,’ who is?”

Recruit widely; hoard talent. Great Xia needed people. These two had already quietly filed Wei Zhuchen into their “to be used well” ledger.

The farewell banquet ended in laughter. Even Mei Fei’s melancholy lifted; she and Wei returned to his quarters smiling. Tomorrow’s parting now looked like the start of two new lives.

It stirred something in Mei Fei, too. She still wanted to see Chongchong grow, but she also wanted to see the world while she could, and perhaps do something for herself or for her son.

So this was freedom.

The next day, the emperor and empress sent Wei Zhuchen off. He gifted Luo Shuyu a fine sword; Luo Shuyu set it beneath the dagger Li Mingjin had once given him.

He always kept that dagger close, just in case he ever faced Shen Mingyun alone. If threatened, he would have driven it straight into Shen’s heart.

He’d never needed to. Shen had relied too much on his system and too little on his own nerve, petty schemes in place of courage.

Better that the blade had stayed clean; it was, after all, Li Mingjin’s token of love.

After court, Li Mingjin slipped behind Luo Shuyu and circled his arms around his shoulders. “Isn’t that my dagger?”

“It is.” Luo Shuyu opened a small box and took out a little engraved block. “Remember the wooden tiles I gave you before our wedding?”

Back then, a sprained ankle had made him forget the last piece.

“I remember,” Li Mingjin said. “You sent me a poem, but one tile was missing. This is the final character?”

Luo Shuyu nodded. “Put them together?”

Li Mingjin pictured the earlier tiles, added the last “hundred” and read the line out in full, warm and steady:

“Ten years it takes to share one ferry; a hundred years it takes to share one pillow.”

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