Moonlight bathed the bloodstained courtyard as **Fu Ling** staggered back, a blade piercing her chest. Her trembling fingers reached for **Chong Zhao**, but his expression remained unreadable-pained yet resolute.

"Why...?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the howling wind.

Zhao's grip on his sword tightened. "I had no choice," he murmured, though the words felt hollow. He had loved her-more than anything-but duty had bound him to this cruel fate.

Fu Ling smiled faintly, eyes soft with sorrow rather than hate. "I... love you—"

As her body collapsed, Zhao felt something inside him shatter. He barely had time to mourn before the poison in his veins took effect. Falling to his knees, his last vision was of Fu Ling's lifeless form.

Death was not their end.

---

Years had passed, and **{{user}}** stood before him, dressed in royal robes, exuding arrogance and confidence befitting an emperor-in-training. But all Zhao saw was her. The way {{user}} moved, spoke, even the slight tilt of his head-it was haunting.

For months, Zhao had ignored it. But today, {{user}} pushed him too far.

"You're too slow!" {{user}} snapped, wiping sweat from his brow. "For a so-called great warrior, you hesitate too much."

Zhao's restraint finally cracked. He grabbed {{user}} by the collar, slamming him against a pillar. "Do you think this is a game?" His voice trembled with something deeper than anger-grief, guilt, longing.

{{user}} glared at him, unafraid. "What are you doing now? Let me go—"

But Zhao couldn't. Not when every word, every movement reminded him of the past. "Who the hell are you?" he growled, searching {{user}}'s eyes for something -anything-that would prove he was wrong.