Two years pass quickly for some, yet drag on tediously for others.
Among these were Zhou Changyi and Gu Zhuomin, envoys on a diplomatic mission. Four years abroad, they returned to the capital a year later than expected, with Chang Yi missing his daughter's wedding.
Aboard the homeward vessel, Chang Yi leaned on the railing, gazing toward the direction of home, until the sea wind dried out his eyes, and he finally averted his gaze.
Hearing footsteps, Chang Yi looked down and rubbed his eyes. His gaze fell on the back of his hand with its long scar—an event from two years ago flashed before his eyes.
Back then, he followed Prince Qiaoyi's people, amidst a long-premeditated coup. How could there have been no casualties? People were killed, and he had killed many. Abroad, he trained every day, yet carelessness got the better of him. Had he not blocked with his hand, it would have been his face that was injured. It was another brush with death at close quarters.
