Just as the former general had said, Khan Chi searched for his best friend for two full months.
He rode from capital to capital, lingered in forgotten border towns, slept in shrines, inns, and abandoned courier posts. Anywhere Yize might have gone.
He followed rumors that led nowhere, chased whispers that dissolved into silence. He retraced the paths they had once traveled together, returned to places they had sworn would always feel like home.
Nothing.
No trace, and no sign that Emperor Yize Xi had ever existed beyond memory.
With each passing day, frustration gave way to something colder, and something sharper.
Had he ever truly known him at all?
Khan Chi prided himself on knowing Yize better than anyone. They had grown up side by side, trained together, bled together.
He had chosen the path of a palace knight not for glory, not for rank, but to stand behind Yize. To protect him, and to be the shield that never wavered.
So why couldn't he find him?
Why did every place he expected Yize to be, feel hollow?
Unless...
Unless Yize truly didn't want to be found. But why?
The thought hollowed him out.
By the time Khan Chi reached the southern town of MongHe, his resolve had worn thin.
The town was small, unremarkable, a place travelers passed through and quickly forgot. It held only one inn, its wooden sign creaking softly in the evening wind.
That night, Khan Chi sat alone in the inn's dining hall, a table cluttered with empty bowls and wine jars. His eyes were unfocused, his posture loose with exhaustion and drink.
Suddenly, his palm struck the table hard enough to rattle the dishes.
The sound cracked through the room. Conversations died instantly. Guests flinched, chopsticks frozen midair.
"Why?" Khan Chi demanded, his voice raw, teeth clenched.
"Why won't you let me see you?"
He laughed bitterly, lifting a wine jar and draining it without pause.
"What are you afraid of, Yize, hm?" he continued hoarsely.
"Did I do something? Did I make you hate me?"
No one answered, but he kept talking.
"I'm supposed to know you," he said, voice breaking.
"I'm your best friend. So why can't I find you anywhere I look?"
He slammed the jar down.
"My father only gave me two months," he muttered, voice clearly drunk.
"Two months to find you." His breath hitched.
"I'm running out of days... I'm running out of time. Please, just this once. Let me see you."
A hiccup cut him off. He swiped roughly at his mouth, laughing again, this time broken and ugly.
"If you don't come out," he slurred,
"I won't marry your twin sister."
A few guests gasped softly.
"You hear that?" he barked, staring at the empty space before him as though someone stood there.
"You bastard. You left without a word. You could've written to me. One letter. Just one."
His hand trembled as he pulled something from his sleeve.
A withered white flower.
"See this poor tulip? I took this from your garden," he said, raising it high.
"Your favorite. You remember?"
His voice cracked.
"If you don't show yourself," he shouted, tears finally spilling,
"I'll pluck every single flower in your residence when I go back. I'll leave nothing behind, just like you did to me."
His shoulders shook.
"I'm your best friend," he whispered hoarsely.
"What's wrong with you? Why did you leave me like this, questioning everything?"
He pressed the flower to his chest.
"Please... just let me see you once. Just once."
His voice broke completely.
"Yize... I miss you so much..."
The wine finally claimed him. His head dropped forward, body slumping as he lost consciousness.
The room erupted in hushed gasps.
A servant hurried over, alarmed, reaching out to help him, only to stop short when someone stepped forward.
"I'll take care of him."
The voice was soft, composed.
The speaker was a frail young man, no taller than five foot nine, dressed in an immaculate white silk hanfu that shimmered faintly under the lantern light.
A straw hat sat atop his head, a long white veil obscuring his face completely.
The innkeeper eyed him suspiciously, but something about the man's bearing, stilled further questions.
After a moment, the innkeeper nodded and stepped aside.
The veiled man checked Khan Chi's pulse, his breathing, and carefully lifted him onto his back with practiced ease, carrying him upstairs to a rented room.
Once inside, he laid Khan Chi gently on the bed.
Only then did he remove the veil and cap, setting them aside. Moonlight spilled across his face.
Beautiful, soft pale, and familiar. It was Yize Xi, the former Emperor of the Yuan Dynasty.
He sat beside the bed, studying the man who had searched the world for him.
"A-Khan..." he murmured softly, a fond smile tugging at his lips.
"It's me."
He gently pried the withered flower from Khan Chi's loosened grip and placed it on the table.
"You truly caused a spectacular scene," Yize sighed quietly.
"And you still haven't changed, drinking recklessly, shouting your heart out in public."
His fingers hovered for a moment, and brushed a strand of hair from Khan Chi's brow.
"So loud," he whispered, eyes softening.
"And yet... still foolish enough to keep searching for someone who no longer has the right to be found."
He remained there beside the bed, unmoving, as if time itself had slowed around them.
The room was quiet except for Khan Chi's uneven breathing, heavy with exhaustion and wine. His brows were drawn together even in sleep, as if his mind refused rest even when his body had surrendered.
Yize's fingers curled slowly at his side.
"A-Khan..." he said again.
He spoke as if the man before him could hear, as if sleep were merely a thin curtain between them.
"You should stop looking for me," he murmured.
"Live well. Marry Mei. Let yourself be happy." His voice wavered.
"I'm sorry I left without saying anything," he continued, the words catching in his throat.
"But I... if I had stayed, I would have ruined everything."
He rose to his feet, turning away before his resolve could crumble further. Taking up his hanfu cap, he placed it back upon his head, drawing the veil down to shadow his face once more.
Just as he reached the window, Khan Chi stirred, but didn't fully awake. His lips parted, and a broken whisper slipped free, no louder than a breath.
"...Don't go..."
Yize froze.
Khan Chi shifted slightly, brow creasing deeper, his hand twitching weakly against the bedding.
"A-ze..." he mumbled, voice hoarse and aching even in sleep.
"I'm tired... just come home..."
That was all, but it was enough to make Yize's shoulders tremble.
He turned back, crossed the room in two quiet steps, and knelt beside the bed once more.
His hand hesitated, before it gently brushed Khan Chi's hair, just as he had done countless times in the past.
"Idiot," he whispered, smiling through the ache in his chest.
"You were always like this."