The Heart of the Capital Is Hard to Change

That day at Putuo Temple, they happened to run into each other.

Gu Jue was a pleasure-seeking young master who did whatever he wanted, with freedom running through his veins and a taste for living in the moment.

Cen Yuan, by contrast, was as calm as still water.

At the temple, incense was lit, its smoke mingling with the morning mist.

He had come to burn a stick of incense.

She had come, as usual, to deliver scriptures she had already copied out.

In the capital, people described Cen Yuan as someone who was out of breath after three steps and coughing after five. She was a frail, quiet, and gentle young woman. Before meeting Gu Jue, Cen Yuan thought so too.

Gu Jue was carefree and unrestrained, with no shortage of people throwing themselves at him. He was as scorching as the sun, impossible to hold in one’s hands. His friends all said that no one could make Gu Jue give up his freedom.

The two were engaged. Cen Yuan thought that if she could part ways with Gu Jue before their engagement was finalized, there would still be time to change things.

But during a bit of horseplay, Cen Yuan threw caution to the wind for Gu Jue, determined to prove to his friends that she wasn’t the frail Cen Yuan of the Cen family.

Afterward, she fainted in Gu Jue’s arms. All she knew was that Gu Jue looked colder and more sinister than she had ever seen him.

She hovered between life and death. Everyone shouted until their voices went hoarse, but when Gu Jue called out her name through tears, Cen Yuan couldn’t bear to keep sleeping.

The next time she faced death, Gu Jue called in the favor she owed him from before and made her promise: “Promise me you’ll let Gu Jue love you for the rest of his life.”

“If freedom must be bound, then Cen Yuan alone will run through Gu Jue’s veins.”