My Past Is Not Yours

"I'm a businessman, a man who loves money. And I'm also a businessman who loves both money and beautiful women. Speaking of beautiful women, I don't think there's a man who doesn't love them. If there is, then he isn't human. I believe that all sorts of people exist, which is why this world is ever-changing. Huh? You want to know what kind of person I am? Figure out what kind of person you are before asking me. Of course, I can tell you: I'm a businessman who loves both money and beautiful women. I know some people say I'm not human, but I want to know if the person who says that is human. If they are, they wouldn't say I'm not human. But I really don't know if the person who says I'm not human is human. What? You know? Now I know too: they were never human to begin with." By Zhao Feijun In a bustling capital, the Zhao family is wealthy beyond compare. Zhao Feijun, the second son of Zhao Hairu, known as "the capital's richest man," is called "Second Master Zhao." He is every bit the dashing playboy, spending his nights in the company of beauties and his days longing to savor their charms. He has no shortage of confidantes. After a capricious prince draws him into the dark and murky imperial harem, and the notorious leader of the Demonic Sect pulls him into the boundless martial world, his elder brother Zhao Zixi falls in love and turns his back on his family. The Zhao family, wealthiest under heaven, turns out to have an inextricable connection to the imperial court. The past is like smoke, and Zhao Feijun has never been a gentleman. As a precarious situation takes a sharp turn for the worse, the imperial court grows more secretive and the martial world surges with turmoil. When peach blossoms fill the garden, he is waiting for him. --You gave me a promise with your rare vow. I'll repay you with my worthless life and a peach blossom. As the saying goes: The past is not yours, my lord; one step takes you into the mortal world. Trapped in the web of love, there's no escape. Once caught in its web, you can cut the threads of love, but they cannot be severed; the more you try to untangle them, the more tangled they become. He begs him to stay, pledging his life; the other promises him a peach blossom in return. Perhaps this is what it means to hold hands and grow old together: in life and death, a promise made to one another.