The improved female villains regained their memories.

Yang Pingsheng watched the fish thrashing in the grass basket and suddenly realized that his sister's breath was clearer than the water in the pool. It turned out that she had somehow managed to shed the cold aura around her.

As the sun began to set, Wen Shihan frowned at the empty fish basket: "Not a single one left."

Yang Pingsheng smiled as he untied the straw rope and released the plump carp back into the water: "I heard that pregnant female fish can remember the way and will bring back more fry next year." Turning around, he saw his sister with black mist condensing on her fingertips, herding the fleeing silver carp back, just like a shepherd boy driving a flock of sheep.

“This wasn’t a killer move.” She raised her chin confidently. “The fish just got lost.”

Judging from her appearance, she was reluctant to let go.

So he narrowed his eyes slightly and said with a smile, "Okay, I'll do whatever you say, sister."

Wen Shihan gave a soft hum and smiled with satisfaction.

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That night they stewed a pot of fish soup. Wen Shihan didn't say that in their previous life, when they were siblings, Yang Pingsheng would always stew fish soup like this.

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Wen Shihan was in high spirits and suggested that they go up the mountain to collect herbs.

Yang Pingsheng didn't understand what kind of fun this was, but he still complied.

Before the morning mist had dissipated, the two were already walking on the mountain path. Wen Shihan's black boots left dark marks on the stone steps as they stepped through the dew. Yang Pingsheng followed behind, his bamboo basket swaying gently with each step, startling a few sparrows in the grass.

"Sister, is this the one?"

Yang Pingsheng squatted by the crevice of the rock, his fingertip lightly pointing to a clump of green plants with serrated edges.

As Wen Shihan leaned down, the ends of her hair brushed against his ear: "Silly girl, this is chicory." She suddenly grabbed the boy's wrist and pulled him to the right, "See? The one with golden veins is the golden thread lotus."

The mountain breeze swept through the treetops, softening her voice.

Yang Pingsheng noticed that the ribbon his sister wore to tie her hair today was blue, the same color as the cord that tied his medicine pouch.

The midday sun was so intense it made people dizzy. Wen Shihan sat under the old pine tree, watching the boy weave a funnel shape out of reeds to catch the mountain spring seeping from the rock wall. The water droplets hung on the tips of the leaves for a while before finally falling into her palm.

“Back then, when you had a fever…” she suddenly began, “I used honey water made from Anoectochilus roxburghii.”

Yang Pingsheng paused in wiping the medicine hoe, looking at her strangely.

"Is that so?"

"of course."

"But I remember my older sister used to give me a lot of medicinal pills, and I rarely had a fever..."

"If I say it exists, then it exists."

Of course this happened, but the person with the fever was actually suffering from a cold.

She remembered the bowl of bitter honey water, the frost on her brother's sleeves from the early morning, and the fleeting helplessness in his eyes when she deliberately knocked over the medicine bowl.

"Try this, you used to love it." Wen Shihan suddenly stuffed a freshly picked wild berry into Yang Pingsheng's mouth. "It's sweet, isn't it?"

Yang Pingsheng squinted at the sour taste, and he was quite certain that he had never eaten anything like this before.

"It's so sour, I don't like eating this."

"This is so delicious! Look, I love eating it."

Of course, that was also a lie. When they were children, Wen Shihan hated eating this the most, so Yang Pingsheng had no choice but to eat it himself.

But now that it's Wen Shihan's turn to be in charge, she's actually started to enjoy eating it.

On the way back, fog rolled in. As Yang Pingsheng counted his harvest in the basket, he suddenly felt a chill on the back of his neck.

His older sister placed her icy hands on his skin. He tried to shrink back, but she hooked her belt and pulled him back.

"Don't move." Wen Shihan's breath mingled with his. "Hold me for a while..."

As dusk fell, their shadows overlapped, casting a slanted reflection on the moss-covered stone tablet.

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"Brother, I'm cold..."

"It's okay, Xiaohan, you won't be cold after hugging for a while."

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It was drizzling outside.

The iron pot on the stove was bubbling and steaming, with a few cabbage stalks floating in the murky broth.

Wen Shihan held the iron spoon and stirred the pot. Carrot chunks and tofu dregs collided in the vortex, emitting a strange smell that was a mixture of burnt and raw.

Yang Pingsheng squatted by the stove adding firewood, the firelight casting flickering shadows on his handsome features.

He stared at the blackened eggplant floating in the pot, not understanding why his older sister had dragged him into making this hodgepodge.

"Try it."

Suddenly, the iron spoon was brought to his mouth.

Yang Pingsheng stared at the piece of overcooked potato hanging on the rim of the spoon, and subconsciously shrank back, only to bump into Wen Shihan's other hand that was pressed against his back.

A ghostly aura emanated from her sleeves and silently wrapped around his waist.

The moment the soup entered his mouth, the boy's eyelashes trembled violently. This salty and astringent taste mixed with the flavor of rust was the most familiar taste to poor people.

"Is it good?" Wen Shihan tilted his head to look at him, his fingertips still covered in soot from the stove. "I specially went to the morning market in the south of the city to pick it out."

If it were beggar Yang Pingsheng, he would have wolfed it down, but he was different now. He coughed and said, "It's not tasty, sister. Why did you make this?"

The rain outside started to intensify.

Water droplets dripped from the thatched eaves onto the bluestone slab, like someone gently turning the abacus.

Wen Shihan looked at the window paper blurred by the rain and mist, and as if by magic, produced two fresh fish, their gills still tinged with a sweet and fishy pink.

"Then let's eat this. You take care of it." She shoved the cleaver into Yang Pingsheng's hand, then turned her back to look at the pot of mixed stew.

Amidst the sound of rain, the sound of scales being picked gradually became rhythmic.

Wen Shihan suddenly spoke up: "The taste is very good, just as good as before."

Yang Pingsheng paused for a moment on the fish's belly with the tip of his knife.

"Actually, I don't like to eat it either." She turned her head, her eyes reflecting the dying embers in the stove. "But for some reason, I just want to eat it now."

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"Brother, I don't want to drink this, I want fish soup!"

"Haha, I didn't catch any fish today, sorry Xiaohan, all I have is this..."

"This tastes awful..."

"Be patient, your brother will definitely catch a fish for you tomorrow."

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The sky was a hazy gray.

It was not yet fully light.

------------------

An unfamiliar face was reflected in the bronze mirror.

Wen Shihan picked up the snail-shaped ink and dragged a thin blue line along the outer corner of his eye.

She doesn't like to dress up, but today she did it anyway.

After dressing and putting on makeup, the person in the bronze mirror had changed their appearance.

She always wore black warrior attire or clothes suitable for combat, and this daughter-like makeup seemed to have never been done before.

She looks beautiful, but her face is always pale.

His skin, which had been entangled with yin energy for years, looked as if it were covered with a layer of frost, and his brows still carried an unresolved evil aura.

As she stepped out of the palace gate, her steps were firm, without the slightest hesitation.

Yang Pingsheng was already waiting for her outside. When he saw her come out, he smiled and asked, "Sister, what shall we do today?"

Wen Shihan looked him up and down.

Over the years, they traveled together, did many things, and just as Yang Pingsheng said, he would spend the rest of his life with her.

The boy gradually grew old, and white hair appeared on his head.

She smiled and reached out to touch the man's head.

He is indeed getting old.

And she remained as beautiful as ever.

What my brother said back then has now become a reality.

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"I'm not going anywhere today."

She smiled and said, "Let's play chess together today, sister."

Yang Pingsheng didn't refute her; over the years, he had always gone along with her wishes.

In the pavilion on the back hill, the two sat facing each other. The chessboard on the stone table gleamed with a warm light, and the black and white pieces were scattered like stars.

Wen Shihan gently tapped the white jade chess piece on the chessboard with his fingertips, producing a crisp sound.

She suddenly looked up at the boy opposite her who was deep in thought.

"My life."

Yang Pingsheng was holding a black chess piece, hesitating, when he heard this and looked up, meeting Wen Shihan's unfathomable eyes.

A gentle breeze rustled the sycamore leaves outside the pavilion, and a few leaves drifted into the pavilion and landed on the edge of the chessboard.

"You've stayed by my side your whole life, until you die..." Wen Shihan's voice was soft, yet every word was clear, "Will you regret it?"

The black piece landed on the chessboard with a "thud".

Yang Pingsheng did not answer immediately.

He reached out and brushed away the sycamore leaves that had fallen on the chessboard, his movements as gentle as if he were handling some precious treasure. Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the leaves, casting dappled shadows on his handsome features.