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Zong Yue didn't simply wipe her memory but sealed it instead. As long as she was willing, she could have remembered any time she wanted to, yet she did not. She was even more vicious than his golden needle, choosing to seal herself.

About a decade ago, alone at the top of a cliff, under the cypress trees, the little child had been placed in a bamboo basket and sent down the river, following the current. Zong Yue had stood there, atop the cliff, watching the basket drift away into the distance as the bright, silver moon shone down on it. It had been nearing mid-autumn, and the moon had been shining brilliantly, reflecting across the ripples of the water, resulting in him being unable to determine the direction that the basket had drifted to.

At the time, he had felt a pang of sorrow, sighing at the uncertain future that awaited the child as she drifted away, thinking how cruel destiny was.