“Your Highness, Lord Lu and Lord Qun were hijacked by vagrant bandits and tragically died when their cart was destroyed. The bodies are currently being transported back.”
The zither string in Li Xuan’s hand suddenly snapped with a violent sound that made Baoshu’s heart leap.
Yet the smoke from the incense burner rose quietly and slowly, the tree leaves outside the window didn’t move at all, and the guards outside the palace had long since been replaced with the Crown Prince’s trusted men. Everything was calm and peaceful, making the news of these two deaths seem unreal.
“Does Your Highness still think of Lady Qing?” Baoshu said amid the silence. “Perhaps the two of them keeping each other company is the best ending. Your Highness should not grieve—there are more important matters to attend to in the future.”
“What are these more important matters?”
He understood, yet deliberately asked. Recently, Baoshu had been shuttling between the Meng Mansion and the Eastern Palace under the pretext of missing her father, helping Meng Guangshen relay messages. The Eastern Palace’s people had been secretly planted in every corner of the palace city.
“Your Highness will ascend to the great throne, and your consort will remain by Your Highness’s side,” Baoshu said.
“Is this your only thought about the future?” Li Xuan pushed the zither aside. “I still remember when you were young, playing chess with me in the military camp. You said the ladies of Longyou were clever, no less than men, and that in the future you wanted to become a female official and employ many, many female officials.”
Baoshu was speechless: “Your Highness, that was my youthful arrogance. That Baoshu has today is entirely due to my family’s support. Now my elder brother is dead, and Father may soon be executed. I cannot watch the Meng family be destroyed like the Cui family.”
“Have you ever done what you wanted to do?” Li Xuan said. “I give you permission—go and do it.”
Baoshu cried out “Your Highness” in astonishment, but Li Xuan insisted on issuing an oral decree: “Consort Meng has acted presumptuously and is demoted to Xianyou Temple. She may not leave without an imperial edict.”
Baoshu still wanted to struggle but was forcibly persuaded out by Shouxi. Only Li Xuan remained in the hall, which returned to its original quietness.
Shouxi sighed: “Why must Your Highness do this? The Crown Princess has left, Consort Meng is also demoted—there’s not even one person by your side.”
Li Xuan suddenly asked: “How is Zheng Zhiyi?”
“Who knows how Lady Qing arranged it, but the Crown Princess eats and drinks well, and has even gained some weight.” Shouxi smiled, realizing he’d mentioned a name he shouldn’t have, and his smile immediately disappeared.
Fortunately, Li Xuan’s expression only tensed slightly and remained relatively calm.
“There were never any feelings, so why implicate their lives? My only child has not yet come into this world—how can I take risks? After settling everything, it won’t be too late to bring them back.”
“Shouxi, some attachments should be severed.”
He took down a box from above the cabinet. Inside was still the prayer robe Qun Qing had embroidered. Li Xuan’s fingers brushed over the exquisite embroidered patterns, pausing for a moment, then threw the prayer robe into the fire. A moment later, he also tossed in the broken-stringed zither.
The flames leapt up. Li Xuan began coughing and choking. He covered his mouth with his hand, veins bulging on his forehead—
When Qun Qing awoke, every bone in her body ached. She used great effort to push away the thick cotton quilt covering her and was dazzled by the sunlight from the inn window.
Lu Huating was tending the charcoal brazier, his temple hair bathed in golden light, almost radiant.
She had completely lost all memory of how bone-chillingly cold and painful the water had been when they fell into the pool last night, or how exhausted they’d been fleeing desperately for their lives.
What remained in her mind was only the sensation of that moment when lips and teeth touched. Thinking of this, heat rose to the crown of her head, giving her an ethereal feeling throughout.
“Where is this?” she asked.
Lu Huating said: “We’ve reached Quyang City.”
Last night the two had swum out of the water in the opposite direction. Unable to rest, they ran westward through the forest all night. When they finally saw the city wall’s outline in the distance, Qun Qing was truly exhausted and sat down under a tree.
“Is the lady unable to continue?” Lu Huating said. “Shall we rest for a moment?”
Qun Qing wanted to rest briefly, but her nerves were so tense that despite closing her eyes for a long while, she couldn’t fall asleep. Lu Huating removed a pouch from his belt and took out myrrh slices to hand to her.
Qun Qing remembered this substance was used to aid sleep and naturally refused: “How can one sleep at a time like this?”
“Why not? You’ve endured for a day and a night. If you don’t rest, you’ll die.” Lu Huating said. “I’ll stay awake. After all, I slept during the day.”
“You don’t trust me?” Seeing she wouldn’t take it, he expressionlessly put the myrrh slice to his own lips, about to bite off half. Qun Qing snatched the myrrh away and placed it under her tongue, losing consciousness at some unknown moment.
Lu Huating sat beside Qun Qing. When the sky grew faintly bright and the city gates opened, he bent down and lifted her up, walked into the city, found an inn, and carried her up to the second floor step by step.
He looked down—daylight illuminated her neck until it was almost transparent. Holding her in his hands, she was like a velvet flower on his fingers. He walked very steadily, and Qun Qing didn’t wake at all.
He walked very steadily because he walked very slowly.
…
“Are you hungry?” Lu Huating covered the brazier. “I hear Quyang’s copper pot hotpot is quite good.”
Qun Qing’s stomach was rumbling with hunger. Thinking that going out might be risky and could attract pursuers, she hugged her knees and remained silent for a moment, rare hesitation showing on her fair face: “Should we just buy a few flatbreads downstairs instead?”
Lu Huating: “Then the lady can go buy flatbreads. I’m going out to eat copper pot hotpot.”
Before he’d finished speaking, Qun Qing put on her outer garment and got out of bed. Lu Huating waited by the door, and only when she caught up did they go downstairs together.
The restaurant was at its noon rush. Diners were noisy, fragrant aromas swirled about, and Qun Qing was so hungry she wanted to gnaw on the table corner. Before Lu Huating could look at the menu, Qun Qing glanced at the neighboring table and said: “We want copper pot lamb.”
Lu Huating was silent for a moment, then said to the server: “One serving of copper pot lamb.”
The steaming lamb was tender and flavorful. Lu Huating said: “Has the lady eaten Hengyang copper pot hotpot before?”
Qun Qing shook her head slightly: “In the past at home, I often ate what Mother made, but it’s been too long—I’ve somewhat forgotten the taste.”
Speaking of this, Qun Qing paused. Nan Chu’s Weiran sent handwritten letters every month, accompanied by a few words from Zhu Ying. However, when Weiran mentioned last month that Nan Chu was preparing to go to war with Great Chen, Mother’s messages had become even more distant.
She must be worried that if the two countries truly went to war, Qun Qing would be forced to steal secrets, and didn’t want to put her in a difficult position.
But she was now a Scarlet Envoy and would soon be sent as an emissary to Nan Chu to bring Mother back. As long as she could persist in staying alive, the day of reunion would come soon.
Qun Qing pulled her thoughts back: “Did you send word to Prince Yan and the Princess?”
“I’ve already informed San Lang. The imperial edict for the Emperor’s punishment of the Meng family is about to be issued. Meng Guangshen killing you and me at this time is for peace of mind.” Lu Huating said. “It happens that the Emperor is recuperating at the traveling lodge. Recently at night, the Eastern Palace has been transporting military supplies into the palace city batch by batch. We’ll just see whether the Crown Prince will make up his mind to fight with his back to the wall.”
Qun Qing asked: “Then where do we go during this time?”
Lu Huating leaned back in his chair: “You and I are both ‘dead,’ so naturally we can go wherever we want.”
Go wherever they wanted.
Since Qun Qing had entered the palace as a youth, she’d never had such leisurely, free time.
She could forget about Skylark, missions, and not be bound by palace affairs.
After resting and recuperating, Qun Qing looked at the rain falling outside the window.
The sudden rain trapped this narrow room, as if they’d been exiled from the world.
Originally, traveling together with Lu Huating had been peaceful enough, but now seeing him emerge from bathing, she felt uncomfortable.
Sitting on the bed, Qun Qing finally couldn’t help but ask: “What you said in the cart—was it real?”
Lu Huating’s movements paused, then he walked closer to her until their faces were extremely close.
Qun Qing said: “You don’t mind the poison of the Lovesickness Lure anymore?”
He seemed to want to answer but didn’t know how to respond. His answer was to directly kiss her lips. In the rainy air, the cool, soft sensation brought trembling once again. Qun Qing instinctively moved backward, but Lu Huating grasped the back of her neck with one hand, forcibly continuing this sensation, using a hunter’s posture.
Like kindred spirits who had finally touched, their souls finally returning to their rightful places.
Only when he felt the cold sweat seeping from her did he come to his senses and restrain himself, slowing down.
When they separated, Qun Qing’s lips were already bright red. When had Lu Huating ever seen her look like this? He stared at her lips for a long while with lowered lashes, then politely asked: “Has anyone else been like this with you?”
Qun Qing never expected him to ask such a thing. She suddenly raised her eyes, their waves bright and sharp, and asked in return: “Do you have anyone else?”
“I’m not like the lady, with many admirers under her skirts. As for how Su Run was used to ruin my reputation—don’t you know that best?” Lu Huating smiled and looked toward the rain outside the window. “I, Lu Huating, will only have one wife. I don’t care what her status is—not only must she accompany me daily by my side, but after death she must also be buried in my coffin.”
—
Transporting the two coffins back to Chang’an took several days. Because the weather was gradually warming and the corpses had been soaked in water, by the time they returned, their faces were already difficult to distinguish.
Prince Yan was grief-stricken beyond measure. Not only did he weep as he received the coffins, but he also made an exceptional request during court to posthumously ennoble Lu Huating as Prime Minister, and regardless of palace regulations, held a grand funeral at Prince Yan’s Mansion.
All these scenes of loss of composure reached Emperor Chenming’s ears, making him extremely disappointed: “The Nan Chu border is unstable, yet Prince Yan pays no attention to state affairs and has instead become dejected. Those who know think it’s because Qi Lang is gone; those who don’t would think his wife and children had died.”
Li Huan had been heartless since childhood—who knew if he’d been this grief-stricken and desperate when his father died?
Thinking this way, Emperor Chenming, already seriously ill and weak, grew even more suspicious.
Soon rumors flew throughout the palace, saying Li Huan had once conspired with Lu Huating to seize the palace, and that the inner palace garrison had all been planted with Prince Yan Mansion’s trusted men as evidence. Now that the person was dead, Li Huan understood his plans had failed—that was why he was in such a state.
Hearing this, Emperor Chenming paid no attention. He only summoned the Crown Prince, telling Li Xuan to pay attention to the palace city’s defenses. Li Xuan obediently agreed.
After Li Xuan returned from the traveling lodge, Prince Yan and the Princess were confined to their mansion. From this point, Prince Yan lost the Emperor’s favor, and the entire palace city seemed to be under the Crown Prince’s control.
It was heard that during the banquet at Prince Yan’s Mansion that night, Prince Yan drank a cup of cherry wine and suddenly vomited blood uncontrollably, soon falling into a coma.
Xiao Yunru found a way to reach the traveling lodge and tearfully reported to Emperor Chenming: “Imperial Father, the Crown Prince poisoned San Lang to harm him. The Eastern Palace acts this way—they surely harbor treasonous intentions. Imperial Father, save San Lang!”
Emperor Chenming heard the commotion outside and his heart couldn’t remain calm, but he only heard Consort Han blocking the door, using his illness as a reason to dissuade her. Xiao Yunru left crying and returned to the mansion.
The carts transporting lumber continued to drive through the palace gates one after another in the night.
The Jinwu Guards at the gate stood rigidly, all seeming to sense the atmosphere of imminent danger within the palace—
A hundred li away, however, Quyang City was full of lights.
The moon was full in the sky. Men and women jostled shoulder to shoulder, all in high spirits, heading to the riverside to release lanterns.
The last time Qun Qing had attended a folk lantern festival was in childhood, when Shi Yuming had secretly brought her out.
On the water surface were scattered points of light—all floating river lanterns. Having wandered here, the two watched for a while. There seemed no reason not to release lanterns, so Qun Qing bought two lamps at a stall.
River lanterns had the meaning of comforting the souls of the dead and praying for blessings for the living. One needed to write names in gold ink on paper slips and place them in the lanterns.
Lu Huating held his brush suspended and wrote extremely quickly. After he folded his slip and looked, Qun Qing surprisingly still hadn’t finished writing. Moreover, seeing from the corner of her eye that he was looking over, she covered it with her hand and quickly folded it up.
“Just how many people did you write?” he said.
Qun Qing didn’t speak.
“You can’t say, right?” Lu Huating smiled slightly. “I forgot the lady believes entirely in matters of gods and spirits—if you speak of it, it won’t come true.”
“I don’t believe in divine spirits, so I’m not bound by them.” As he spoke, he unfolded the paper slip toward her. On it were only three characters.
Qun Qing stared fixedly, her heart trembling.
Those magnificent brush strokes outlined the name she’d been born with but had almost forgotten.
Lu Huating folded the paper and took the lantern: “Among all those people you wrote, am I there?”
Qun Qing still didn’t speak.
Knowing she was like this, Lu Huating didn’t press further and simply sent both lanterns into the water.
Qun Qing watched Lu Huating bend to release the lanterns, his robes stretched taut over his belt, outlining his waist. She extended her index finger and lightly tapped on his back.
Wind blew through their temple hair. Flower lanterns filled the river, spinning.
Lu Huating’s wrist paused.
She was writing characters on his back.
A horizontal stroke, a downward stroke, a vertical stroke, a curved hook—she wrote the character for “yes.”