Outside the window, the wind rustled. In the spacious hall with heavy curtains, the imperial physician who had just checked her pulse withdrew. Cloud Aunty then entered the hall, wearing the ceremonial court dress of a first-rank female official. She paid proper respects to Nalan but did not rise.

Seeing this, Nalan smiled bitterly and asked, “What is the matter, Aunty?”

Cloud Aunty had grown very old, her hair completely silver, her wrinkles deep. Her eyes, usually dull and cloudy, now shone like knives. She raised her head, looking sharply at Nalan, and said in a low voice, “His Majesty went to Yan West Mountain again.”

Nalan neither confirmed nor denied, silently smiling and nodding, “Xuan Wang made great contributions to the country. It’s commendable that His Majesty shows such consideration for a meritorious official. Isn’t that a good thing?”

The hall was very quiet, so quiet that one could hear the wind passing through distant corridors. Cloud Aunty knelt there, silently gazing at her without speaking. Her gaze wasn’t particularly stern, but under that silent stare, Nalan’s superficial facade gradually fell away.

She sighed helplessly, smiling bitterly, “What does Aunty want? I am well now. His Majesty hasn’t broken his initial oath. Why create unnecessary trouble?”

“But His Majesty hates you!”

Cloud Aunty suddenly exclaimed emotionally, “He hates you for stripping Xuan Wang of his military power, hates you for withdrawing his guards, hates you for sending him to the Eastern Sea, hates you for withholding Xuan Wang’s last letter to him. He believes Xuan Wang was the sworn brother who stood by him. All these years, he has loathed you deeply. Don’t you know that?”

“Yes, he loathes me deeply.”

Nalan smiled faintly, her voice surprisingly carrying a hint of joy, “Look, Aunty, he isn’t heartless. He still treats my sworn brother quite well.”

“Princess!”

Cloud Aunty finally became angry, standing up with her cane, her face turning blue with rage.

Nalan coughed lightly a couple of times, then sighed helplessly, “Aunty, at your advanced age, how can you still have such a temper?”

Cloud Aunty didn’t speak, just staring fixedly at her. Nalan continued to smile, though that smile somehow carried an indescribable bitterness.

“What does Aunty want me to do? Use this as leverage to beg His Majesty for a bit of affection? Aunty, what do you take me for? Has the nation fallen, and has Hong Ye also lost her dignity?”

Cloud Aunty was suddenly stunned. The candlelight in the great hall illuminated her aged face, showing a kind of helpless desolation.

“I am not living for myself alone. Behind me are thousands upon thousands of royal relatives. With the position of Empress and Xuan Mo’s relationship, our Huai Song remnant officials can avoid too much hardship.”

Cloud Aunty frowned, struggling to argue, “But if His Majesty knew the truth, he would be good to you too. There would be no difference.”

“There would be a difference.” Nalan turned her head, a gentle smile on her lips. “You understand.”

The fragrance of incense curled upward, strand by strand. Night fell, and the heavy curtains came down, making the entire palace feel increasingly deep, quiet, and solemn. She turned away, never looking back, just walking step by step inside.

“He and Xuan Mo shared brotherly affection, but it was only brotherly affection. Once a brother becomes a wife, that affection is gone.”

The vermilion-lacquered, gold-plated palace doors creaked open slowly. The depths of the hall were empty. Nalan stood straight-backed, gazing at the magnificent imperial court bathed in bright yellow. The fingers inside her sleeve clenched one by one, then opened one by one. Indistinctly, it seemed she had let go of something, or perhaps acknowledged something.

“What good would telling him to do? He wouldn’t love you—he would only feel indebted to you.”

In her heart, she said softly to herself. After all, acknowledging all this was such a simple matter.

She was a woman of such refined sensibilities, with a brilliant mind, crystal clear in her understanding. All her life she had been playing strategic games at court, manipulating people’s hearts. She knew every method and technique to win the greatest benefit for herself. The reason she didn’t speak, the reason she concealed, was only because she knew that even if everything were revealed to the world, it still couldn’t win his glance back or his affection in this lifetime.

Rather than receiving one part gratitude and two parts guilt, yet still having to compete and scheme against the endless stream of women in the harem, it was better to give him—and herself—a way out.

She had long understood that some things in this world cannot be forced. The human heart is the strongest shackle between heaven and earth. Just as Xuan Mo had felt toward her, and just as she felt toward Yan Xun, it was all the same. Once trapped within, one cannot transcend.

“Princess! To protect our Great Song’s remnant officials, the most important thing is to give birth to a prince. Five years—it’s been five years already!”

The palace doors slowly closed, and Cloud Aunty’s impassioned voice could no longer be heard. Wen Yuan and the other servants also withdrew, leaving only her in the hall. She walked calmly to a small table and slowly sat down, steadying herself on a gold-lacquered carved pillar. Quietly, she poured herself a drink. The liquid that flowed out was black medicinal soup. She didn’t mind the bitterness, just drank it sip by sip. The soup still emitted steam, spiraling upward in circles. The orchid-carved pattern on the cup’s wall touched her fingertips with a warm, smooth sensation. Just like on their wedding night, when her fingers lightly touched his skin, covered with scars, cold as frost.

“There can only be brothers who stand as equals and share their hearts openly. There cannot be a husband who possesses three thousand concubines yet has his heart belong to another. I am the Princess Imperial of Huai Song. I am Nalan Hong Ye.”

In the silence, a low voice slowly sounded. She opened her eyes wide, and two clear tears streamed down.

The tears meandered down her pale, thin cheeks, following the curve of her chin to her wrist. Cold. Just two drops.

She sat like this, motionless, for an entire night.

The next day, the wet nurse of the Great Yan Empress passed away. Yan Xun personally issued an imperial decree, conferring upon Cloud Aunty the title of Kang Lu Furen of the second rank, with the funeral rites of a third-rank court official. Cloud Aunty had never married and had no husband’s family, so the rewards were given to her maternal family, allowing them to enjoy the posthumous honor: gold, silver, brocades, bestowing glory on her descendants.

On the day of Cloud Aunty’s funeral, Nalan stood at the corner tower of Zhenhuang City’s west gate, wearing a black imperial robe, her head adorned with a purple gold empress crown. She silently watched the dragon-like funeral procession slowly exit Zhenhuang City, heading south.

The dead return to their homeland and fallen leaves return to their roots. Five years ago, Cloud Aunty had followed Nalan on the long journey away from home, coming to this snowy land. Now, her princess had grown up, no longer the child who would hide in her arms and cry. She had finally let go of everything and departed.

That evening, it began to snow again. The maids draped a heavy fur cloak over her, but she still felt cold. Her complexion was ashen, her figure thin. She stood alone on the high tower, like a frozen statue.

Father Emperor was gone, Hong Yu was gone, Xuan Mo was gone, and now Cloud Aunty was gone too.

Finally, all the people in this world who loved her were gone, leaving only her, thousands of miles from home. Perhaps for the rest of her life, she would never again see the warm sunshine of her homeland or smell the slightly salty waves of the seaside.

Tears welled up, but her eyes remained dry. Her heart suddenly hurt so much, her throat felt salty as if blood was seeping from the corner of her mouth. Yet she stood facing the wind, unaware, until the white front of her great fur cloak turned crimson until Wen Yuan’s cry of alarm pierced her eardrums and black crows flew across the distant sky. Only then did she softly collapse. The snow is vast and boundless, and the world turned yellow and upside down. She seemed to see again Cloud Aunty’s young face from many years ago, gazing at her tenderly, softly calling her childhood name.

After Cloud Aunty’s death, Nalan wilted like a withered lily, declining day by day.

The weather grew colder, bitter winds sweeping across the land. Physicians from the Imperial Medical Academy came and went more than a dozen times each day. All kinds of precious medicines flowed like water into the Southeast Palace, but there was no sign of improvement.

At noon on this day, the heavy snow finally stopped. Outside, the sunshine was pleasant. Wen Yuan called some young maids to have a snowball fight in the courtyard and carried Nalan to sit in the corridor. She wore a thick white sable cloak, sitting on a soft couch. The joyful sounds spread throughout the Southeast Palace, somewhat broadening one’s spirits.

Suddenly, a faint voice reached her ears. Nalan turned slightly and saw Imperial Physician Wang and Imperial Physician Lu in the side hall, discussing something in low voices. They seemed not to have noticed her, and their voices were somewhat loud.

Imperial Physician Wang was an old official from Huai Song, already over seventy years old. His brows were furrowed tightly. Because of the distance, not everything was audible, just a few vague phrases about “exhausted vital energy,” “excessive worry,” “imbalance of qi and blood,” “internal and external deficiencies,” “lamp oil depleted,” “medicines unable to save…”

“What are you gentlemen discussing?”

A light reprimand suddenly sounded. The two physicians looked up to see Wen Yuan standing at the doorway, her face anxious and angry as she glared at them. Nalan sat nearby, her expression calm, as if she had been listening for a long time.

The two men were so frightened they immediately fell to their knees, hastily apologizing.

But Nalan said nothing, just silently turned her head away, quietly watching the maids playing in the snow in the courtyard. Neither happy nor sad, as if she had never heard those words.

At dinner time, Wen Yuan smiled as she kept her company. Seeing her mood was still good, she carefully comforted her, saying not to mind what the two physicians had said, even criticizing them, saying they were senile and not to be believed.

Nalan listened with a faint smile, took her medicine, and went to bed early.

The next day, a new batch of imperial physicians arrived at the Southeast Palace. Nalan didn’t object. She followed the physicians’ instructions daily, resting quietly. Though her condition showed no improvement, it didn’t worsen either. The doctors were very pleased, saying that once she got through this winter, her illness would take a turn for the better.

The servants in the Southeast Palace were delighted to hear this. With the Lantern Festival approaching, Wen Yuan led the female officials and eunuchs in redecorating the Southeast Palace. Red and green, all sorts of bright-colored silks were hung up, making it look like a commoner’s wedding. Nalan understood their intentions and didn’t stop them, just quietly lying in bed, rarely speaking.

However, after a few days, the weather suddenly turned extremely cold. Howling winds, freezing temperatures—Nalan’s condition immediately worsened.

At noon on this day, with snow howling outside the window, Nalan leaned against her couch, listening to the sounds outside, somewhat lost in thought. She quietly said, “I’m afraid the Lantern Festival can’t be held this year.”

Her voice was very hoarse, carrying an undisguisable air of decay. Wen Yuan’s face was constantly filled with worry, though she dared not let it show. Hearing Nalan speak, she quickly smiled and replied, “With such strong winds, any lanterns hung out would be blown away immediately. It probably can’t be held.”

Nalan nodded. Wen Yuan continued, “Your Majesty should rest for a while. Is your mouth bitter from the medicine? Would you like some sweet water?”

Nalan shook her head. Wen Yuan was about to continue when suddenly three whip cracks sounded outside, clear and melodious. Her face immediately brightened as she quickly stood up, saying repeatedly, “Your Majesty, the Emperor has come.”

With that, she led the servants out to receive him.

Soon, the palace doors opened layer by layer, the heavy curtains were lifted, and Yan Xun, wearing a raven-gold robe, walked in, removing his outer black fur coat and handing it to a waiting-maid.

He was still the same as always: heroic brows, straight nose, thin lips, eyes like deep lakes, unfathomable no matter how one looked. He sat opposite Nalan’s couch, accepted a hot towel from Wen Yuan, first pressed it to his face, then wiped his hands before asking, “Is your illness better?”

Nalan leaned against the couch, nodding lightly, her face bearing her customary calm and peaceful smile. “Your Majesty is concerned. It’s much better.”

He nodded and continued, “Have you been taking the medicine prescribed by the imperial physicians on time?”

Nalan said, “Yes, on time.”

He pondered for a moment, then asked, “I remember you’re quite afraid of the cold. Now that the weather is cold, is the palace warm enough?”

A faint light flashed in Nalan’s eyes, but it disappeared instantly, almost imperceptibly. She raised her head, her cheeks now so thin they formed a sharp line, and said, “Your Majesty need not worry. Everything is fine here.”

Then, the great hall fell quiet, as serene as an autumn lake. The wind outside continued to howl, growing stronger and weaker by turns. The two sat there, neither knowing what to say to break the awkward impasse.

“Well then, the Empress should rest well. I will first…”

“Has Your Majesty had lunch?”

A very clear voice suddenly sounded from the side. Both Nalan and Yan Xun were startled and looked up to see Wen Yuan. The young servant was so frightened her lips turned white, her hands tightly clutching a handkerchief in front of her, her forehead beaded with sweat, the arms hidden in her sleeves trembling slightly.

Yan Xun looked at Nalan in surprise, then turned his head, but he wasn’t angry. Instead, he nodded and said, “No.”

“Then why doesn’t Your Majesty dine in our palace? Our small kitchen is very skilled. The Empress enjoys the food here. Your Majesty has never dined in our palace.”

Yan Xun smiled and nodded, “Very well.”

Wen Yuan was so delighted she became almost flustered, saying hurriedly, “Then this servant will go prepare.”

With that, she ran off like a gust of wind.

Seeing her leave, Nalan helplessly said, “This subject has failed to properly discipline the servants. Please forgive me, Your Majesty.”

But Yan Xun shook his head, “It’s fine. She is very loyal.”

How could Nalan not understand Wen Yuan’s intentions? She simply hoped Yan Xun would stay longer to keep her company. She said nothing more.

Yan Xun stood up and walked around the great hall casually. Reaching the bookshelf, he randomly pulled out a book, flipped through it, and put it back, then pulled out another. Nalan reclined on the couch, carefully fidgeting with a French button clasp. Sunlight streamed in through the window, drawing square after square on the floor. The afternoon sun was warm; despite the howling gale outside, this chamber was peaceful and serene.

“You enjoy merchant arts?”

Yan Xun suddenly asked, holding a book titled “The Art of Commerce.”

Nalan looked up and said, “My ancestors were merchants. Song territory had developed commerce, and in my leisure time, I enjoy studying it.”

Yan Xun smiled, saying, “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“Wouldn’t have guessed what?”

Yan Xun shook his head, “Nothing. Just that I know someone else who also enjoys this field.”

Nalan smiled, “It’s Xuan Wang, isn’t it?”

Yan Xun was slightly surprised, asking, “How does the Empress know?”

Nalan said naturally, “Of course I know. I’ve known Xuan Wang since childhood, so I naturally understand him better than Your Majesty does.”

Yan Xun laughed lightly, seeming unconvinced, but he didn’t say anything. He just turned his head and continued flipping through the book. Nalan secretly felt a little triumphant, like a child who had succeeded in mischief, her lips curling up as she lowered her head to continue fidgeting with the clasp.

Time silently flowed by. After many years of marriage, this seemed to be the first time Yan Xun had carefully observed Nalan’s bedchamber. He felt that this empress of his was indeed an unusual person. Not only was her taste outstanding, but her knowledge was also extensive. The books she collected covered a wide range, and most showed signs of having been read, unlike other imperial concubines whose books were mere decoration.

“Your Majesty, Empress, please dine.”

The dishes were quickly arranged. Because Nalan was taking medicine and needed to follow dietary restrictions, she had only four small dishes on her side. On Yan Xun’s side, however, there were a full sixty or more dishes, both cold and hot, vegetarian and meat, spread lavishly across a large table, making quite a spectacular sight.

Yan Xun was slightly embarrassed and couldn’t help glancing at Nalan. But Nalan smiled and said, “Your Majesty rarely visits me, so the servants don’t know your tastes and had to prepare extensively. Please don’t blame them; they are sincerely trying to please you.”

Such words could only come from Nalan’s mouth. If spoken by anyone else, they would have seemed like bitter jealousy.

Wen Yuan stood to the side, and seeing that Yan Xun said nothing but obediently began to eat, she was overjoyed. She thought to herself that she had been truly brilliant today—when had her mistress ever shown such good spirits? Indeed, heartache needed heart medicine. Perhaps if His Majesty visited a few more times, her mistress’s illness would improve.

The meal progressed slowly. By the time they finished, it was time for an afternoon nap. Yan Xun and Nalan exchanged a few casual words, now much more natural than before. He instructed the servants to take good care of her and was about to return to his palace when suddenly there was a ripping sound—his sleeve had caught on the table corner, tearing a large hole in the cuff.

Yan Xun raised his arm, glanced at it casually, and didn’t seem concerned as he prepared to put on his coat.

But Nalan said, “Your Majesty, your clothes are torn.”

Yan Xun was unconcerned, saying casually, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Wait a moment.”

Nalan pulled Yan Xun’s sleeve closer, examining it carefully, and said, “This is tribute embroidery from Tianci. This fabric is so rare that Tianci County can only produce enough for a few garments each year. Your Majesty only had this one Tianci embroidered court robe made this year. Now that it’s damaged, even if we sent it to the imperial embroidery chamber, I fear no one would dare repair it.”

Yan Xun had no idea that a garment could involve so many considerations. He looked more carefully at the robe and said, “If it’s damaged, it’s damaged. It doesn’t matter.”

But Nalan said, “Your Majesty might not care, but I do. Do you know how many embroiderers go blind each year making this fabric? Look, not only is it embroidered on both sides, but if you look carefully at the cross-section of the fabric, you can see small ‘fu’ characters for good fortune.”

Yan Xun looked carefully and indeed saw them. He couldn’t help but exclaim, “Truly exquisite.”

“Wen Yuan, bring needle and thread.”

Yan Xun was startled and asked, “What is the Empress doing?”

“Since no one in the embroidery chamber would dare repair it, and it would be discarded anyway, let me try. If I ruin it, please don’t blame me.”

Yan Xun was even more surprised and couldn’t help asking, “The Empress knows needlework?”

Nalan’s eyes lifted slightly, a glint passing through them as she glanced at him. Taking the needle and thread, she began to mend the tear, saying as she worked, “Sit down. It will be done soon.”

For some reason, Yan Xun felt somewhat nervous. He sat down next to Nalan but seemed uncomfortable and tried to move away, frowning as he said, “Don’t prick me.”

Nalan raised an eyebrow: “A veteran of battlefields, afraid of a tiny embroidery needle?”

Yan Xun didn’t trust her skill and frowned without speaking. Soon, however, Nalan was skillfully threading the needle, her fingers slender and graceful. In her hands, the needle and thread seemed to come alive.

She was so thin. From Yan Xun’s angle, he could only see a beautiful, white neck. Sunlight fell on her, carrying a calm and peaceful aura. The air held a faint scent of medicine. The sand in the hourglass slid down grain by grain, so quietly one could almost hear the soft sound of the needle passing through the cloth.

Suddenly, Nalan’s hand trembled, and she began to cough lightly.

At first, she tried to control it, but gradually she lost control, and the coughing grew louder. Yan Xun frowned, extending his other hand to gently pat her back, calling out, “Bring water, quickly!”

Wen Yuan rushed forward. Yan Xun took the tea and helped Nalan take a sip. Slowly, her breathing steadied, though her cheeks remained flushed while her eyes grew increasingly weary.

“Are you all right? Should we call the physician?”

Nalan weakly shook her head: “No need. It’s an old ailment. I’ll be fine after resting.”

“Don’t mend the clothes today. Wait until you’re feeling better.”

Nalan was indeed exhausted and nodded.

Yan Xun removed his outer garment and handed it to Wen Yuan, instructing, “Wait until your mistress is feeling better before mending it. Don’t give it to her in the next few days.”

Wen Yuan nodded happily, thinking to herself that after five years, heaven had finally opened its eyes—His Majesty now knew to care for the Empress.

Yan Xun put on his great fur coat and said to Nalan, “I’ll go now. You rest well.”

Nalan nodded. Yan Xun turned and walked out, the curtains of the great hall lifting layer by layer, his figure disappearing step by step. For some reason, Nalan suddenly felt such anxiety, as if her heart were filled with wild grass. She called out loudly, “Your Majesty?”

Yan Xun paused, turning his head from afar.

The palace was deep, and they were so far apart, gazing at each other while time passed between them—one year, two years, three years, five years, and those he didn’t know: ten years, eight years, many, many years.

“Tonight, I will instruct the kitchen to prepare several delicious dishes. Will Your Majesty come again?”

Yan Xun stood in the center of the great hall, at a distance, looking at the woman sitting on the bed.

She was his wife, whom he had never truly acknowledged, yet who had genuinely helped him in many practical ways.

He stood there, just looking at her, trying hard to recall her previous appearance in his mind. Yet all he could remember, besides her eyes full of pearls and jade, brocade, and gold, was emptiness. And now, she wore a simple white soft robe, her hair without a single ornament, no makeup, her face pale, her lips blue, so frail, like a candle in the wind, not knowing how much longer it could burn.

Enough…

Yan Xun silently sighed in his heart.

Even though she had stripped Xuan Mo of his military power, even though she might have discovered his relationship with Xuan Mo and privately destroyed the letter Xuan Mo wrote to him before his death.

Enough.

From afar, Yan Xun nodded and said, “You should rest well. I will come to see you again tonight.”

The great doors swung open, and fresh wind blew in.

Nalan sat on the couch, silently watching his departing figure, her expression gentle, her gaze like clouds in the sky, so peaceful.

“Your Majesty—”

Wen Yuan smiled happily, almost at a loss for words, finally rushing out, shouting, “This servant will go make preparations.”

Nalan took a deep breath and leaned back into the soft bedding. Suddenly, she remembered a twilight many years ago. He had ridden on horseback, catching up from afar, finally standing at the bridgehead, calling loudly to her as she departed: “I’ve buried good wine under the pear tree. Will you come back next year?”

Will you come back next year? Will you come back next year? Will you come?

For so many years, as soon as she closed her eyes, she could hear this voice. It seemed like just yesterday, right at her ear.

“Yes! Wait for me!”

Sitting in the carriage, she had stuck her head out and shouted at him, who had already become a small black dot in the distance.

Yes! Wait for me!

However, she ultimately could not return.

Her father emperor passed away, leaving her alone with her sick mother and foolish brother, struggling against the ambitious royal relatives and court officials. The country and family all fell on her slender, tender shoulders.

As for him, his family was destroyed, and he became homeless. The once-favored son of heaven instantly became a prisoner beneath the steps.

Ten years of life and death, vast and boundless. They finally returned to the place where they had met, but alas, the mountains and rivers had shattered, and things and people had changed. Though they faced each other, they no longer recognized one another.

She slowly closed her eyes, the corners of her mouth pulling into a faint smile.

The sky had not yet darkened when Wen Yuan began bustling about, matching clothes for her, and arranging her makeup, while the kitchen servants, knowing the Emperor would come to dine, exerted all their efforts in preparation. Though she didn’t want this, seeing them so happy, she didn’t object.

Yet as the sky grew darker, long past the dinner hour, there was still no sign of him.

All the servants were secretly anxious. Wen Yuan sent capable servants out to gather news, while she repeatedly comforted Nalan.

Nalan gradually understood in her heart, yet didn’t feel particularly sad, only somewhat empty. Yu Shu was right; the Southeast Palace was too large, always seeming desolate.

Soon, a small eunuch from Yan Xun’s side came to relay a message: urgent military news had arrived from Meilin Pass in the northwest. His Majesty would be in the military council chamber with several officials discussing state affairs tonight and would not come.

At that moment, Nalan could almost clearly hear the collective sigh throughout the great hall. She responded to the messenger eunuch with a composed expression, rewarding him. To Wen Yuan, she said, “Alright, serve the meal.”

Wen Yuan was stunned: “What?”

Nalan laughed, “To eat. His Majesty isn’t coming. Does that mean I don’t need to eat?”

Wen Yuan finally realized and hurriedly led the dispirited servants to serve the meal.

Nalan, all alone, ate more than twenty dishes. Her appetite seemed exceptionally good today, her spirit also good. She ate for a long time before calling for soup.

For the next three days, Yan Xun remained busy with military affairs. Zhao Chun’er, the Princess of Jing’an, had retreated to the southern border after her defeat years ago. Despite being encircled several times by Zhuge Yue, she had fortunately escaped. Zhuge Yue, out of consideration for Zhao Che, did not pursue her relentlessly when she no longer attacked Bian Tang. But recently, news had come from the northwest that the Princess of Jing’an’s forces were frequently moving with the Quanrong people outside the border, possibly indicating trouble.

All sorts of intelligence rapidly reached the capital, instantly putting the Great Yan court on alert.

During these three days, Nalan’s condition repeatedly fluctuated. The Southeast Palace was filled with gloom, cold, and quiet.

This evening, Nalan, who had not left her bed for three days, suddenly sat up and asked Wen Yuan to bring her the brocade box stored in the cabinet.

Wen Yuan initially wanted to persuade her not to tax her mind, but seeing her determined expression, she dared not say more.

A sandalwood-colored brocade box, which looked very old, not heavy, felt light in hand. It was unknown what valuable items it contained, yet it had three locks in a row.

Wen Yuan used a handkerchief to dust off the box’s surface, causing her to cough. The dust had accumulated thickly, indicating it had been left untouched for a long time.

Nalan took the box, silently looked at it for a while, then took three keys from under her pillow and opened it.

Wen Yuan stretched her neck to see that the box contained a thick stack of letters. Many of the letter papers had turned yellow, appearing very old. She felt somewhat disappointed and frowned in puzzlement.

“Wen Yuan, bring a fire basin in.”

“Your Majesty, what do you need a fire basin for?”

Nalan pointed to the letters and said, “To burn these.”

“What? Burn them?” Wen Yuan was startled. Although she didn’t know who had written these letters, just by seeing where the Empress had kept them, she knew they must be very important. She hurriedly asked, “Why, Your Majesty? Why burn them?”

Nalan, lost in thought, said softly, “If not burned, should they be left to cause others heartache and guilt?”

Wen Yuan clearly didn’t understand, but obediently walked out. Soon, she brought in a fire basin. The charcoal crackled, giving off warmth.

“Wen Yuan, you may leave now.”

Wen Yuan nodded: “Yes, call for me if Your Majesty needs anything.”

The hall doors closed, and the great hall grew quiet again. Nalan picked up the thick stack of letters, her pale fingers caressing the paper she had read countless times, her gaze gradually softening.

Yes, Aunty was right; she was a coward.

All the dignity of the Princess Imperial, all the national integrity of Huai Song, all the surname of Nalan—all were false, all were self-deception. She was just afraid, just lacked courage, just dared not take that step.

He didn’t know everything, so when she saw him missing Xuan Mo, saw him taking extra care of Yu Shu and Yong’er, she would feel sweet, would feel he still valued her sworn brother, would know she still had a place in his heart.

But once he knew everything, yet didn’t fall in love with her, how could she bear it?

She was afraid, she lacked courage, and she feared that after everything was clarified, he would only be slightly shocked, unable to respond to the feelings she longed for. She feared that after staking everything, she still couldn’t compare to the person in his heart. She feared that after the truth was laid bare, she would still be destined to be the loser, without even the right to continue fantasizing, to continue dreaming. At the very least now, she could deceive herself into thinking that she and that person were equally important.

Look, this was how weak she was, knowing she was deceiving herself yet stubbornly persisting.

But what else could she do? Her love was like a tree that bore no fruit. She feared the moment autumn arrived, so she stubbornly remained in spring and summer. This way, she didn’t have to face that bleak outcome.

She picked up a yellowed letter, the ink spreading. Her hand raised high, her fingertips pale and slender. The letter had been kept for so long it was thin and brittle, making a crisp sound. Suddenly, Nalan gently released her grip. The letter slipped, and the flames in the fire basin immediately rose, consuming the letter she had treasured for so many, many years. In an instant, it turned to flying ash.

When she had sent Xuan Mo to the southeast years ago, she hadn’t intended to harm him, nor had she wanted to seize his military power.

At that time, Huai Song was weak, with various armies restless. She had intended to use Yan Bei’s strength to save the Nalan clan and the people of Huai Song in case of emergency, but those court officials loyal to the country wouldn’t agree. At that time, whoever surrendered the country would be a treasonous minister, eternally infamous and irredeemable. She just didn’t want the Xuan Prince’s mansion, loyal for generations, to bear this infamy for her, so she moved him far from the center. Fearing his guards might cause disturbances—if his subordinates collectively petitioned, even if Xuan Mo refused, when Yan Xun came to power, Yan Bei’s officials would fabricate crimes against Xuan Mo—she had reassigned his subordinates, sending him to command the completely unrelated Southeastern Naval Yamen.

However, with all her calculations, she hadn’t anticipated that southeastern bandits would seize the opportunity of Huai Song’s internal chaos to unite and attack the Southeastern Yamen, nor had she expected that Xuan Mo, a noble prince, would personally don armor, charging into battle.

Looking back, her current state was perhaps karmic retribution.

Having been in politics for many years, her hands were stained with countless blood. One imperial decree meant tens of thousands of heads falling. She had never regretted her moves; she understood it all.

So, when she realized he was calculating the days to visit her palace each month, she suddenly understood: he didn’t want her to bear children for him.

Even though she had promised the Huai Song officials to stabilize the court, to maintain the status of Song officials, to ensure the next Yan Emperor would have Huai Song bloodlines, on this matter, she was unwilling to force it, unwilling to brand everything between them with a political label.

This was the only willful act in her life.

After each subsequent imperial favor, she would swallow bitter medicine, killing everything he worried about. Until later, his visits became fewer and fewer, and now, he hadn’t spent the night in the Southeast Palace for two years.

In her life, everything she sought was like sand slipping through her fingers. The tighter she tried to hold on, the more it slipped from her palm. Now, nothing remained.

The flames spread, letter after letter consumed by the fierce fire. The fire burned away the last evidence of their acquaintance, bit by bit, along with her broken life, all turned to ashes.

Some love is sweet; some love is a burden. She had failed Xuan Mo herself, guilty for a lifetime. Now, she was about to die. Why let him know everything and then feel guilty about her for a lifetime?

His life had been bitter enough. Why sprinkle salt on his many wounds?

Burn them, burn them all.

The world speaks of wealth and glory, of all-encompassing power, but only she knew, only she saw what kind of scarred heart lay hidden beneath all that splendor.

It wasn’t a lack of love; it was the inability to love.

She and he were the same, bearing too many responsibilities, too many missions, unable to be willful, unable to be impulsive, unable to be passionate, and even more unable to be naive.

Burn them, burn them all…

Thick smoke rose, and she began to cough deeply, warm blood slowly flowing down. Indistinctly, it still seemed like that year when spring flowers were abundant, white pears and pink apricots flying like early morning clouds. He stood with flowing robes in the spring garden of the third month. Suddenly turning back, his eyes like stars, his mouth curved in a smile, teasingly looking at her who had rashly intruded, his eyes long and narrow, his gaze bright, asking with a light laugh: “Lost your way? Which palace are you from?”

She was dressed as a man, her face flushed red, gathering her courage to speak, yet her voice remained very small:

“I-I am the son of the Prince of An Ling of Huai Song. My name is Xuan Mo…”

Perhaps it was wrong from the beginning.

The splendor of spring encounters, the brilliant morning light, ultimately covered by the heavy dust of this chaotic world. The sky was clear, but it was no longer the clouds and rainbows of that day. The invisible shadows of swords and daggers had, layer by layer, cut away the naive innocence of youth, leaving only broken walls and ruins, flickering with yellowish spots in the night, ridiculously and stubbornly remembering those simple days that had passed.

In his life, only two people were most important. One had been banished by his hand; the other would forever become his most beloved brother, living in the softest place in his heart.

Alas, neither of these two was her.

The great hall was brilliantly lit, but to her, it seemed veiled by a dark red gauze, obscure and gloomy, dim and lightless.

This lifetime of resilience and persistence, through numerous storms, finally transformed into a silent ache, falling into the cold and quiet deep palace. Thousands of lives, bloody storms, all quietly turned by a pair of plain hands. Looking back now, she only felt weary of floating, like a fleeting bloom, life like a dream, suddenly falling into the vast void.

The letters in her palm suddenly slipped like snowflakes, softly floating, scattered all over the ground. Black ash rolled in the fire basin, roaring, climbing softly upward, spewing pale flames.

She smiled vacantly, her wrist silently dropping.

In the fifth year of Yan Taizu’s Kaiyuan era, on the fourth day of the twelfth month, night, heavy snow, Empress Nalan passed away in the Southeast Palace of the Yan Detached Palace.

“Your Majesty.”

The eunuch behind softly said, “We found it.”

Yan Xun slowly turned around. The Southeast Palace was now empty and quiet. The great hall was devoid of people. The Empress’s mourning period had passed, and the former residents of the Southeast Palace had been assigned to various palaces. Only two elderly eunuchs remained, responsible for morning and evening cleaning.

Opening the box lid revealed a raven-gold robe embroidered with patterns of blue clouds. The two lapels had small groups of the character “fu” (fortune), looking simple yet luxurious. But on the left sleeve was a tear that had been mended; if not examined carefully, it was almost unnoticeable.

Yan Xun stood there, silently looking for a long time, finally raising his head, handing the clothes to a servant, saying, “Return to the palace.”

“Yes.”

A crowd of servants followed behind him. The doors of the great hall opened wide, and a cold wind blew in, raising small particles of dust from the floor. The sunlight outside was somewhat blinding. He narrowed his eyes slightly, standing at the doorway, suddenly turning his head to look at the soft couch behind the deep curtains, as if it were a month ago when she sat there, softly asking, “Tonight, I will instruct the kitchen to prepare several delicious dishes. Will Your Majesty come again?”

Will Your Majesty come again?

The sunlight pierced his eyes, suddenly making his heart desolate.

Just a momentary delay, unexpectedly becoming an eternal farewell.

His brows slightly furrowed, then slowly relaxed, gradually dissipating that air of sorrow.

Just as he was about to step away, he suddenly smelled a wisp of smoke in the distance. He turned to look and saw a small palace maid crouching at a far corner, burning something.

He was slightly startled and walked over with his people.

The palace maid, seeing him, was immediately frightened, jumping up and quickly kneeling to pay respects.

Yan Xun looked at her, frowning slightly, and said, “You are Wen Yuan from the former Empress’s palace?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Why are you here?”

“These are the Empress’s old possessions. Before she passed, she said to burn all these miscellaneous items. I have been reassigned to Concubine An’s palace these days and haven’t had time to return. Today I had some free time, so I came back to take care of this.”

Yan Xun saw that Wen Yuan wore the clothes of a low-ranking servant, with faint red marks on her neck, and knew that after the Empress’s passing, her former servants must have suffered mistreatment elsewhere. After thinking for a moment, he asked, “Where is your home?”

Wen Yuan was startled, not expecting the Emperor to ask this, and hurriedly replied, “I came with the Empress. My home is in Song territory.”

“Do you still have family?”

“In reply to Your Majesty, I still have elderly parents, three older brothers, two older sisters, and one younger sister.”

Yan Xun nodded and instructed a nearby servant, “Order the Bureau of Servants to confer upon her the position of a fourth-rank Zhao Rong Female Official, with the salary of a proper fifth-rank court official. Also, bestow one hundred taels of gold. Have her leave the palace today and send her home.”

“Yes, this servant will remember.”

Wen Yuan seemed stunned, kneeling there, speechless for a long time. Instead, it was the eunuch who smiled and said, “Zhao Rong Female Official, you’re stunned with joy. Quickly accept the decree and thank His Majesty!”

Tears immediately welled in Wen Yuan’s eyes. She kowtowed with her head to the ground, loudly exclaiming, “Thank you for Your Majesty’s heavenly grace! Thank you for Your Majesty’s heavenly grace!”

Yan Xun said nothing, his gaze lightly sweeping over the white papers scattered on the ground, finally turning to leave.

The snow had stopped. The sky was so blue, as blue as a clear pool of water. The wind blew from afar, catching up a letter, making it float lightly upward, passing through the flames. The end of the letter curled, beginning to burn slightly. That letter floated in the wind, chasing after the departing figure.

Many years ago, under a lone lamp, the dying general had used his last strength to force himself to write this letter. This letter had passed through many hands, yet no one found it inappropriate. It was merely an ordinary letter to the Great Emperor of Yan Bei, detailing Huai Song’s troops stationed at the Great Xia border, the permanent army in the rear, and the temperaments, virtues, and shortcomings of various border generals.

However, in the world today, only three people could understand this letter, and two of them were gone.

Forceful and vigorous, with the strokes of dragons and snakes, the letter bore Xuan Mo’s name and seal, but the handwriting was not that of the old friend who had corresponded with Yan Xun for many years.

The wind continued to blow. That letter chased after Yan Xun, swirling, dancing, the flames gradually creeping up from behind, burning past the letterhead, burning past the greetings, burning past the respects, burning halfway…

The wind suddenly strengthened, and the letter flew high up with a whoosh, seeming about to overtake the figure ahead. But at this moment, a pear tree abruptly appeared. The letter hung high on the pear tree, just one body’s length away from reaching the person’s front.

Yan Xun was slightly startled. He silently looked at that tree, remembering that it was here, in his childhood, where he first met Xuan Mo. At that time, he had lost his way, foolishly wandering around, his little face red with anxiety, like a shy little girl.

“Your Majesty?”

The eunuch softly called, “Your Majesty?”

Yan Xun came back to himself, made a sound of acknowledgment, and turned toward the palace gate.

The flames crept up bit by bit, consuming that letter which had been delayed for five years and never delivered, under the obstruction of the pear tree. Finally, only a soft black ash remained, hanging on the treetop. As the wind passed, it shattered into thousands of flying ashes.

In the far distance, the still-crying palace maid picked up the other letters from the ground, pouring them all into the fire basin. The great fire flared up with a whoosh, raising bright red flames.

No matter how deep the feelings, if fate is shallow…

It was so then, and it has always been so.

Historical Records:

In the sixth year of Kaiyuan, Empress Nalan’s mausoleum was completed, located south of Sunset in Yan Bei.

Twenty-three years later, Yan Taizu passed away and was buried in the Taiji Mausoleum, located north of Sunset Mountain, facing Empress Nalan’s mausoleum from afar.

The Qianhua River, a tributary of the Red River, flows through this area, connecting the two tombs. Due to winter snow falling on the river’s surface, resembling pear blossoms, locals also call this river the “Pear Blossom River.”

[End of Volume]