As soon as Yu Shu left, Nalan began to cough. Several physicians on duty from the Imperial Medical Academy hurriedly rushed into Zhao Yang Hall to check her pulse and prepare medicine, busying themselves for a full two hours.

The hall was filled with the strong scent of medicinal broth. Nalan lay on the bed, still gasping for breath. The exhaustion of the past half day had made her face even more bloodless.

“Your Majesty, we’ve inquired and learned that the Emperor will be staying in Qing Lu Palace tonight, without any consort in attendance.”

Nalan covered her chest with her hand, her breath somewhat weak, and asked: “Is Consort Cheng not in Qing Lu Palace?”

“No, Consort Cheng is having her monthly period and is in Red Chamber observing seclusion.”

Nalan nodded, contemplated silently for a moment, then said: “The weather is getting colder. Go instruct Cao Qiu to tell those servants to be cautious and take care not to let His Majesty catch a cold.”

“Yes.”

Just as Wen Yuan was about to leave, Nalan suddenly called out: “Never mind, there’s no need to go.”

After speaking, she turned and lay down inside, her voice carrying over very softly: “No need to call for the evening meal. I want to sleep for a while.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Yan Xun had been on the throne for five years now, and like many emperors throughout history, his imperial harem had gradually become lively. Countless young and beautiful women flowed like water into the palace. Some were coquettish, some were cold and beautiful, some were full of knowledge, and some were adorably naive. It was as if all the flowers in the world had suddenly bloomed in this lonely deep palace, creating daily scenes of splendid beauty and prosperity.

Unfortunately, despite having been in the palace for four years, Nalan had still not given birth to a single child, while other consorts repeatedly became pregnant. Consort Cheng, the sister of General Cheng Yuan, had even given birth to twin boys, and her position in the harem now directly challenged that of Nalan, the Empress who avoided the world due to illness.

And he had not set foot in Zhao Yang Hall for a very, very long time.

Today, if Yu Shu had not brought Yong, he probably would not have come.

The sun gradually set, and the moon climbed over the treetops. A pair of red candles burned high, flickering with bright light. Nalan was now very thin, curled up in her brocade quilt like a frail bird, occasionally coughing softly.

Perhaps she had long since ceased to hope.

Six years ago, on the day of the alliance at the border, news of the birth of the young heir in Qinghai spread throughout the Ximeng continent. The young heir, having suffered from cold and turbulence in his mother’s womb, was in poor health and nearly died soon after birth. The Qinghai Princess Consort was also in critical condition due to postpartum weakness. The Qinghai Prince’s devotion to his wife and child was known throughout the world—he had been willing to give up the opportunity to compete with Yan Xun for the world for the sake of his wife, let alone now.

Qinghai immediately issued an announcement, offering a reward of ten thousand gold pieces to seek the world’s finest physicians. It was heard that Master Qingzhu of Maoling was highly skilled in medicine, but being elderly and traditional, he viewed Qinghai as barbarian territory and refused to go. The Qinghai Prince, at a time when Yan Bei and Huai Song were in a fully advantageous alliance, dared to lead just three thousand elite cavalry through Cuiwei Pass, fighting Maoling to abduct Master Qingzhu, ultimately saving the lives of the young heir and the Elegant Princess.

News of this arrived on the day of her and Yan Xun’s betrothal ceremony. Elegant gold cards, large red mandarin ducks—everything fulfilled her wishes of many years.

She opened the gold card, at the top of which were their names written in his hand.

Yan Xun Nalan Hong Ye

Just like that, side by side, stroke by stroke, each horizontal and each turn, as if sketching out her long half-lifetime. Her fingers glided over the white-headed phoenix, the double red gold card, and the golden seal characters, stopping at those eight auspicious words:

“Watching over each other, hearts united forever.”

Though they were just eight simple words, they made her eyes somewhat moist.

That evening, they sat in Hehuan Hall eating their double happiness feast. Outside the courtyard, an apricot tree was in full bloom, like burning clouds at sunset. The wind blew, scattering blossoms everywhere, with red and pink flowers flying throughout the sky like colorful rain.

He sat across from her, his expression calm, his mouth full of diplomatic rhetoric, speaking little but without loopholes, neither showing disrespect nor excessive intimacy.

Several times Nalan wanted to speak of some past events she had hidden for long, but each time she was blocked by his indifferent expression. As the sky darkened and he was about to leave, she grew somewhat anxious and was just about to speak when his guard suddenly reported urgent military intelligence.

The Qinghai Prince was approaching Maoling, and these people had only just reported this important news.

Yan Xun had always been calm and indifferent, yet at that moment his expression changed. He immediately ordered the troops near Maoling to assemble, sparing no expense to ensure the Qinghai Prince would be kept outside the pass for one day.

But before the guard could leave, he called him back. The evening sun shone on his face with an indistinct light. His hand was half-extended, maintaining a gesture as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t. The apricot blossoms in the courtyard fluttered and fell, scattering across the ground.

“Never mind.”

He lowered his hand, regaining his usual composure.

“Never mind?”

The guard was slightly startled and involuntarily repeated the question. Hearing this, Yan Xun slightly raised his eyebrows but said nothing, his gaze merely circling the guard’s face like ice-cold water.

The guard, frightened, fell to his knees with a thud and retreated.

As the sky gradually darkened, Yan Xun turned his head and naturally smiled at Nalan, picking up a piece of bamboo shoot for her, saying: “Eat more bamboo shoots, they’re good for your health.”

Nalan, having spent half her life navigating court politics, had long since developed perfect composure.

She also smiled and nodded: “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

This was merely a tiny, tiny interlude, and all the attending servants promptly forgot this inconsequential matter. Only she remembered it clearly.

That evening, in the remnants of the sunset’s glow, she seemed to have suddenly recognized something, though for many years she had refused to acknowledge it.

A low coughing sound came from the sleeping chamber. Wen Yuan, attending in the outer hall, took a handful of balm and placed it in the incense burner, her brow slightly furrowed.

Outside the window, the moonlight was graceful, tree shadows danced—winter in Zhen Huang was coming again.

Yu Shu had slept during the day and now found herself unable to sleep at night.

Wearing a silver fox-trimmed cloak and carrying a lantern, she went to Yong’s room. Yong was well-behaved, not having kicked off his covers, sleeping soundly with pursed lips as if dreaming of eating something.

Yu Shu sat down by his bed. The night wind was so still, and the calming incense in the corner spiraled upward, circle by circle, like the curling smoke from countryside chimneys. Yu Shu reached out to touch her son’s face but feared the coolness from outside on her hands might disturb him, so she merely made a gesture above his forehead, then her lips curled into a slight smile.

Before she knew it, the distant drum marking the third watch sounded, and the night watchman’s call was long and drawn out. Yu Shu’s heart was now completely at peace, and even the “be careful with fire” calls seemed especially serene to her ears.

She stood up and went out, closing the door for her child. Just as she was about to turn and return to her room, she caught sight of the candlelight in that room.

At that moment, she froze.

Just as she had done thousands of times over these years, she stood there, quietly gazing.

Five years had passed. The stone statue at the East Sea was covered in dust, and the upright officials at court had forgotten that name. Even the coastal people who once prayed for him day and night had probably removed his memorial tablet and replaced it with those of their parents and relatives.

Everyone had gradually forgotten that person—forgotten his achievements, forgotten his contributions, forgotten his appearance and smile, and even forgotten what a high price he had paid for this country, for this land.

However, only she, this foolish woman, did not forget to light a room full of candles for him in his study when night fell each day.

She dared not approach, just as during his lifetime, when even after preparing soup with her own hands, she could only have servants deliver it to him.

He said he had government affairs to attend to and couldn’t be disturbed, so she believed him.

He said he had urgent military matters and outsiders were not allowed to approach, so she believed him.

He said he would be busy until very late tonight and would stay in his study, telling her not to wait up, and she believed that too.

She was just such a foolish woman who believed whatever her husband said. But sometimes, she also wanted to say something, just a few simple words, such as she would be like the servants, just delivering soup and leaving without disturbing him. Such as she was his wife, perhaps not considered an outsider. Such as she stayed up very late every night, so no matter how late he worked, he needn’t worry about waking her.

But she still dared not speak, perhaps simply feeling too shy, unable to say it.

So, day after day, night after night, she would lean against the window sill, watching the light in the study until it was extinguished. Only then would she climb into bed and close her eyes with peace of mind.

Sometimes she would think, could this also be considered sleeping together?

But as soon as such a thought arose, her face would already be flushed with embarrassment.

Every time she returned to her maiden home, her sisters would secretly tell her that her prince must have taken a fancy to someone else. Each time she heard this, she would become very angry. How could they malign him with such thoughts, knowing what kind of person the prince was?

But her eloquence was truly poor, and after arguing rationally a few times, she could not outargue her sisters. Gradually, she visited her maiden home less frequently.

She knew she had the best husband in the world—he was upright, kind, and brilliant. His paintings were praised throughout the court, his calligraphy was unparalleled in the capital, and his poetry was widely circulated. At home, he never drank alcohol, and even when socializing outside, he never got drunk. He did not take concubines, nor did he visit places of ill repute. He was the renowned Virtuous Prince Xuan at court and the most famous commander in the military.

Although he sometimes neglected her due to his busy affairs of state, what did that matter? Compared to her mother, her sisters, those noble ladies who spent their days competing and plotting against other wives in their households, she was already too fortunate.

He was her husband, her heaven, her entire world.

Wasn’t it her duty to believe in him, care for him, and wait for him?

How could there be doubt, suspicion, slander, or melancholy resentment?

Moreover, even though he was gone, she still enjoyed the merits he had left behind in life, and most precious of all, the child he had given her.

There was nothing to be dissatisfied with.

She smiled slightly, her smile clear and pure. She tugged at the collar of her cloak and silently thought:

“Tomorrow, I must buy window paper. The weather is getting cold, and the window paper in the study needs to be changed.”