In the tranquil courtyard and still pavilion, plum blossoms rained down in flurries, their faint fragrance winding through the air like a thread. In the instant our eyes met, time reversed itself, and the years flowed backward like receding water. The gentle, jade-like young man of memory overlapped with the solitary and desolate man standing before me — dreamlike and shadowy, uncertain and elusive. He gazed at me in silence, his distant eyes having traveled through all the meetings and partings, through all the joys and griefs, through all the flowing years — and had settled into this present moment.

A fallen plum petal touched with a fragment of snow drifted on the wind and alighted at his temple. And there, in that black hair, barely perceptible — a thread of white. Five years of confinement had touched that young man, once so outstandingly handsome, with the first silver of age come too early.

His lips parted slightly, as though he were about to call out “A’Wu” — yet the words thickened on his lips, and in the end dissolved into a sigh too faint to be discerned.

“Princess Consort.” He called to me in a low voice — a voice that had called my name countless times before. All those murmured words and whispered sighs, all the memories of young love in the warmth of youth — they came surging back like a tide at the sound of that soft summons. Only he was calling me “Princess Consort” now. Those two flat words seemed to carry within them shards of ice swept in by the tide — cutting straight into flesh and blood, so that no sound could pass one’s lips and no voice could emerge. I slowly lowered my gaze and greeted him with a bow, smiling calmly, “I was not aware that the Imperial Uncle had returned to the palace today — Wang Xuan has been remiss.”

With my eyes lowered, I could no longer see his expression — and at last I was able to speak with composure.

“Zidan was summoned back to court and was unable to inform the Princess Consort in advance.” He responded with equal equanimity, his voice settled and still, without the slightest ripple.

In that still and silent courtyard, all one could hear was the wind stirring the plum branches and the soft sound of snow falling. He and I faced each other without a word. We stood no more than a few steps apart, yet were separated by an entire lifetime — by a whole existence — by the span of heaven and earth.

The sound of hurried footsteps and heavy objects being set down brought me abruptly back to myself. A group of guards were carrying a few simple trunks and boxes through the palace gate. Two inner eunuchs led the way, and right before Zidan’s eyes they called out in voices that were loud and impertinent. When the lead eunuch suddenly caught sight of me standing there as well, his expression changed at once. He came hurrying forward with a fawning smile, “This servant pays respects to the Imperial Uncle! May the Princess Consort be well and in good health!”

I frowned slightly. “The Imperial Uncle has returned to court today — why is Jingling Palace in this state?”

The eunuch quickly explained, “This servant did not know the Imperial Uncle would arrive today. In the haste, there was no time to sweep and clean — this servant will see to it immediately!”

“Is that so?” I cast a glance at him and said levelly, “I had thought I would need to roll up my sleeves myself.”

“This servant would never dare — this servant deserves death ten thousand times over!” The eunuch knelt down in a panic and kowtowed repeatedly. The lackeys in this palace were the most opportunistic of creatures. Who was favored, who had fallen out of favor, whom to flatter, whom to look down upon — they had always known this without the slightest ambiguity. The once radiant and brilliant Third Prince was now utterly alone and in dire straits. His very life was held in another’s hands, and he had not the least semblance of an imperial prince’s dignity. Returning to this court where everyone curried favor with those in power and trampled those who had fallen — he would likely be at the mercy of anyone who chose to take advantage of him. My heart was full of a painful, constricted sorrow, yet I still forced a smile. “The Imperial Uncle has traveled a long distance in wind and dust — please first rest in the Shangyuan Hall while Jingling Palace is being cleaned and tidied. When everything is set to order, you may move in. Is that all right?”

Zidan smiled faintly. At the corner of his mouth, a fine line appeared that had not been there before — making the smile look all the more forlorn. “I would then trouble the Princess Consort.”

I turned my head aside in silence. Two people who had once been so close had grown as distant from each other as strangers.

Then I saw a young woman in palace dress step out from behind him, an infant wrapped in swaddling clothes in her arms. She walked to where I stood, bowed her head and inclined her neck, and sank to her knees heavily.

“This concubine Su Shi pays respects to the Princess Consort.” That light, delicate voice fell upon my ears, and I stood there stunned — unable quite to collect myself. I looked at her steadily: a slender figure, hair lustrous as clouds, the pink-brocade tribute-silk palace dress of fine quality but showing signs of wear, the pearl ornaments in her hair sparse… In the years he had spent there, Zidan had clearly lived in very lean circumstances. The pain in my heart was sharp. I quickly said warmly, “Madam Su need not stand on ceremony.”

The young woman slowly raised her head. An oval face, gently arching brows, bright eyes full of timid uncertainty, soft red lips pressed together. That pleasant, familiar face struck me with a visceral shock of recognition.

Jin’er. Su Jin’er. Concubine Su Shi.

Never in my wildest imaginings had I thought that the concubine who had borne Zidan a daughter was none other than Su Jin’er — my personal maidservant who had been separated from me during the attack in Huizhou.

Jin’er looked at me for only a moment before lowering her head again. In the instant our eyes crossed, bright tears were unmistakably there. “Princess Consort…”

I stared at her in a daze, then looked at Zidan, and found that I could not speak — not a single word.

Zidan gave me a long look, then shifted his gaze away, sighing with quiet wistfulness, “Jin’er has often missed you.”

A’Yue stepped forward and moved to help Jin’er to her feet, but she would not rise. I quickly bent down to take hold of her slender shoulders and smiled gently — though tears rose before my eyes. “Is it really you, Jin’er?”

“Your Ladyship, your servant has wronged you.” She finally raised her face. The once full and jade-smooth complexion had become delicate and thin, her eyes full of a wistful, lingering sorrow — a different person from who she had been.

Ever since the attack in Huizhou and our separation, there had been no word of her. Two years apart, and now here she was, coming back with a child — coming back with Zidan. I stared at her, clearly overjoyed and comforted, yet with a quiet undercurrent of grief and sorrow. After a long moment, I softly sighed, “You’re back now. That’s what matters.”

Suddenly, from the swaddled bundle in her arms came a soft, thin cry. It startled me back to awareness — everything before me had changed, yet here I was, still submerged in the past, unable to distinguish this present moment, completely forgetting my current circumstances!

So this was the surprise Xiao Qi had prepared for me. This was the person he had been waiting to arrive. He had been waiting to see how I would respond to people and feelings from the past — whether I would be shaken or overjoyed. A chill trickled in, settling into my heart, leaving nothing but an endless cold.

“What is it — is the child cold?” I quickly dropped my gaze with a smile. “Let us go inside where it’s warm and talk there — there’s no need to rush.”

Zidan nodded with a slight smile, and a flicker of sadness crossed his eyes before vanishing without a trace.

I turned away quickly, lowering my head as I led the way, not daring to look at him again — afraid his gaze would pierce through the smile I was keeping in place.

Once inside the warm chamber, the child’s cries grew louder — likely hungry.

“There are wet nurses in the palace — shall I summon one?” I glanced at Jin’er’s bundle and turned to instruct A’Yue. For reasons I could not name, I found myself reluctant to look at that child. Jin’er quickly said, “No need for a nurse — this child has always been cared for by me alone and is not accustomed to strangers.” They had not even a wet nurse between them. Truly, I could not imagine how they had managed all this time. Jin’er took the child into the inner room to nurse, leaving only Zidan and me in the outer room, face to face in silence.

After a moment of stillness, I smiled and said, “The Grand Empress Dowager has already proposed a name for the young commandery princess — a single character, Wen. If the Imperial Uncle is content with it, the name can be bestowed.”

Zidan lifted his tea bowl. His long, pale fingers tapped lightly against the celadon saucer, and after a prolonged pause, he said quietly, “She is called A’Bao.”

My chest tightened. My hand shook slightly, and the tea water in my cup nearly spilled over. A’Bao — he had named his daughter A’Bao.

“I’ll call you A’Bao!”

“I don’t want such an ugly name — you’re horrible, Brother Zi Long!”

“Since you’re playing at being a little maidservant, you can hardly still be called Princess Shangyang, can you?”

“Actually… A’Bao is a very nice name.”

“Zidan, you’re not on my side either! Every time I’m the one who has to play the maid — I’m not playing anymore!”

“A’Bao, A’Bao — little crybaby…”

So many years had passed, and yet I still remembered — and so did he. A thick, stinging sorrow rose at the tip of my nose. I looked up abruptly and said levelly, “That name is not a pleasant one.”

In those childhood days when we had all played together, Jin’er had often followed along at our sides. She could not possibly fail to understand the meaning behind this name. What woman would willingly accept having her daughter named after another woman’s pet name — even if she could not resist it, her heart would surely be reluctant.

“Jin’er is very good…” I looked at Zidan, and without my willing it, tears rose in my eyes. “You — do not let her down.”

Zidan gazed steadily at me. A desolate smile slowly formed at the corner of his lips. “Is he… good to you?”

He had, in the end, asked the question he should not have asked. I looked at him helplessly. Why, even now, had he not learned to be clever and to protect himself? Did he not know that this palace was riddled with hidden dangers, that his very life had long since been held in another’s hands? I rose with an air of indifference, as though I had not heard what he had just said, and made a slight bow. “The Imperial Uncle has traveled a long way through wind and dust — Wang Xuan does not wish to intrude further and will come to call again a little later.”

“Princess Consort, your servant has already sent a complete set of clothing and personal articles to Jingling Palace. Shall we arrange for a few more people to attend on the Imperial Uncle there?” A’Yue asked in a low voice, deftly helping me change my garments and re-do my hair.

I closed my eyes. “No need. Just follow the usual arrangements.”

“Very well. Then for tonight’s palace banquet, the Imperial Uncle’s seating shall also be arranged as before?”

I gave a slight nod.

“We should perhaps send a few wet nurses and nannies to attend Madam Su?”

I murmured in assent.

“The young commandery princess also seems…”

“Enough!” I suddenly opened my eyes, flicked a sleeve, and swept everything from the dressing table in front of me to the floor.

A’Yue and all the palace attendants quickly knelt down. My ears were ringing — Imperial Uncle, Madam Su, Young Commandery Princess — the words spiraled round and round, refusing to leave, troubling and disquieting me, making me inexplicably uneasy. The harder I tried to shake off this oppressive cloud, the more people there were at my ear repeating these words one after another — as though everyone was waiting to watch the spectacle, watching to see how I would handle this cold, composed scene.

“There’s no need to fuss. The Imperial Uncle will not be staying long this time.” I sank back with a tired sigh and waved my hand, dismissing them all.

The person Xiao Qi had been waiting for, to lead the southern campaign — it was Zidan.

I closed my eyes, and smiled bitterly. Of course — to suppress Zi Lu, who could be more fitting than Imperial Uncle Zidan? To have him bear the nominal title of supreme commander, to lead the army south in the name of the imperial house — and in doing so, no matter how thorough the slaughter of the Jiangnan imperial clan, it would be nothing more than the imperial house taking up its own blade and bringing the killing upon itself, with no connection whatsoever to the Regent Xiao Qi. Slaughtering the imperial clan was a stain that could not be washed from ten thousand generations — and Xiao Qi’s stratagem of using someone else’s hand to do his killing was brilliant in the extreme.

I gripped the dressing table, my body trembling involuntarily.

I had thought that leaving Zidan at the imperial mausoleum — however bleak and lonely it might be — was still better than placing him in the midst of this maelstrom of right and wrong. At least he had Jin’er and a young daughter for company; at least he could grow old in peace.

Yet a single edict had brought him back, in the end, to this palace city where nothing was as it once was — and he likely did not yet know what was waiting for him ahead: a horror in which kinsmen would turn their blades upon each other.

Zidan — what am I to do? Knowing that what awaits you will be a calamity from which there is no escape, and yet I have no power to stop it.

“Greetings to His Highness.” The voices of maidservants drifted in from the palace gate.

I turned around sharply, reached up to smooth my hair with one hand, and straightened my back, gazing in stillness toward the doorway. Xiao Qi stepped into the inner chamber, his upright figure illuminated by candlelight, bathed in a faint halo of radiance. He was already wearing his formal robes adorned with golden seals and magnificent sashes — the prince’s crown tall and imposing, and on his wide sleeves, golden dragons soaring into the sky with long claws and sharp talons, their eyes picked out in cinnabar red, blazing and commanding, impossible to look upon directly. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back before me, his shadow cast against the floor of white jade and coiling dragons, a long darkness that seemed to swallow everything within its reach.

The man before me was my husband, and also the ruler of all under heaven. No one could defy his will.

He walked toward me, wearing the same cool, composed smile as always. The sharpness in the depths of his eyes had been drawn back, making them seem only more bottomless and unfathomable. I straightened my back, raised my head, held my breath, and in stillness watched him approach — close enough that we could feel the warmth of each other’s breathing.

His gaze could make seasoned generals break out in a cold sweat before the troops. Even iron-blooded men of seven feet who killed without a thought could not withstand the piercing acuity of his eyes that seemed to penetrate everything.

I met his gaze with calm steadiness, without flinching, letting his eyes see straight into the deepest part of my heart. In the grove of wintry plum blossoms, meeting a person from the past — even I myself had not expected to be so clear-eyed and unperturbed. I had long been too afraid to imagine what waves Zidan’s return would stir in me. But when he truly stood before me, caught entirely off guard, I could at last see my own heart with clarity. All that had passed was like a yesterday gone long ago. Where the old wound had been, new flesh and blood had grown over, covering every trace. The human heart is the softest and also the hardest of places. I finally understood: the door of my heart that had once been open to Zidan had been entirely and irrevocably closed.

Xiao Qi scrutinized every line and expression of my face and brows, while I in turn considered his feelings and moods. Our eyes locked in a wordless confrontation, and time itself seemed to hold still.

The look in his eyes gradually softened. His slender fingers threaded through my long hair where it lay draped over my shoulders, holding a strand in his palm, and he sighed with a smile: “I have taken for my wife the most beautiful woman in all the world.”

Beyond that, he also possessed the highest power in all the world, the most loyal of warriors, the most magnificent of warhorses, the sharpest of blades. Everything a man in this world could desire, he had almost all of it in his hands.

And the other man was his exact opposite — he had nothing left. Everything he had once possessed had been taken from him.

I breathed in deeply, took hold of Xiao Qi’s hand, and pressed his palm against my cheek. I smiled faintly. “All the best things in the world are already in your hands. Everything else is of no consequence.”

He turned me gently around and embraced me from behind, and we looked together into the vast, luminous bronze mirror. The two figures reflected there, each radiant, utterly outshone every flickering flame of candlelight around them.

“In this lifetime, you are only permitted to stand by my side.” His voice was low and deep, and he began to kiss the bare skin of my neck, one kiss at a time, moving slowly downward. The woman in the mirror — her eyes growing hazy, her dark hair spilling about her, the color of deep roses spreading swiftly from her chest to her cheeks. I had no more strength to hold myself upright, and sank softly into his embrace, biting my lip to keep the bitter ache within from breaking through.

Now, in this place, no matter how much grievance I felt, I could not speak it, could not provoke his fury. I had already lost too many people I loved — I could not bear to lose Zidan as well.

Yet I did not know — when would we ever be able to lay everything down, and no longer suspect and guard against each other?

A clear, drawn-out note from a bell floated from far away — the evening bell announcing the time, the signal for every palace to light its lamps. It was the hour of lamplighting, and the time for the palace banquet was nearly upon us. Palace lanterns hung high, their crimson gauze draped low, and the maidservants had quietly withdrawn to a distance.

“Have you not yet dressed your hair? Shall I lend a hand?” Xiao Qi looked at me with a smile and at last released me. I lowered my gaze and smiled, personally taking up the ivory-and-gold-inlaid comb and slowly drawing it through my hair, arranging it in a cloud-like palace bun. Xiao Qi stood behind me, hands clasped at his back, watching with a warm smile as I put up my hair. When the last phoenix hairpin was slanted into place in the bun, I looked at Xiao Qi’s reflection in the mirror and after a moment of stillness, said lightly, “Seeing Zidan today — I am glad.”

The words came from the depths of my heart, a genuine feeling: “The people I hold dear are not many. To see Zidan return safely, with all that had come before finally settled into the dust — a long-standing burden has been laid down.”

Xiao Qi smiled with an ambiguous expression, his fingers curling around a few stray strands of hair near my temple. In an unhurried tone, he said, “You still owe me an answer — you never gave it.”

I turned this over in my mind and found myself unexpectedly laughing — so he had truly been brooding all this time over that playful remark about “being different in any case.” I restrained my smile, looked at him steadily, and said with sincerity, “A childhood friend is someone one can share laughter with and share in innocence with — like a close sibling, a bosom companion. A beloved is someone who does not abandon you through misfortune or death — faithful and devoted, with no thought for any other. That is what I have always meant by ‘different.'”

Xiao Qi’s gaze was deep, and for a long while he did not speak. He silently drew me into his embrace. I did not know whether these words could ease the unresolved feelings in his heart, and could only feel a quiet apprehension — while being privately grateful that the person before me was my beloved and not my enemy. All at once my chin was cupped firmly in his hand and tilted upward. In his smile there lurked a thread of a dangerous edge. “And yet I am jealous, just the same.”

I was stunned and nearly thought I had heard wrong — had he said jealous? A man of such imperious and magnificent pride, and he had actually spoken the word “jealous” with his own lips.

“I am jealous that he knew you first — that he dared to be more than ten years ahead of me.” His face held not the slightest hint of humor, and the ferocity in the depths of his eyes suddenly flared.

These childish words, delivered with complete seriousness from his mouth, left me stunned for a moment before I broke into sudden laughter — laughing until I could barely catch my breath.

“Whose fault is it but your own for arriving so late,” I said, leaning against his chest, swept up in a tangle of sorrow and joy at once. “For being late these ten-odd years — use the rest of your life to make it up to me.”

Before Xiao Qi could answer, A’Yue’s voice of reminder came from beyond the screen: “Your Highness, Princess Consort — the hour is nearly upon us. Shall the carriage be readied?”

We fell quiet, both of us motionless and without a word. I pressed my face into the warmth of his chest and kept it hidden there, and after a long moment, softly asked, “Zidan — is the southern campaign truly decided?”

Xiao Qi calmly turned the question back on me: “You are unwilling?”

I did not dare look into his eyes, and kept them shut. My heart was as though cut with a knife. “I thought… he would not be willing.”

Xiao Qi smiled slightly and said with deliberate slowness: “If he obeys the decree, I can guarantee he remains safe on the front lines; if he defies the decree, then he need not return.”

The Yaoyao Pavilion stood over the water, its halls and chambers exquisite, the jade eaves and golden railings reflected in the flowing ripples below. By night, the lamplight mingled with the faint starlight mirrored in the water, drifting and shimmering in an elusive, beautiful confusion — like the jade courts and jasper terraces of legend. Crimson gauze palace lanterns were strung in a winding line along the pavilion’s corridors and walkways. Young palace attendants adorned with jewels and jade, their figures graceful and swaying, each holding one of a thousand great bright candles, stood on either side at intervals of five paces — lighting the great hall to a brilliance that rivaled noon. The rich fragrance of dragon’s saliva and agarwood incense drifted like mist through the air, so that by the time one had passed through nine winding corridors, even one’s slippers and stockings seemed to carry the scent. Glittering glass cups and amber-hued goblets, gold and jade platters, the whole assembly of royal princes and noble guests in their magnificent silk robes and finery — the faint fragrance of orchid and musk drifting far and near, the tinkling of jade pendants charming to the ear. On the great hall above, bells and music swelled, the silk strings and wind instruments winding upward to hold the clouds in place. The dragon throne at the head of the hall stood empty. The crystal curtain was raised, and the Grand Empress Dowager on the brocade couch behind the curtain had already drifted into a light slumber. Jingjing was brought by me to the front of the hall to receive the obeisance of the assembled officials, and shortly after was carried back by the wet nurse.

Xiao Qi occupied the seat of highest honor, and a continuous stream of people came forward to toast him. I smiled with composed elegance, raising and draining my cup each time he lifted his. In the instant I tilted my head back to drink, my gaze swept past the rim of the cup and fell, at an angle, to the opposite side.

Across from me, Zidan raised his white jade cup in a daze, reclining alone behind his table. His pale complexion was touched with a faint flush of intoxication. As the Imperial Uncle, he too was seated in the position of highest honor — yet before him it was cold and quiet, and the noble families and great clans who had once been close to him were now scrambling to avoid him. I tightened my grip on the crystal cup in my hand, a quiet ache in my heart. Xiao Qi’s words revolved in my mind again and again, and the fragrant, mellow wine turned to bitterness as it slid down my throat.

Without warning, Zidan looked back and met my gaze. His expression was quiet and detached, though a thread of something tender and wistful had passed briefly across the depths of his eyes.

My hand trembled slightly, and the fine wine sloshed from my cup onto my sleeve. The palace maid standing nearby hurried forward to blot away the wine from my garment. At this moment, how many eyes must be watching me, watching him, watching Xiao Qi. None of us could take a single misstep. I looked steadily at him, willing him to see the worry and the remorse in my eyes. But he averted his gaze, and a fleeting, dissolving smile played at the corner of his lips as he refilled his cup and drained it in a single motion.

I lowered my eyes in quiet desolation. In that moment of inattention, someone again stepped forward to offer a toast: “This minister respectfully wishes His Highness boundless fortune and long life.”

“Boundless fortune and long life” — such an oddly bold thing to say. I frowned slightly, then noticed that the man speaking had clear and elegant features and a refined bearing. He wore the robes of a Censor of the Imperial Secretariat — and then I knew who he was: the nephew of the Marquis Yundelou Gu Yong, the only remaining man of the Gu family’s generation, a celebrated refined scholar who had been on intimate terms with Zidan in the old days — Gu Yunwen.

I smiled faintly and shifted my gaze to the young woman behind him. She was dressed in purple, standing in a graceful posture with her head gently bowed — a glimpse suggested features that were out of the ordinary.

“Please, Imperial Censor Gu.” Xiao Qi’s expression was imperious as he gave a slight nod and raised his cup — clearly not welcoming this somewhat presumptuous flattery. Gu Yunwen looked a little awkward and then turned aside with a smile to present the young woman behind him. “My younger sister, Gu Caiwei — she has long admired the Princess Consort’s grace and renown, and on this first occasion of entering the palace, she especially wishes to pay her respects to the Princess Consort.” The young woman in purple made an elegant bow, her waist slender and graceful — a beautiful figure that stirred compassion at the sight of her. I had heard of the daughter of Princess Yiang and granddaughter of the Marquis Gu Yong — a celebrated beauty in the capital, renowned for her skill in poetry and painting. I looked at her closely and said with a warm smile, “So this is Caiwei — I have long heard of your talent.”

Gu Caiwei slowly raised her head. Her eyes were bright as water, her dark hair lush as mist — a truly ethereal and lovely young woman. Seeing me studying her, she in turn gazed at me without blinking, a look of admiration crossing her eyes. She lowered her gaze and said in a soft voice, “The Princess Consort’s manner is that of a true daughter of heaven, beyond compare — Caiwei has long been filled with admiration.” Her manner was respectful and deferential, yet her words were neither subservient nor arrogant — which raised her a few more notches in my regard. I nodded with a smile, but saw Gu Yunwen’s expression take on a smug look as he stole a glance at Xiao Qi and said with a fawning smile, “My sister has long admired His Highness’s great name as well.” Gu Caiwei lowered her head more deeply, her eyes cast down, a flush rising to her cheeks. Xiao Qi, however, hearing this, remained as imperious and unhurried as ever, only giving a faint “mm” in reply, his gaze sweeping past the lovely young woman before him without pause.

It was pitiable to see the great Gu family reduced to such a state. Since Gu Yong’s passing, these once-celebrated young men of noble family had not only resorted to currying favor with those in power but had stooped to offering a beautiful woman to win a powerful man’s favor. The situation was as clear to me as day, and I could not hold back a cold, silent smile. Looking at Gu Caiwei again now, I felt only pity and regret. She, however, seemed to release a breath of relief, and lifted her eyes to look at me, their depths alive and expressive.

“The Gu family is a house of distinguished heritage and culture — people of talent naturally abound.” Not wishing to see her humiliated, I said warmly with a smile, “I hear you are skilled in painting. Whom did you study under?”

Gu Caiwei’s slender neck bent low, the flush on her cheeks deepening. In a soft voice, she said, “Caiwei once received the guidance of the Prince of Jiangxia.”

Prince of Jiangxia — I was momentarily taken aback, then broke into a radiant smile. “So you are the prized student my elder brother took on — how wonderful, how wonderful.”

“My sister’s humble gifts are entirely unworthy — it is only through the Princess Consort’s gracious words that she has received such undeserved praise.” Gu Yunwen looked chagrined, seeming reluctant to give up, but lifted his head to meet the cold, steady gaze of my eyes, and could only lamely lead Caiwei away in retreat.

I turned to look at Xiao Qi, and saw him watching me with an expression of amusement, his eyes full of a crafty, self-satisfied gleam.

When the wine flowed freely and the banquet had reached its heights, and everyone had grown pleasantly flushed, Xiao Qi rose to his feet and raised a hand to stop the music and dancing. The laughter, conversation, and music of the entire hall at once fell into silence.

Xiao Qi stood with his hands behind his back at the foot of the jade steps, casting his gaze around the assembly. His expression was solemn and stern. “By the grace of heaven’s blessing and the abundance of our Emperor’s favor, we are gathered here today with all of you to celebrate this auspicious night and enjoy the peace and prosperity of this golden age — which is my great fortune. Yet the disorder in Jiangnan remains unresolved, and none of us can sleep soundly at night. Fortunately, the Imperial Uncle has returned to court this day, providing our Emperor with a pillar of strength — which is truly a blessing for all the people under heaven.”

The assembled ministers bowed their heads and proclaimed the long life of the Emperor in unison.

“Our advance forces in the south have already reached the Jiangli region. With all preparations made and the three armies ready to march, this campaign to suppress the rebels is a weighty responsibility requiring one of the imperial house’s highest standing to fulfill the role of supreme commander.” Xiao Qi’s gaze passed over the assembled ministers. The entire hall went still as a crow could be heard. Zidan sat with eyes downcast, his face betraying neither joy nor sorrow. Xiao Qi’s gaze finally came to rest upon him. “Looking across all the civil and military officials of this court, only the Imperial Uncle commands the hopes of all.”

Zidan neither spoke nor moved. His pale face remained without the slightest ripple — as though he had foreseen the arrival of this moment long ago. He was a person who had never known how to resist. Even at a moment like this, he could only oppose with silence — and beneath that silence, a determination to face death had already taken shape. Outside the hall, the night wind stirred the crystal curtain, its rustling chill landing against my heart one beat at a time.

The hall was very quiet — a dead, absolute silence. Xiao Qi stood with his hands behind his back, cold and still, not uttering a word, waiting in patient silence for Zidan’s answer.

I looked at Zidan, biting my lip in silence, suppressing the desperation rising in my heart — yet wishing with all my strength I could rush forward and shake him awake. Zidan — it is useless! Even if you resist with silence, you cannot reverse what has been decided. The edict was drawn up long ago; the crimson imperial seal was long since pressed into place. Right now Xiao Qi still has patience, still is willing to give you one last chance at survival. As long as you can comply, he has promised me he will not take your life. Zidan — please speak. Please accept this decree!

Xiao Qi’s gaze grew a degree colder with each passing moment, the intent to kill breaking through.

There was no more time to delay. Without giving myself a moment to think, I abruptly rose to my feet.

In an instant, every eye in the hall turned toward me. Zidan at last raised his gaze. Beneath the stillness of his eyes, like dead water, a turbulent tremor arose. The color had drained entirely from his lips, and they parted slightly — yet not a single sound emerged. I took up a wine cup and walked at a measured pace toward Zidan. At the corner of my eye, I caught a thread of anxious, concerned attention — it was Song Huai’an.

At this moment, every person in the hall was watching to see how I would plead for a former beloved.

I raised the cup in both hands and looked directly at Zidan, smiling faintly. “With the Imperial Uncle’s aid, it is a blessing for our state and its altars and a blessing for the people. Wang Xuan respectfully wishes the Imperial Uncle to triumph from the outset and return to court in safety and glory!”

Zidan stared at me, and the color drained from his face in an instant. I met his eyes of stunned pain without so much as a flinch, holding the wine cup out to him with both hands — leaving not a hairsbreadth of room for him to retreat.

A brief standoff — for him, a matter of life and death suspended on a thread; for me, a gulf between love and its opposite. Zidan at last reached out and took the wine cup. The tips of his fingers brushed mine for one brief moment, hesitating for the space of a heartbeat — before he suddenly tilted his head back, cup upended, and drained it to the last drop.

The hall erupted in a chorus of voices: “We respectfully wish the Imperial Uncle to triumph from the outset and return to court in safety and glory!”

I stood in quiet stillness, eyes downcast — not looking at Zidan, not looking at Xiao Qi, not caring about anyone’s gaze.

Let the world regard me as cold and heartless. Let Zidan hate me from this day forward. Zidan — I only want you to understand: it is far better to live on with strength than to die a needless death. It was you who once told me that life is the most precious of all things in this world. It was also you who told me that one must cherish one’s blessings — and above all, cherish one’s life. What you taught me — please, make sure you do it yourself.

The next day, the imperial edict was issued. Imperial Uncle Zidan was appointed Supreme Commander of the Southern Campaign, with Song Huai’an as his deputy commander, commanding an army of two hundred thousand to suppress the rebel forces of Jiangnan.