Na Zhan raised an eyebrow, “Yu Hao is already betrothed to Twelfth Brother!”
Na Qida was puzzled, “The matter isn’t settled yet. Why do you give up so easily?”
Na Zhan smiled back, “Grandfather, the auspicious time has arrived. Your grandson can’t wait any longer. I’ll take my leave first!”
In the 317th year of the Common Era, Yunpei’s Twelfth Prince Na Sui staged a coup. Taking advantage of the hunting festival, he surrounded 79 royal family members but ultimately failed. The Fourth, Sixth, Seventh, and Tenth Princes, having received prior information, joined forces. In just seven days, they crushed Na Sui’s grand dream. Everyone in Na Sui’s mansion was beheaded, with the sole survivor being the Twelfth Prince’s wife, Yu Hao. That same year, she remarried, becoming the wife of the Seventh Prince, Na Zhan.
Before the wedding night, Na Qida again asked him, “Have you fallen in love with this woman?”
Na Zhan smiled as before, “Of course I love her!”
Na Qida said, “Why didn’t you marry her from the start?”
Na Zhan replied, “Without her, how would Twelfth Brother have let his guard down?”
Na Qida burst into laughter. That night, he gifted the completed “Desert Anthology” as a wedding present.
Na Zhan had never thought about becoming king. His life-and-death struggles for the Na family’s realm, eliminating treacherous officials, were merely to repay the old man’s kindness in raising and educating him. But he often went incognito to visit the common people, deeply concerned about their welfare, because he knew that in Guanghan Palace, no one could truly shoulder this prosperity.
After his first child was born with the surname Na, it was as if he had taken root in Guanghan Palace. His second and third children also bore the surname Na. Strangely, even without blood ties, the King still granted them royal status and rights of succession. This both moved and puzzled him, and he devoted all his energy to assisting the King in governing and stabilizing the country.
However, a year later, King Rong died suddenly without issuing a decree for succession, plunging the entire Guanghan Palace into controversy. They had to turn to the Emperor Emeritus for a decision. By then, Na Qida was 67 years old and had been bedridden for a long time. He strained to open his dry eyes, carefully examining the seventeen princes and their consorts kneeling before him, making them all tremble with fear.
“Huo’er, do you want to be king?” he asked the First Prince.
First Prince Na Huo, already 26 years old, replied, “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Who wouldn’t want to rule the world?”
“Hmm! Ambitious.” Na Qida smiled slightly, then asked the Fourth Prince, “Zhun’er, do you want to be king?”
Na Zhun, 24 years old, replied, “Yes!”
“Why?”
“Who wouldn’t want thousands kneeling before them, commanding the world?”
Hearing this, Na Qida didn’t smile but sighed, then turned to the Seventh Prince, “Zhan’er, do you want to be king?”
Na Zhan was surprised but quickly regained composure. After pondering for a moment, he replied, “Yes!”
Na Qida smiled but didn’t ask him “why.” He remained silent for a long time, closing his eyes as if asleep, frightening the attending imperial physician who quickly moved to check his breathing. Just as the physician’s hand approached, Na Qida awoke and continued to ask the other princes the same questions—”Do you want to be king?” “Why?”
Finally, except for the four-year-old Seventeenth Prince Na Yanxing who couldn’t answer the question, all the other princes said they wanted to be king. Their consorts knelt behind them, cold sweat dripping, the quiet room filled with the sound of erratic heartbeats.
Na Qida looked at them, took out a silk scroll from under his pillow, and suddenly shouted, “Seventh Prince Na Zhan, born with talent, has meritoriously assisted the late king. Now, as heaven wills, I bestow upon you this strategy for nation-building as a reference. May you, upon ascending the throne, govern solely for the nation’s prosperity and the people’s welfare!” After these words, the crowd erupted in clamor. Na Zhan himself was surprised. As his hand received the silk scroll, Na Qida passed away with a smile.
The old man had left him with an enormous mess to deal with—that was Na Zhan’s thought at the time.
Na Zhan was an orphan who had wandered the snowy plains of the desert since his earliest memories, with no real impression of his parents. Their town was chaotic; sometimes when a child lost their parents, another family would take them in. Some children were particularly lucky, adopted by wealthy households and living comfortably from then on. Others were especially miserable, possibly adopted by several families, repeatedly experiencing separations or abandonment.
The people of their town didn’t hate those who abandoned others. Because abandonment was merely the end of one person’s compassion and the beginning of another’s wandering. It wasn’t a sin; everyone was wandering, and who could save whom? But they hated the nobility, who wore fine silks, lived in warm, fragrant houses, and only cared about their own luxurious lives, never considering the poor commoners.
Na Zhan was young then, only knowing to run at the sight of officials and nobles. If caught, he would inevitably be beaten. He remembered a child who, unwilling to accept this, shouted at a young master, “I haven’t done anything wrong. Why do you beat me?” This was exactly what Na Zhan felt, but the young master replied, “I was born noble. All lowly people are like dogs beneath my feet. If you don’t accept it, pray to the heavens to be born a young master in your next life!” After saying this, the child was beaten until crippled. Na Zhan remembered this incident for life but never spoke of it to anyone.
At eight, he entered Guanghan Palace, ending his wandering life. At nineteen, he became king, ending his outsider’s peace.
As king, he entered the web of power, no longer able to find tranquility.
The grand coronation ceremony wasn’t as terrifying or joyous as imagined. At nineteen, Na Zhan sat impassively on the throne in Guanghan Hall, crowned by Shaman Priest Fa Tian, with the Rong brothers, wise men of Ningdu, writing his amnesty and proclamation respectively. It was a glorious day, but for some reason, he thought of the crippled child.
With a sardonic smile, his handsome face concealed the storms within.
Na Zhan reigned for fourteen years, with the country prospering and the harem full. Towards women, he only had feelings of pity, pleasure-seeking, and alliance-building. His heart couldn’t be described as happy or unhappy; one could only ask if he was satisfied. For fourteen years, he always answered: Satisfied!
When he was thirty-two, on a sunny day, he met Huang Beishuang, a woman twelve years his junior. Beautiful, intelligent, observant, like a deep pool—not competitive, not jealous, not talkative, not extreme, very calm, very cool, making him hesitate whether to approach her.
Huang Beishuang loved planting Jiema trees. After entering the palace, this became her greatest passion.
The Jiema tree, a desert marvel, was once described by a poet: “A tree of tender flowers, embracing the spring night, yet the spring night is too short, the general departs. Cultivating a three-life fate, yet hastily leaving. Tears of love, planting Jiema; heartless sword, cutting through chaos. A tree of tender flowers, beneath the flowers entwined, how fragrant the flowers…”
“There’s someone I don’t know if I should seek. If I find him, I don’t know if I should meet him!”
One night, he was playing chess with her under the moon in Huaiyue Pavilion. She sat opposite, frowning as she contemplated her move, perhaps not even hearing his question.
Na Zhan smiled, watching her place a piece on the board, then said, “Your chess strategy is narrow, merely responding to moves without any aggression. How can you win like this?”
She looked up, smiling gracefully, “Your Majesty’s depth of strategy is beyond my presumption to win. As long as I don’t lose too badly, not winning is fine!”
Hearing this, Na Zhan fell silent. On the chessboard, he advanced step by step, move by move, no longer showing the earlier courtesy. In half the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, he had utterly defeated her. A flash of frustration and unwillingness crossed her brow, and he smiled, suddenly feeling his heart stir. She was the only woman he hadn’t touched, and the only one around him who didn’t actively seek his favor. Why was she so indifferent?
“Do you like playing hard to get?” After the chess game, she played a tune on the xiao. Na Zhan listened while asking this question, but her gaze was fixed on some distant point as if once again not hearing his question.
“Answer me!” Na Zhan grew angry, slamming his palm on the stone table.