The next day, Liu Jue received word that A’Luo had resumed eating, and the anxious weight in his heart finally settled. He gazed toward the palace, thinking of many things—A’Luo’s sharp, thin chin, her gaunt frame, the sorrow in her eyes…
He walked into the study, head lowered, and knelt before Prince Anqing: “Father! Your son, I…”
Prince Anqing looked at his son, silent for a moment, then said: “Long ago, when your father was still young, restless and fond of play, I once chased a black bear deep into the Black Mountain forest and lost my way. I could only follow the sound of running water. Before long I found a crack in the mountainside, water flowing out from it. I walked through the crack, and the opening led to a valley—a hundred flowers in full bloom, scenery beyond compare. I always thought that if one day I could bring someone I loved to live there, how wonderful that would be. Sadly, your mother passed too soon, and I never fulfilled that wish. Go and see it—she would surely have loved it.”
Liu Jue’s eyes brimmed with tears: “Your unworthy son! To have brought Father into this too.”
Prince Anqing slowly extended a hand and pulled him up, smiling: “You’ve grown taller than your father by a good margin! Go on!”
Liu Jue embraced him tightly. Prince Anqing patted his back: “They’re waiting for you at Pine Wind Hall.”
Liu Jue returned to Pine Wind Hall. Four figures emerged from the trees, and he smiled: “So you’re all quite handsome, it turns out.”
Xuan Yi, Chi Feng, Ming Yin, and Qing Ying, their masks removed, exchanged glances, smiles breaking across their faces. Qing Ying joked cheekily: “That’s right! One glimpse of Qing Yi’s face and every girl in Fengcheng would drop dead. The boys too, probably! No one’s safe!”
Liu Jue said idly: “Is that so? Tomorrow I’ll go negotiate a price with the madam at Qingyu House and get you set up on the stage taking clients.”
Qing Ying’s face went pale: “Surely not! My lord, a master of both scholarship and martial arts like myself, working the stage?”
“You said you wanted to charm every man and woman in Fengcheng to death. I thought about it long and hard, and really, the only place in the city grand enough for you to display your talents is the largest brothel in town!”
Qing Ying froze, then said with a pained expression: “My lord, I was joking.” Xuan Yi, Chi Feng, and Ming Yin bowed their heads, struggling to hold back laughter.
Liu Jue found himself amused by Qing Ying too. After laughing for a moment, he looked at the four of them: “This time, we must leave nothing to chance!”
The four sobered and answered firmly: “My lord, rest assured. Everything is already arranged. Liu Ying and Xiao Yu have already gone ahead—we only wait for the young lady’s health to improve enough to act.”
A stern look crossed Liu Jue’s handsome face: “It’s said to be foolproof, but there’s no wall without a crack in it—guard the old prince well!”
“Yes!”
“Seven days from now, envoys from the four nations arrive in Fengcheng to pay respects for the new king’s enthronement. His Majesty won’t be able to slip away—we act that day!”
“Yes!”
Gratitude shone in Liu Jue’s eyes. He knelt on one knee before the four of them; startled, all four dropped to their knees at once: “My lord, you mustn’t!”
Liu Jue said slowly: “We grew up together, closer than brothers. Liu Jue is unworthy of such loyal brothers who would face life and death without abandoning me! Now, for the sake of one woman, I’ve dragged Father and all of you into danger. Liu Jue is deeply ashamed. Rise—accept this bow from me.”
The four remained still. Xuan Yi spoke earnestly: “To have joined the Black Cloak Guard, to follow my lord, is our honor! My lord is a man of deep feeling and true nature—all of the Black Cloak Guard would follow you even to death!”
Liu Jue stood, pulling the four of them up. He said firmly: “The Dark Night Society will arrange for the Black Cloak Guard’s core members to scatter and disperse into the general populace—the men mustn’t be disbanded, but must be placed openly, in plain sight. The old prince will arrange the details. Among you four, Ming Yin comes with me. The other three, proceed as planned!”
“Yes!”
A’Luo had resumed eating, but her heart was as still as death. Four attendants kept watch over her day and night, never leaving her side. She lay on the couch by the window, gazing out at the spring scenery. The green vitality outside felt separated from her by an entire ocean, forever out of reach.
Zili too gazed out at the same view. A’Luo’s heart was no spring at all—by the time it reached him, it had frozen solid. He truly couldn’t understand where he’d fallen short compared to Liu Jue. Even dissolving his entire harem to marry her alone, she still refused. Was he not good enough to her? He’d already humbled himself, laid his heart bare before her, letting her trample it as she pleased.
He was the King of Ning! And she looked upon that with utter indifference. He’d endured the pain of the dragon whip for her sake, and she never even knew. Zili sighed softly: “Why, A’Luo? Why do I treat you this way, and still—why?”
He hated himself for not being able to let go! Zili remembered what he’d said to A’Luo on their wedding night, pain impossible to hide in his eyes: “I truly brought this on myself. This day has really come—I’ve truly watched you fall in love with another man.”
He drew out his jade flute and leapt onto the ridge of the great hall of the Jade Dragon Palace, playing the melody that had once answered A’Luo’s flute song. Back then, he’d been so lonely, wandering aimlessly along a quiet riverbank when he happened to hear the clear, elegant sound of a flute drifting from behind the chancellor’s residence’s rear courtyard. The flute player’s skill wasn’t especially refined, but he’d heard the loneliness within it. Was there someone within those courtyard walls who shared his state of mind? He hadn’t gone to see who it was—he only wanted to join the melody, and when flute and pipe sounded together, it felt like two lost birds finally finding a companion, flapping their wings, encouraging each other to fly.
He remembered how A’Luo, dressed as a man, had come to the riverbank that day—she too must have wanted to see who was playing the flute. She was so kind-hearted, unable to bear seeing his forlorn expression when the sound faded, that she’d hurriedly brought out her own flute to play for him. Naturally, he’d developed fond feelings for her from then on. Later, discovering she was the very person playing behind those walls, how overjoyed he’d been. From then on, day by day he drew closer to her, cared for her carefully, doted on her—and in the end, gave her up for the throne.
The flute’s tone shifted, the melody turning from tender to desolate.
A’Luo, if you never cared, why trouble yourself to comfort me? Why tell me all those amusing stories, all those thoughtful conversations, letting my heart sink into your warmth? If you never meant anything by it, why give me the illusion that you depended on me, that your eyes when they met mine were full of trust? A’Luo, it was only three years—you spent barely two months in Linnan City yourself. Why? Could it be I love you less than he does?
The flute’s tone shifted again, turning to fury. Zili, without realizing it, poured internal energy into the instrument. A soft crack sounded, and the flute’s tone turned hoarse. He looked down and saw a thin crack had appeared at the mouthpiece. He froze—had the flute broken? Zili leapt down from the palace roof and made his way to Yuhua Palace.
“Welcome, Your Majesty!” The attendants prostrated themselves in greeting.
Zili strode toward A’Luo. She lay listless on the couch. Her chin was sharp and thin, her whole body curled up small and pitiful on the couch. Her eyes seemed even larger now, set in her face like pools of water. So fragile she seemed to invite reckless tenderness.
He looked at her—she was his dream, the most beautiful dream in his heart. Zili steeled himself and said: “Envoys from the four nations will arrive in Fengcheng to celebrate my enthronement. Once the ceremonies are past, I will name you my consort. You—take care to recover your health.” Having said this, he didn’t dare look at A’Luo again, fleeing Yuhua Palace as if in escape.
Two lines of tears slid from A’Luo’s eyes, like water overflowing a lake, trailing down to drip onto her collar. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, her gaze glinted with sharp clarity. Fine—you want me to marry you, to stay in this palace? Zili, don’t you dare regret this. From now on, this harem of yours will know no peace. “Someone—I want to bathe! And bring me a late-night snack while you’re at it! This lady is starving!”
The attendants rejoiced.
Gu Tianlin gazed longingly toward the Jade Dragon Palace, that flute song, that graceful figure—her king! Why couldn’t he see that she longed for him?
Her fingers brushed the qin strings, and Gu Tianlin sang a mournful, plaintive song, something to the effect of a peerless beauty standing alone at dusk among the bamboo, the sorrowful notes of the qin rising with no one to attend them, three years of devotion given to a husband whose heart belonged elsewhere.
“Is the Empress resentful that I’ve neglected you?” Zili said flatly from behind her.
Gu Tianlin startled and turned to see Zili. She hastily knelt in greeting: “Your Majesty, this concubine…”
Zili had already helped her up. Gu Tianlin caught a trace of wine on his breath and asked softly: “Is Your Majesty drunk?”
“Ha, yes. This king is drunk.” Zili laughed loudly. He was drunk indeed—if only he could stay drunk forever and never wake.
Tianlin’s face flushed with shy pleasure as she moved closer to him, lowering her head, murmuring softly: “This concubine… allow this concubine to attend Your Majesty to rest.”
Zili gazed at her through drunken eyes, taking in her skin like frost and snow, his fingers tracing across her cheek, brushing over her eyes.
Tianlin slowly closed her eyes, lashes trembling faintly, remembering their wedding night when Zili had done exactly this—a smile of shy joy she couldn’t suppress rose to her lips.
Zili tilted her chin up: “Open your eyes.”
A pair of clear, watery eyes slowly opened, her flushed face gazing up at Zili as if drunk herself, her eyes filled with adoration and longing. The person from the painted portrait stood right before him now—he’d gazed at it for over a thousand days and nights, and yet these eyes, these were not the eyes he had gazed upon, come to know, longed for so deeply they’d carved themselves into his heart, through all those thousand nights!
Tianlin’s hands gently untied the sash of his robe. Zili’s mind cleared abruptly; he grabbed her hand and murmured:
“I… Tianlin… I’m sorry.” He stumbled backward, his eyes filled with despair, with sorrow. Seeing Gu Tianlin’s face go instantly pale, he steeled his heart and turned, walking out of the Jade Phoenix Palace.
How could he? He couldn’t do it!
Gu Tianlin’s tears finally poured down like a waterfall, and she crumpled to the floor. He’d come tonight out of unhappiness, driven by the wine—but the woman his heart truly adored was still that one in Yuhua Palace!
Zili left the Jade Phoenix Palace, the deep blue sky above melancholy and still. He breathed in the cool night air. Looking toward Yuhua Palace, he thought—A’Luo, why do I feel as though I’ve wronged you? She is clearly my empress, and yet I feel that growing close to her would betray you. I could easily lose myself in wine and take her, and yet the moment I see her, I think only of that portrait, of your eyes, your face. A’Luo, even if I have wronged you, I can’t let go. I truly cannot let go.
Three years ago I told you not to let me see your beautiful face again—I didn’t want to ruin you. And so, against your wishes, I took you as my consort instead. As long as you remain in this palace, remain by my side, I am satisfied.
Gu Tianlin listened helplessly to the sound of the watch drums drifting past. She wept, praying: “All the gods in heaven, grant me his heart!”