In a garden bathed in the warm radiance of spring, clusters of peonies bloomed in full glory, each displaying its own splendid beauty. Two or three colorful butterflies fluttered and danced among the blossoms. Before the flower beds stood a white jade balustrade, and upon it sat a young woman. Though seated, one could still discern her slender and graceful figure. She wore a simple, elegant light-yellow dress. Below the long skirt, no silk slippers were to be seen — only a pair of bare feet, white and smooth as jade, swinging idly with quiet contentment. One hand rested on the balustrade, the other lay in her lap, a mountain-snow jade hairpin held between her fingers. Both the fingers and the pin were the color of white jade — pleasing to the eye at a single glance. Her head tilted slightly to the right. Her long hair was half gathered up and half left loose, and one could faintly discern that it had originally been arranged into the elegant Misty Wind Coil style — though for some reason it had come undone. It seemed as though the breeze had passed through, leaving half of her hair dancing behind her and half trailing across the balustrade. Her brows and eyes were delicately lovely, her bearing as willowy as a branch, her manner three parts refined elegance, three parts easy nonchalance, three parts languid ease, and one part playful charm — and without quite meaning to, she carried one part more of unbridled freedom.

“Such a Fengxi is rarely seen.”

A voice rang out suddenly, and Hua Chunran gave a start. The paintbrush slipped from her hand — but in midair, a hand extended and caught it with effortless ease.

“It is you.” Hua Chunran let out a soft breath, steadying her briefly startled heart. “It is so late, Prince Consort — why have you not yet retired?”

“Has Your Highness retired either?” Huang Chao smiled, returning the paintbrush to its rack. “Did I startle you?”

“No… no.” Hua Chunran’s hand closed involuntarily for a moment before she regained her composure. She smiled slightly and asked, “Does the Prince Consort seek me for something?”

But Huang Chao did not answer. Instead, he picked up the portrait from the table and examined it carefully. As he studied it, he nodded. “Your Highness has captured Fengxi’s very spirit in this painting. It seems Your Highness truly regards her as a kindred soul and a lifelong confidante.”

“A person like Sister Feng — who in this world could resist her, who would not fall under her spell? Am I not right?” Hua Chunran rose gracefully to her feet and stood beside Huang Chao to look at the figure in the painting together. When she finished, she glanced at Huang Chao with eyes that carried a faint depth of meaning.

“The world falls under her spell? Mm — indeed it does.” Huang Chao made no argument whatsoever, seeming to have forgotten that the person beside him was herself a peerless beauty capable of captivating all under heaven. He set the portrait back on the table, picked up the paintbrush, laid out a fresh sheet of paper, and said, “Surely Your Highness has not seen this side of Fengxi either.”

With swift and focused strokes, in less than a moment another Fengxi came to life upon the paper.

“This is…” Hua Chunran looked at the figure in the painting with startled disbelief. Was this Fengxi?

The figure in the painting wore a full suit of silver armor, standing tall atop a city wall, a long bow drawn in her hands. Between her brows resided a bearing of soaring pride and towering confidence. Her gaze was calm and brilliant as it fixed upon the horizon before her — with the commanding presence of a supreme general reviewing her ten-thousand-strong army, and the composed, unhurried dignity of a sovereign surveying her realm. Set against the billowing banners flying behind her, she was like a phoenix about to spread its wings and soar through the nine heavens — peerless and unsurpassed.

“This is Sister Feng? How is she…” Hua Chunran looked at Huang Chao with startled doubt. A certain feeling rose in her heart — at once warm and cold.

“This is the Bai Fengxi whom Your Highness regards as a kindred soul — but she is also the Princess Xiyun who founded the Fengyun Cavalry with her own hands, and beyond that — she is the reigning Queen of Feng Guo!” Huang Chao said lightly, watching Hua Chunran with a composed expression, a faint smile even tugging at the corner of his lips.

“She? Princess Xiyun? The Queen of Feng Guo?” Hua Chunran’s gaze fell back blankly onto the phoenix-like woman in the painting, then swept toward the portrait she herself had painted on the table. All at once she found everything absurdly laughable, found herself contemptibly foolish. The Fengxi in that painting — that playful, spirited expression — seemed to be mocking her, laughing at her own obliviousness.

“Your Highness did not anticipate this, did you?” Huang Chao settled into the chair at the table, his gaze seeming extraordinarily gentle and tranquil as he regarded Hua Chunran. His voice was clear and bright, yet the words it carried were like needles — the wound they made was light, drawn out, and slow. “Your Highness surely could not have imagined it either — that Young Master Feng Xi is none other than the Lanxi Young Master of Feng Guo?”

“Young Master Lanxi?” Hua Chunran’s eyes fell upon Huang Chao’s face. She appeared somewhat puzzled, somewhat dazed, yet her voice remained as steady and unhurried as ever.

“Yes. The famed martial world heroes ‘Baifeng Heixi’ are in truth Princess Xiyun and Young Master Lanxi.” Huang Chao’s tone remained as light as before.

“Princess Xiyun… Young Master Lanxi… so it was them…” Hua Chunran repeated the words almost mechanically, her expression somewhat dazed and stupefied — as though by instinct, almost without realizing it, she sank back into the chair. “No wonder… no wonder they knew so much — versed in poetry and prose, skilled in the Six Arts, knowledgeable in the hundred schools of thought, conversant in military strategy and the blade… Even the most widely knowing person of the martial world — but that bearing of theirs, that unfathomable depth of mind… and I never guessed? Ha ha… how very interesting…” Hua Chunran suddenly let out a soft laugh. “I actually even… ha ha…”

Her laughter rang clear and bright as a nightingale’s gentle trill. Her graceful frame trembled lightly as a flower branch in the breeze. She raised her jade hand, and the half-glimpsed row of pearly teeth was concealed behind the edge of her sleeve. Her willow brows lifted slightly, her watery eyes shimmered — so lovely and tenderly graceful, like a peony just beginning to bloom in the morning light, still beaded with fine dew.

Huang Chao watched her quietly — as one might contemplate a treasured painting of a great beauty — watching her every word and gesture, her every movement and expression, without missing the thread of anger and sorrow concealed within that laugh, the barely-suppressible trace of bitterness and pain in those eyes… And yet he only watched — watching with a calm, unruffled composure, as though observing a game of chess in which every piece moved precisely as he directed, with all things held firmly in his grasp.

“Is this all the Prince Consort came to tell me?” Hua Chunran finally ceased laughing. She adjusted her posture with full and gracious composure, and looked at Huang Chao with a lovely face that still carried the faintest trace of a smile. Her bearing was poised and elegant — as though the words just spoken and the laughter just laughed had never come from her at all.

“Ha ha…” In that moment, Huang Chao suddenly laughed as well. “Chao truly has not misjudged Your Highness.”

Hua Chunran watched quietly as Huang Chao laughed openly. In the instant of his laughter, it was as though the sun had risen in the east, radiating brilliant light — even the room full of lanterns was dimmed by it. The royal nobility and commanding dominance between his brows made one involuntarily want to bow one’s head. Those golden-brown eyes seemed forever to flash with a light that could pierce straight through the heart — always so clear and so rational, as though one had never once seen confusion or helplessness within them. As though everything was held in his control; always so self-assured, always so proud… This man was the Shizi of Huang Chao, the future king of Huangguo, and her husband… How was it that he felt so utterly like a stranger?

“I recall that Your Highness once said — husband and wife are of one body; when the family is at peace, the nation is at peace.”

Huang Chao let his laughter fade. He rose and took Hua Chunran’s hand. Hua Chunran rose involuntarily to her feet — and seemed only now to notice how very tall he was, that she barely reached his shoulder. She looked up at him. That face… those features were so extraordinarily handsome, as though sculpted with divine precision into perfect form. When those golden-brown eyes focused upon you with undivided attention, their dazzling golden light seemed capable of enchanting a person — making you lose yourself for an instant, as though all that was needed was to listen to him, to yield to him.

“Yes — Chunran did once say to the Prince Consort: ‘Your nation is my nation, and my nation is your nation.'” Hua Chunran looked at Huang Chao with eyes full of gentle warmth, yet the fingertips held within Huang Chao’s hand gave the faintest involuntary tremor.

“And so Chao has a gift to present to Your Highness.” Huang Chao drew an object from his sleeve and placed it in Hua Chunran’s palm. His expression as he did so was tender yet grave — like a husband entrusting his most precious family heirloom to his wife for safekeeping, solemn in every degree.

“This is…” Hua Chunran looked at the jet-black, bone-chillingly cold command token in her hand. When she made out the characters engraved upon it, her eyes went wide, and she looked at Huang Chao in disbelief. “This is the Xuanzun Token?!”

“Yes — this is the Xuanzun Token that every person in the world desires and seeks to possess, the Xuanzun Token that is the very symbol of the sovereign!” Huang Chao said with a light smile, as though the gift he had just presented was the most ordinary of objects — delivered with such ease and composure.

“You are giving it to me?” Hua Chunran looked at the token in her hand, then at Huang Chao. The moment she confirmed it, a surge of wild elation swept through her heart — and then immediately, mixed into that joy, came a flood of complex and tangled feelings.

“You and I are husband and wife, of one body. What is mine is naturally also yours.” Huang Chao held Hua Chunran’s hand, the Xuanzun Token enclosed within both their palms together. In that moment, his expression was tender, sincere, and solemn — and those simple words fell upon the air like a vow.

Hua Chunran stared blankly at the Xuanzun Token in her hand, and at the large hands clasped around her own. Those hands were warm, but the token was cold — exactly like her heart in this moment, joy and sorrow mingling together, warmth and coldness intertwined. She lifted her gaze to that face, to that expression of such gentleness, and could not help but feel her thoughts drift into haze.

From the very first moment she had laid eyes on this man, though his talent and his appearance were so exceptional, the aura he carried had always made her stop short instinctively — she had never dared show him even the slightest disrespect, let alone the smallest defiance. Though he had always treated her with great courtesy, one could even say with more warmth and consideration than toward anyone else, even so she had always held a degree of reverence and wariness toward him — something she had never felt even in the presence of her own father King. And yet in this moment, his expression was so sincere, his tone so gentle, those golden eyes watching her with such focused attention. She knew… everything he said, everything he did, was genuine. A man like him said what he meant and meant what he said. A thread of gladness spread through her heart. It felt as though she were on the verge of touching something she had long yearned for — only a single step away, and she could reach it. But… the mind that had grown up within the palace all her life sent up a note of caution: behind this most supreme and priceless Xuanzun Token… At last, she drew up the corner of her lips, and a faint smile bloomed — beautiful as a flower opening.

“When I was small, an old palace servant once said: if you wish to obtain something, you must pay some price for it. I… what price will the Xuanzun Token require of me?” Hua Chunran asked with clear-eyed composure, her gaze resting calmly on Huang Chao’s face, calmly meeting those dazzling golden eyes.

Huang Chao released her hand, clasped his own behind his back, and lowered his eyes to contemplate the face before him — a face of rare beauty in all the world. He smiled gently. But in the instant that smile broke open, every trace of warmth that had been in his eyes vanished entirely. They were now as clear and cold as a frigid pool, as bright and unyielding as a mirror of ice.

“Your Highness is a person of great intelligence. The King of Hua Guo is Hua Yitian — but Hua Yitian’s true king is Princess Chunran.” Huang Chao watched the faint flash of light that passed through Hua Chunran’s eyes, and continued, “Your Highness may not be willing to admit it, but has it not always been so in your heart? Even the ministers and people of Hua Guo, even Hua Yitian himself, have failed to see through this. But Chao would never be wrong about it. With the talent and intelligence of Your Highness, it could be said that none in Hua Guo can surpass you. Were you born male, were your ambitions set even a measure higher, there might well be more than one Xiyun in this world who could claim the realm!”

Hua Chunran said nothing, waiting quietly for Huang Chao to continue. What came next would concern her — and perhaps determine the course of both their lives…

“Perhaps because the time since our marriage is still short, Your Highness seems always to forget one thing: you — are my, Huang Chao’s, wife. Before long we are to set out and return to our nation. From that day forward, you live as a person of Huangguo and die as a soul of Huangguo. You and I — rise together in glory, and fall together in ruin.” Huang Chao opened his palm, a tiger tally resting within it. His gaze shot straight to the depths of Hua Chunran’s heart. “A princess of the inner palace, without royal command, without a command tally, single-handedly mobilized fifty thousand troops. Chao finds this deeply impressive indeed.”

“Was what Chunran did wrong?” Hua Chunran asked with a slightly puzzled air, looking at Huang Chao with eyes that were innocent and questioning. “Should I not have mobilized troops to rescue Father King from danger and to aid the Prince Consort’s forces?”

“Ha… Your Highness is truly very confident!” Huang Chao only laughed, rising and moving to the window. He raised his eyes toward the heavens, his voice carrying across the distance in a light and unhurried tone. “The sky and earth are vast and boundless. Though those more clever than Your Highness are few, they are not entirely nonexistent. The deeper intentions behind Your Highness’s action — how could Chao dare to misread them? And so…” Huang Chao turned. His gaze was like a blade; his tone like frost. “Such actions from Your Highness — Chao does not wish to see again.”

In that instant it was as though ten thousand arrows had been loosed at once — as though Changmang Shan itself had collapsed — as though a frozen river had burst its banks. In that moment, it was as though an arrow had pierced her heart, a mountain pressed upon her head, a flood submerged her whole being. Pain, weight, cold… all crushing down together, so that she could not breathe. Involuntarily she stepped back a pace, one hand reaching automatically for the edge of the table to steady herself.

He knew. He truly knew. For one instant Hua Chunran’s face went white. Her pupils contracted. Her teeth pressed together. Her fingers gripped the corner of the table.

The room fell utterly silent, filled only with Hua Chunran’s slightly quickened breathing.

After a long moment, Huang Chao’s tone softened again into warmth. “Does Your Highness like Chao’s gift?”

“Heh heh…” Hua Chunran gave a light laugh, raising one hand to touch the hair at her temple with a graceful, tender, and charming air. “The gift the Prince Consort has given — Chunran treasures it beyond all measure.”

“That is good.” Huang Chao nodded with a smile. “Chao hopes Your Highness will guard it well, and make good use of it.”

“The Xuanzun Token… the supreme, above-all Xuanzun Token!” Hua Chunran raised the token in her hand, her fingertips tracing the four characters — Supreme Xuanzun Token. Her gaze drifted across the soaring dragon on the reverse of the token, riding clouds through open sky. “Chunran will not fail the intention behind the Prince Consort’s gift!”

“The Supreme Xuanzun Token… wherever I stand, Your Highness shall also stand at my side!” Huang Chao suddenly declared.

“Oh?” Hua Chunran’s eyes moved with soft and alluring grace. “When the Young Master rules all under heaven — where shall I be?”

“You shall naturally be the mother of all under heaven!” Huang Chao once again took Hua Chunran’s hand. Fingertip to fingertip they touched, fingers interlacing, wrists locking together, eyes meeting. This… was their ceremony — that ancient vow that would never be forsaken.

Hua Chunran looked with faint emotion at their joined hands, then lifted her gaze to Huang Chao. His expression was grave, his eyes holding not a trace of regret or retreat. In this moment she seemed to want to smile, and yet seemed also to want to weep. In the end she only stood there in a daze, gazing blankly, letting that hand warm her hand, letting the token chill the center of her palm.

“The night has grown late — Your Highness should also rest. Chao takes his leave.” Huang Chao released her hand, turned, and walked away. At the doorway he suddenly looked back. “Will we… support each other all the way to white-haired old age?” The words fell, and without waiting for an answer, he gave a faint smile, pushed the door open, and departed.

After Huang Chao left, the room was extraordinarily still. Looking down at the Xuanzun Token in her hand, Hua Chunran smiled faintly. “I give you everything I have in exchange for this — do you think it is worth it?” As the words fell, a single clear tear dropped, falling onto the cool dark surface of the token. Her heart was so empty within — empty as a secluded valley where nothing grows, desolate as a wilderness where all things have perished. How had these tears fallen? And why had they fallen?

From the fourth month to the sixth month of the seventeenth year of the Ren reign, much had transpired in Feng Guo during that period. The former king had passed, a new queen had ascended the throne, Hua Guo had invaded, and the Queen had personally led the battle. By the end of the fifth month, Feng Guo and Hua Guo had reached a peace agreement, bringing external affairs to rest.

The Queen who returned to her nation after the war had, to the astonishment of her people, completely shed the image of frailty they had long held of her.

In the royal court she was stern and imposing — sharp-minded, composed, and her words incisive without the slightest mercy. The former king’s old ministers who made even minor errors were either dismissed and investigated or exiled to border cities with permanent prohibition from service. For a time, court officials were being demoted three ranks in a single day, and several dismissed in a single day… Within barely a dozen days, the Ziying Hall, which had once been filled to capacity with officials, was now half empty.

Those dismissed and exiled ministers were naturally full of grievances — yet when they received the letters the Queen had secretly sent to them, they found they had nothing left to say. Each letter contained evidence of their years of corruption and wrongdoing. How was it that matters they had believed known to no one were known to the Queen in such complete and precise detail? It was clear that over all these years, they had underestimated that “sickly and frail” Princess Xiyun.

Among the common people, however, the populace cheered the Queen’s actions. Though the former king had not been a worthless sovereign, he had always seemed to look with half-opened eyes at affairs of state, his heart more devoted to his painting, calligraphy, and literary pursuits. As a result, the court had grown filled with mediocre and ineffectual officials, the nation’s strength simultaneously growing and being squandered. Though not as weak as Bai Guo and Nan Guo, Feng Guo had always remained subordinate to Huangguo and Fengguo, and had suffered repeated incursions from Hua Guo. Had it not been for the protection of the Fengyun Cavalry, Feng Guo might long since have been swallowed by the three nations of Huangguo, Fengguo, and Hua Guo. Now a new queen had come to the throne, and in the very first days of her governance she had swept out corrupt officials. The people thought as one: a new queen would bring new governance, and new governance would bring new vitality to the nation. Feng Guo would perhaps shed the decadence of its former ways and become a true peer standing alongside Huangguo and Fengguo in strength — and would no longer be subject to the harassment of other nations. This was the hope that lived in every common person’s heart.

No nation can be sustained by a single person.

On the twelfth day of the sixth month, the Feng King issued a royal proclamation: on the twenty-second day of the sixth month, an “Assembly of Excellence and Brilliance” would be held in the Feng capital. Regardless of birth or social standing, regardless of age or appearance — any person of true ability was welcome to attend. At the assembly, the Queen herself would conduct personal interviews, and those with genuine talent and learning would be appointed to office on the spot to serve the nation.

The moment this proclamation was issued, the entire population of Feng Guo responded with enthusiasm, spreading the news and calling it out to one another as they went. In each village and township, those who were talented but impoverished found that their neighbors voluntarily donated money and goods, encouraging them to make the journey to the capital to be interviewed. Those whose fine clothing concealed mediocre minds, enticed by the prospect of being “appointed to office,” hesitated somewhat before setting out: in the past, a generous expenditure of money could always smooth the way and facilitate a rapid rise. But this time the Queen was to “personally conduct interviews” — and in the presence of a queen whose talent and martial fame were known across the realm, could one truly hope to pass with false pretenses? Thinking of the cautionary examples so recently witnessed, they immediately abandoned the idea.

By the twenty-second day, more than a thousand people had come to attend. After three rounds of examination — in music, in law, and in governance — two hundred candidates distinguished themselves and were admitted into the Ziying Hall.

On the twenty-fifth day, the Queen summoned these two hundred talents to the Ziying Hall for personal interviews, and in the end selected fifty of the most exceptional candidates, awarding them official positions on the spot according to their respective abilities.

As for the remaining one hundred and fifty who were not selected — though they felt some disappointment, they were nonetheless in good spirits. To enter the Ziying Hall, a place that most people could not gain entry to in an entire lifetime, was already a singular honor. Beyond that, to witness with their own eyes the brilliant and distinguished Queen in person, to hear her wonderful words and virtuous counsel — this was a fortune they would not have dared to dream of in three lifetimes. Even more, the Queen at the end presented to each of them personally one scroll of a book, one writing brush, and one sword, declaring: the book nurtures the person, the brush speaks the will, and the sword defends the nation.

This final act swept away every trace of disappointment from those one hundred and fifty people, leaving them feeling fulfilled and joyful in body and spirit — to have lost was nevertheless an honor. Upon their return to their home regions they were met with even greater respect from their neighbors. Some of these men later opened schools to educate future generations; some used their own efforts to create good livelihoods for the people of their localities and became respected gentlemen and distinguished figures in their communities; others traveled among border nations and foreign peoples to spread Feng Guo’s culture, recorded in writing the customs, landscapes, and remarkable sights and tales of various places, leaving their work as a gift to posterity…

In the seventh month, the Delin Pond before Hanlu Hall was covered in lotus flowers — red ones, pink ones, white ones, all blooming in full, the lotus leaves swaying gently, a fragrance of lotus blossoms drifting in waves around the palace grounds.

Having managed at last to steal half a day of leisure, Xiyun shed her elaborate royal dress and put on a plain white long gown, wandering freely and without destination through the palace grounds. Without quite noticing where her feet had taken her, she found herself before the lotus pond, gazing from a distance at the place where her mother had once lived. It seemed that whether in her mother’s lifetime or after it, Hanlu Hall had always been so quiet. Among the graceful, upright clusters of lotus, one could faintly seem to discern her mother’s sorrowful and suppressed figure. Without a sound, she gave a faint sigh and moved closer. The clear fragrance swept toward her face.

She sat down on the stone bench beside the pond and looked with a slightly dazed expression at the beautiful lotus blossoms covering the water. She reached out and cupped a white lotus in her hand, the tip of one finger touching the tender yellow stamens. Her wrist shifted — she seemed about to pluck the flower — but somehow her hand softened, and she let it go. She watched the flower bob and tremble lightly in the air before settling back into still and upright loveliness, and could not help but curve her lips into a quiet, full smile.

The sound of light footsteps reached her. She turned her head to look and saw the Head of Internal Affairs, Pei Qiu, leading a group of attendants and palace servants approaching from a distance.

“Your Majesty, how could you walk alone without even a single palace servant at your side — if there were anything you needed, it would be most inconvenient.” Pei Qiu bowed respectfully.

Xiyun only smiled at this. Steward Pei, who had watched her grow up since she was small, always seemed to consider her still a child. She rose to her feet, lingered for a moment gazing with soft reluctance at the pond full of lotus blossoms, then turned and walked back.

Before Yusheng Palace, Xiyun finally stopped walking. She turned to look at Pei Qiu, who had been following behind with a hesitant and uncertain expression, and asked with a faint smile, “Steward Pei — is there something you wish to say to me?”

“Hmm?” Pei Qiu, who had been walking forward with his head bowed, had not expected the Queen to suddenly stop and ask him this. He started involuntarily, then said with some hesitation, “It is really a minor matter. Since the passing of the former king… since Your Majesty returned… Your Majesty has been occupied without rest all this time. Today’s brief moment of leisure is so rare. This old servant… this old servant cannot bring himself to…”

“Enough — whatever it is, just say it.” Xiyun shook her head and cut him off. She stood on the high steps before the palace, gazing into the distance — but all that could be seen was the continuous expanse of palace buildings. The only glimpse of the world beyond the palace walls was the patch of blue sky and white clouds visible if one raised one’s head.

“Yes.” Pei Qiu gave a slight bow. “When the former king passed, and Your Majesty was about to depart for the front, you instructed this old servant repeatedly that while Your Majesty was away, no one within the palace was to be permitted to leave under any circumstances. Any who violated this rule were to be apprehended for breaking palace regulations, to await Your Majesty’s return. After Your Majesty departed, though no one attempted to slip away or force their way out, there were several people who came to request permission from this old servant to leave the palace. This old servant refused them all. Since they had only come to request permission from this old servant rather than attempting anything without authorization, this old servant did not have them imprisoned, but privately noted down their names, intending to report to Your Majesty upon your return. However, after Your Majesty’s return, there was first the business of the former king’s funeral rites, and then… and then there were so many affairs of state — this old servant never found a suitable moment to make the report. But since Your Majesty had given such repeated instructions on this matter before departing, this old servant felt there must have been deep significance behind them, and so…”

“I did not expect my judgment to have been so accurate.” Xiyun heard this and said with a faint note of reflection, “Who were those who wished to leave the palace? Which halls do they ordinarily serve in?”

“There were five in total, all attendants. One served in Yingshou Palace, three in Zhenshhan Palace, and one in Shuanghen Palace.”

“The one who served in Yingshou Palace?” Xiyun’s gaze flickered, and then she asked, “What is that one’s name?”

“Sha Xiaori.” Pei Qiu answered.

“Sha Xiaori — bring him here. I wish to see him.” Xiyun said calmly.

“Yes.” Pei Qiu withdrew.

Within less than a quarter of an hour, Pei Qiu came hurrying back, followed by a young, slightly heavyset attendant.

“I… I pay my respects to the Queen!” That attendant dropped to his knees on the spot.

“You are Sha Xiaori?” Xiyun stood on the high vermilion steps, her gaze traveling along from the tip of her shoes down to Sha Xiaori kneeling below.

“Yes… yes, this servant’s name is Sha Xiaori.” Sha Xiaori answered with a slight trembling, seemingly overawed by the Queen’s authority, his head bowed throughout.

“Which hall are you from?” Xiyun continued asking in the same mild and unhurried manner — as casually as if making idle conversation.

“In reply to Your Majesty — this servant is from Yingshou Palace and has served the former king.” Sha Xiaori answered quietly.

“Oh.” Xiyun gave a slight nod. “I imagine you are therefore quite familiar with the details of the former king’s illness?”

“Hmm?” Sha Xiaori was somewhat at a loss. The former king had been buried for nearly two months now — he could not understand why the Queen would suddenly ask about this.

“I am speaking to you.” Xiyun’s voice was soft and mild, yet carried within it a compelling, inescapable authority.

“Yes… yes… this servant was one of the former king’s personal attendants, so this servant does have some knowledge of the former king’s condition.” Sha Xiaori answered in haste.

“Sha Xiaori — have you been to Hua Guo?” Xiyun suddenly fired the question from an entirely unexpected direction.

“Hua Guo?” Sha Xiaori gave a start. His eyes crept upward, trying to steal a glance at the Queen’s expression — but halfway there they collided with Xiyun’s sweeping gaze, and his heart shook violently. His composure cracked.

“Have you been to Hua Guo?” Xiyun asked again.

“This servant has never been to Hua Guo. This servant entered the palace at the age of fourteen and has served in Yingshou Palace ever since. On the occasional days off this servant only went home to visit family, and has never once passed through the city gates of the Feng capital. Steward Pei can attest to this.” Sha Xiaori forced himself to hold steady and spoke in an even, unhurried manner.

“Is that so?” Xiyun suddenly smiled, stepped down from the vermilion steps, and approached Sha Xiaori step by step where he knelt below. She asked lightly, “Then what is this?”

As the last word fell, Sha Xiaori felt a sudden loosening at the top of his head, and a large lock of his hair cascaded down. He looked up — and saw Xiyun holding a green jade hairpin in her hand. His heart went cold. “That is… this servant’s hairpin.”

“I know it is your hairpin. But do you know what kind of hairpin this is?” Xiyun smiled again — a smile of the utmost gentleness and warmth — yet Sha Xiaori felt as though that smile had traveled through a thousand years of glacial ice before reaching him, carrying with it a chill that seeped into the very marrow of his bones.

“This… this is just an ordinary green jade pin — it is… it is something this servant purchased at the marketplace during a previous trip out of the palace.” Sha Xiaori answered with his head bowed, though his hands could not help but clench slightly.

“Does Steward Pei know what kind of hairpin this is?” Xiyun turned to ask Pei Qiu, who stood to the side.

“That would be… a Kunshan green jade pin, would it not?” Pei Qiu glanced at the hairpin and answered with some uncertainty.

“Is that so, Sha Xiaori?” Xiyun raised her hand slightly, holding the jade pin up in the light of the sun. In an instant, the pin in the sunlight became like a pool of slowly flowing green water — a full expanse of blue-green, so beautiful to behold that one felt like drinking it in, a cool clarity spreading through body and mind.

“Yes… yes…” Sha Xiaori also looked at that pool of green water glowing in the sunlight. His complexion turned completely ashen.

Xiyun glanced down at Sha Xiaori with a look that seemed almost regretful. “It seems your eyesight is both somewhat lacking. Unless I am mistaken, this green jade pin is crafted from Qinghong jade — a stone produced exclusively in Sang Mountain within Hua Guo’s borders. This is an extraordinarily rare and precious material indeed.”

“Is… is that so… then… then it is Your Majesty who has the keener eye… in that case… this servant… this servant…” Sha Xiaori’s composure was clearly faltering, his words broken and incomplete.

“Qinghong jade appears in the world extremely rarely, and objects made from it cannot be bought for any price. I recall that in the twelfth year of the Ren reign, the Hua King issued a royal decree: ‘Sang Mountain’s Qinghong jade may not be mined without a royal command, and none but members of the royal household may possess it.’ All Qinghong jade known to exist was gathered into the royal palace, and the people of Hua Guo dared not continue to mine or keep it. Even our own Feng royal house possesses only a single phoenix-tail bamboo carved from Qinghong jade. And yet… how is it that you were able to purchase this Qinghong jade pin? You obtained in Feng Guo something that cannot be bought even in Hua Guo? And what is your monthly stipend? I believe it amounts to only two silver leaves?” Xiyun lowered her hand and held it open before Sha Xiaori. The green jade pin resting in her palm no longer seemed as cool and clear as water — it now radiated a bone-piercing chill that seemed to have traveled here from the depths of the underworld.

“This servant… this servant…” In the height of summer’s heat, Sha Xiaori was trembling all over, shaking so violently he could not complete a single sentence, while the back of his garment was soaked through with a wide patch of cold sweat.

“Did you truly buy this jade pin yourself? Or did someone give it to you?” Xiyun asked in an unhurried tone, her expression unreadable, showing not the faintest trace of anger.

“No… it was not… it was… it was…”

“Not what? And what was it, then?” Xiyun’s face even carried a faint smile — but her eyes were sharp as needles.

“It was… it was… it was sent to this servant by the Hua King.” Sha Xiaori flung himself prostrate on the ground. “Your Majesty, this servant deserves death. This servant should not have accepted the Hua King’s gift, this servant should not have done things on his behalf… should not have… this servant…”

“Sha Xiaori — are you a person of Feng Guo, or a person of Hua Guo?” Xiyun showed not the faintest flicker of surprise, and instead cut across him with this question.

“This servant is a person of Feng Guo.”

“And are your father and mother people of Feng Guo or people of Hua Guo?”

“They are both people of Feng Guo.”

“And your grandparents — or your ancestors further back — was there anyone among them who was a person of Hua Guo?”

“This servant… this servant’s family has been of Feng Guo for generations.” Sha Xiaori closed his eyes and pressed himself flat against the ground. A feeling of utter annihilation descended from above. In this moment he suddenly became fully lucid. He would have no further opportunities.

“All of Feng Guo, then.” Xiyun gave a mild nod, shifting her gaze to Pei Qiu, who had been waiting quietly to one side.

“Your Majesty — what is your judgment?” Pei Qiu stepped forward to receive the command.

“One who forgets their roots and abandons their nation — execute.” Xiyun’s voice turned suddenly cold as the wind of an ice cellar, and every person present shuddered from head to toe.

Sha Xiaori on the ground had already gone limp as water, fainting dead away.

From a distance, an attendant came running in great haste.

“Your Majesty, there is a person outside the palace claiming to be Your Majesty’s cook, requesting an audience.” The attendant said between labored breaths — though the moment he reached the group and felt the atmosphere of icy severity that hung in the air, he instinctively pulled himself together and suppressed his breathlessness.

“Oh?” Xiyun tilted her head slightly, then gave a faint smile. In an instant, all the cold and austere air vanished entirely. The space before Yusheng Palace returned to the full heat of a seventh-month day. “Bring him in at once.”

“Yes.” The attendant withdrew hurriedly.

Pei Qiu glanced at Sha Xiaori collapsed on the ground and asked quietly, “Your Majesty — he…”

“Drag him down immediately. Execute him.” Xiyun’s voice was cold and merciless, and her gaze, sharp as a sword of ice, swept once over Sha Xiaori. “Let it be known by royal decree: all who follow the same course shall be executed without pardon.”

“Yes!” Pei Qiu bowed to receive the command, then waved his hand to direct two attendants to haul away Sha Xiaori from the ground.

At the palace gate in the distance, a lean and slightly tall figure in blue was slowly approaching. Watching that figure draw nearer, the features gradually sharpening into clarity, Pei Qiu felt a note of curiosity. This person was actually capable of making the Queen shed that entire cold and imposing bearing of hers — and smile with such genuine warmth.

At a glance, compared to Young Master Lanxi’s matchless elegance and refined nobility, this was simply a very plain and ordinary-looking person — the kind one would lose entirely in a crowd. Yet the moment one looked away and glanced back, something seemed off about that impression. On a second look, one felt that within those plain features there resided a kind of spiritual vitality rarely seen in ordinary people, making him someone impossible to forget after a single encounter.

“I pay my respects to the Feng King.” Though the man in blue spoke respectfully, he only gave a modest bow rather than a full formal obeisance.

“Jiuwei — you have finally come.” Xiyun looked at him with a smile, her gaze clear and open, her tone warm and easy — as though she had been waiting for this person for a very long time.

“Yes. I have come.”

Jiuwei raised his head to look at Fengxi standing high on the vermilion steps — no, that was not Fengxi. Though she still wore a white robe, that hair which had hung loose and straight was now pinned up into an elegant flowing-cloud coiffure. Even the plain white garment showed change — dragon patterns at the cuffs, phoenix feathers at the hem, a nine-aperture exquisite jade belt at the waist… And beyond that — the graceful smile on her face, the air of clear and refined nobility between her brows, that cool and self-composed gaze, that dignified bearing as she stood still and upright… None of this was something the simple and willful Bai Fengxi would have possessed. This was the Feng King — the Queen of Feng Guo, Xiyun.

Something like a faint melancholy stirred in his heart, as though something had vanished from before his eyes. And yet… was this not what he had always hoped for? Was this not the day he had been waiting for?

“Steward Pei.” Xiyun turned her head to call out.

“This old servant is here.” Pei Qiu bowed in answer.

“Please arrange for Master Jiuwei to reside in Shuanghen Palace. He is henceforth to serve as my personal royal chef and will attend to me alone. No one in the palace is to presume to command him, and all are to treat him with respect.” Xiyun’s voice was calm and clear.

“Yes!” Pei Qiu answered.

Xiyun finished giving her instructions and turned to look at Jiuwei. “Jiuwei, you have come from afar. Rest today first.”

“Thank you, Feng King.” Jiuwei bowed again slightly in thanks.

Time flowed on gently. The lotus blooms faded and the chrysanthemums opened; summer passed and autumn came.

Yusheng Palace was where the Feng King reviewed memorials and handled affairs of state in daily life. And so this palace had neither the soaring grandeur of Ziying Hall, nor the petite delicacy of Hanlu Hall. It possessed both the dignified solidity of Yingshou Palace and the open, relaxed ease unique to Qingluo Palace.

Xiyun set down the memorial in her hand and gently pressed her fingers against the space between her brows. She turned her head and looked out the window. A cluster of white chrysanthemums was blooming in full glory.

The court had settled into stability, the newly selected officials had all found their footing, and the memorials sent in from various regions over these past two months had contained few matters to cause concern. It seemed as though everything was gradually settling into a better state… And yet… how long could this kind of calm be maintained? When that great turning of circumstances unfolded, the only thing she would be able to do was preserve the peace of Feng Guo — to spare the people of Feng Guo from the suffering of war. That was her responsibility as Feng Guo’s queen. And she… could only protect Feng Guo’s people. A sigh rose involuntarily in her heart.

Suddenly, an exceedingly faint sound reached her — as though a single fallen leaf were dancing in the wind, so faint the ear could barely detect it.

“Who is there?” Xiyun asked quietly, her gaze fixed on the window. Her long sleeve lowered. A white silk ribbon was already in her hand.

A very faint shadow drifted lightly in through the window — like a thread of smoke curling into the room, falling without a sound onto the carpet.

“Dark Phantom pays respects to the Feng King.” The dark shadow was blurred and indistinct — one could not make out the face, could not tell whether the form was tall or short, stout or lean. Only roughly one thing could be determined: that he was kneeling, bowing his head toward the Feng King in greeting. The one thing that was clear was his voice — and yet it was the kind of voice that, once heard, left no impression in the memory of what it sounded like.

“Dark Phantom?” Xiyun’s gaze fell upon that blurry, indistinct dark shadow. Even in the full light of day, even with her level of cultivation, she found it impossible to see through that dark shadow with any clarity. “You are a Lan covert messenger?”

“Yes.” Dark Phantom answered. “By the Young Master’s command, I bring a letter for the Feng King.”

As the words fell, a faint and delicate fragrance of orchid drifted through the room. A dark ink orchid flew out from within the shadow, sailing directly toward Xiyun. Xiyun loosened her grip on the silk ribbon and held her palm open in midair. The ink orchid fell lightly into her palm. She blew upon it gently, and the orchid slowly unfurled and spread open — and then from within the orchid appeared a sheet of paper as thin and fine as a cicada’s wing.

Xiyun picked up the letter and took it in with a single glance. The jade of her face flushed with a faint warmth — like a person who has sipped fine jade wine, flushed with an intoxicated color like the crimson of autumn leaves. Yet it lasted only an instant. In the blink of an eye that trace of what seemed almost like shy color had faded. Her face was like snow-jade once again — pale and composed. Her eyes were fathomlessly deep as the sea and crystalline as a clear stream — and yet not the faintest trace of emotion could be read within them.

“The Young Master says that the Feng King will reflect deeply before replying upon reading the letter, and so Dark Phantom will return tomorrow.” Dark Phantom’s voice sounded through the room without any rise or fall.

Xiyun’s gaze swept across. She looked at the dark, shadowy shape kneeling on the ground, and then, all at once, gave a faint smile. There was no joy anywhere in that smile. “Then come again at this hour tomorrow.”

“Yes. Dark Phantom takes his leave.” The dark shadow floated lightly back out through the window.

Her gaze fell back upon the letter in her hand. In an instant, a smile tinged with something desolate rose to her face. Her eyes moved to the window. The autumn sky was high and clear, chrysanthemums blooming in riot all around — and yet none of it could bring even the slightest opening to her heart, none of it could warm her heart by even a small degree. A long sigh rose and passed — so helpless, so sorrowful. Was she truly to take this step? And yet… that truly was…

A soft knocking at the door reached her, and then the door was gently pushed open. A fresh fragrance of chrysanthemums drifted through. She raised her eyes and saw Jiuwei walk in carrying a snow-white porcelain tray.

“You must be weary from reading through memorials. I made you a chrysanthemum clear porridge — it can refresh the mind and sharpen the spirit.” Jiuwei set the porridge bowl on the table and glanced at Xiyun. It surprised him that this person — who since becoming queen had given no outward sign of her innermost thoughts — now had within her eyes a faint trace of sorrow. He could not help but ask, “What is the matter?”

But Xiyun only smiled, lifted the porridge bowl, and breathed in the fresh fragrance of chrysanthemum. Her mind felt clearer at once.

“Have the porridge. I made it deliberately on the lighter side.” Jiuwei asked no more questions, and silently passed her the jade ladle.

“Mm.” Xiyun accepted it, gave the porridge a gentle stir, then brought a spoonful to her lips. “Mm… it is delicious — clean and cool, the fragrance lingering on the lips and teeth. I want more!” The bowl of clear porridge was finished in just a few mouthfuls. When it was done, she looked up at Jiuwei, her previously slightly furrowed brows now fully smoothed, and within those eyes was now nothing but pure craving — the meaning unmistakable. She wanted another bowl.