I don’t know if others have ever had this experience.
Though it was long ago, though I experienced it and later knew the outcome, sometimes when recalling the past—a certain person, a certain moment—it’s as if that naive self never changed.
Thirteen-year-old me looked up at that youth descending from the sky, tasting the flavor of a heart skip for the first time in my life.
At the time, I didn’t know that was called being moved.
Of course, if what had jumped down was someone fat and ugly, I’d first be certain this wouldn’t be a romance story.
This shows that all love at first sight in the human world is built on a foundation of good looks. Moreover, what I saw was heavenly beauty, and combined with the hero-rescuing-beauty process, it naturally led to the later persistent pursuit and heartache.
Precisely because I experienced the importance of first impressions, before the swelling from bee stings on my dumpling face subsided, I couldn’t remove my face veil.
I secretly fantasized about a season of peach blossoms in bloom, applying makeup perfectly, and when a breeze blew, inadvertently letting him see my floating veil and be stunned, saying: “I never thought you were so devastatingly beautiful?” And I would shyly lower my head with a gentle smile: “Appearance is merely skin deep—the heart is what truly matters.” Big brother would be enchanted and embrace me: “I wish to win one heart, never to part with gray hair.” I would lie contentedly in his arms: “Until mountains have no peaks and heaven and earth unite, only then dare I part from you.”
Facts proved I was indeed overthinking. Any normal man wouldn’t develop feelings for a thirteen-year-old flat-chested baby face.
Yet how many things in this world defy common logic?
Just when I finally waited for the swelling to subside and was about to put my fantasy into action, I curiously asked: “We’ve known each other this long—aren’t you curious what I look like?”
At the time, big brother was studying, holding a scroll in one hand and propping his head with the other. Without even looking up, he said: “What’s so strange about that? I’ve already seen you.”
I nearly fell off my chair: “Seen? You’ve seen me! When did you see me?”
Big brother leisurely curled his lips: “The first day I carried you back to my house, I lifted your veil while you were sleeping. Your face was all swollen—sigh, I didn’t want to hurt your self-esteem so I didn’t mention it. Why torture yourself asking?”
I: “…”
He: “What’s that expression?”
I: “How could you peek at me? You… you scoundrel… rogue… shameless…”
He: “…”
I raged: “How can I face people in the future! Tell me! Tell me!”
He: “Hey, the way you’re talking makes it sound like I lifted your clothes instead of your veil…”
I stamped my feet incoherently: “A girl’s face… can’t be seen by other men before marriage!”
He: “… Then what about all those girls showing their faces on the street?”
I: “… They are them, anyway I, in short…”
“Then I’ll marry you.”
The room suddenly fell silent.
My brain took a moment to catch up: “Huh?”
Big brother put down his scroll: “Then you marry me.”
The word “marry” echoed endlessly in my ears. I opened my mouth awkwardly, suspecting I was hallucinating: “Ah?”
Seeing me like this, big brother coughed somewhat unnaturally: “Anyway, with that face of yours, you have no future as a palace maid. The Crown Prince doesn’t fancy you either. After being a palace maid and getting too old, no one would want you when you leave—at best you’d marry a pig butcher. Do you want to marry a pig butcher? No, right? Then marry me.”
“…” Big brother, why are you suddenly comparing yourself to a pig butcher…
Seeing I didn’t respond for ages, his eyes drifted to the roof beam: “If you don’t want to, forget it.”
“Who says I don’t want to!” Though I didn’t know the cause and effect, though my heart was already racing uncontrollably, at this moment I couldn’t care about anything else. I hurriedly raised my hand: “I want to, I want to, I want to!”
“If you want to, then you want to—why keep repeating it? So annoying.” Big brother picked up his brush again, pretending to be calm as he waved it, then… wrote nothing. Yes, he forgot to dip it in ink. I rushed forward to grind ink for him, and only when I got close did I see a rouge-like blush rising on his cheeks—so beautiful it was beyond words. He nonchalantly re-dipped his brush in ink. I gathered courage to ask: “Why do you want to marry me?”
He didn’t answer, writing silently.
I continued asking: “Because I’m learned and knowledgeable?”
His hand trembled, and he glanced at me sideways.
I shrank my head: “Or… delicate and charming?”
He continued ignoring me.
I persisted: “Don’t tell me you have some unspeakable secret? Ah, you don’t have a thing for children, do you?”
Big brother slammed his brush on the table with a “snap,” glaring but still blushing: “Because I like you, like you! Are you stupid or dumb? If I didn’t like you, why would I shelter you so long? Am I the type to marry a woman I don’t like?”
I: “…”
I had fantasized the right outcome but couldn’t have predicted the process.
Though no petals fell, no breeze rose, no beautiful scenes, no touching words.
Yet why was it more, much more, happy than I had imagined?
Happiness came so suddenly, yet how briefly happiness lasted.
As the day to return to the palace drew nearer, separation was imminent. Yet I wasn’t sad—I knew he would surely pass the examinations and honor his promise to marry me properly.
The day before returning to the palace, I arranged to meet him under the maple tree where we first met. I told him I had something to say to him, and he said the same.
I couldn’t guess what he wanted to tell me, but I wanted to confess everything—confess my deception all along, confess that I wasn’t a palace maid but the current Princess Xiangyi.
That day, I wore ordinary civilian girl’s clothes, neatly arranged my forehead hair, wore double buns, and waited for him early under the maple tree.
I practiced saying many things to myself, like “I didn’t mean to deceive you,” “I was afraid that if you heard my identity you’d be scared and send me straight back to the palace,” “I truly like you,” “Actually I’m not ugly—I’m quite beautiful.”
But I waited a long time and he didn’t come.
At first I was somewhat annoyed, blaming him for being late, thinking when he came I’d definitely scold him until he begged for mercy.
But… even after the sun set, I still couldn’t wait for him.
Father Emperor suddenly visited the manor to see me. Crown Prince brother hurriedly sent Cai Mi to find me. Though I worried whether big brother had been delayed by something, I couldn’t wait there and let Father Emperor discover anything amiss. I could only have Cai Mi wait for me while I returned to Jade Dragon Manor first.
Who knew, even Cai Mi vanished without a trace.
Later…
But there was no later.
Big brother seemed to evaporate from the human world. No matter how I begged Crown Prince brother to help me search all over the mountains, or asked little master to help me search the Imperial Academy and this year’s examination candidates, there was no news.
Initially I truly cried daily and wept nightly, becoming a tearful wreck. I forgot how many times I snuck out of the palace to run back to the little wooden house already covered in dust, just waiting day after day like that. As disappointment accumulated and expectation faded, my mood naturally cooled.
Years later, when I could laugh while telling my then-fiancé Han Fei about big brother’s story, ending with “every woman has beautiful memories in her heart,” I thought I had truly let go of that past.
Until Han Fei fled the wedding and everyone nervously watched Father and Mother Emperor’s expressions, afraid to speak carelessly. As panic permeated the wedding banquet, I lowered my head in discouragement, about to turn back to my sleeping quarters, when in a backward glance I spotted a figure in the vast sea of people.
That back as comfortable as a gentle breeze, that back that refused to turn around in midnight dreams time and again.
I dared not shift my gaze even slightly. Just that moment felt as long as the five springs and autumns that had passed, until he turned around.
Only then did I realize in panic that that person—the one with looks like lofty mountains, the legendary hero who saved the beauty, the big brother who would blush and pretend to be calm—had never left my heart for even a moment.
I looked in his direction, crying and laughing. If not for my phoenix robe and crown, I truly would have rushed forward regardless of everything, asking if he still remembered me, asking why he left without saying goodbye, asking why he couldn’t keep his promise, asking where he had been all these years.
Then I learned he was the legendary Song Langsheng spoken of so mystically in the streets.
Having repeatedly solved strange cases, he rose from a small Jinzhou county magistrate to prefect, and more impressively solved the case of the Southern Border prince’s murder in Jinzhou, preventing an imminent war. Father Emperor greatly appreciated him, lamenting that today’s officialdom was full of people who protected themselves wisely. Such wisdom and courage should be entrusted with important responsibilities, so he exceptionally promoted him three ranks to Chamberlain of the Court of Judicial Review.
My heart leaped with indescribable joy.
So I bounced and skipped, asking Father Emperor to spare Han Fei.
Father Emperor was initially puzzled why I wasn’t sorrowful about my husband’s escape but could be so refreshed and energetic.
Until I pestered Father Emperor with questions about how Song Langsheng had turned the tide, he had an epiphany.
Father Emperor believed I had definitely taken a fancy to Song Langsheng’s beauty and developed lustful thoughts, changing my affections.
Though I wanted to explain, thinking it over carefully, it seemed that was indeed the case.
Probably out of guilt toward me—after all, the previous fled fiancé Han Fei was also chosen by Father Emperor himself—within days, he summoned Song Langsheng.
I was helping Father Emperor review memorials in the imperial study when someone outside suddenly reported that Minister Song was waiting outside. Before I could react to which Minister Song it was, I watched Song Langsheng step into the room—instantly like thousands of pear trees blooming.
Indeed, Father Emperor very concisely and without warning asked if he was willing to become Prince Consort.
I was shocked, but saw Song Langsheng look at me blankly, then at Father Emperor, quite at a loss and frozen, not knowing how to respond.
Then… Song Langsheng, as my heart beat chaotically, calmly knelt down and refused.
He said he already had a deceased wife, and after her death he vowed never to remarry, having only his wife in his heart for life.
I still remember how I felt hearing him finish—my whole body felt like being pricked by countless tiny needles. Not heart-piercingly painful, not dizzyingly overwhelming, yet I inexplicably noticed my fingertips trembling.
But I still remembered that Song Langsheng’s action amounted to defying imperial orders, remembered Father Emperor’s protective love for his daughter and his fury when seeing someone flee marriage. I hurriedly pulled on a smile and pushed Father Emperor, laughing about how he thought to summon Minister Song as Prince Consort when I had absolutely no such intention. Minister Song’s love for his wife was truly admirable and should be praised.
I smoothly finished speaking and pretended nonchalance as I stepped up to the pavilion.
Opening the window, I forcefully exhaled white vapor, only then noticing snowflakes drifting down from the blue sky. I wrapped my coat tighter and rubbed my eye corners with the back of my hand. Soon I saw Song Langsheng’s slowly departing figure. In that instant, I felt all the past longing was like snow—falling, landing, melting, disappearing without trace.
Only then did I realize there was a more tragic ending than two people in love not being together—one still deeply loving and missing the other, while the other’s heart had long gone far away, throwing all the past behind.
If we could forget each other in the rivers and lakes, that would be fine.
Yet we inevitably had to meet due to official business, observing sovereign-subject etiquette, speaking in court tones. How could someone as upright and principled as him get along harmoniously with me, a princess who always played the villain for Crown Prince brother?
Those disputes, if judged by justice and right and wrong, were naturally beyond reproach on his part. But sacrificing some considerations for the bigger picture was already tacit understanding among rulers. If it were anyone else, there would be ways to suppress them or use carrot and stick approaches to settle matters peacefully. But he was Song Langsheng—what could I do with him?
As contradictions continuously intensified, he had reached the point of turning and leaving whenever he saw me from afar. Even when we did meet, he would maintain a stern face, unwilling to say even one unnecessary word. In outsiders’ eyes, he must seem like a thorn in my side.
Who would have thought that the man the arrogant Princess regarded as a thorn in her side was precisely because he was the only one in her eyes and heart?
Who would imagine that despite using power to pressure and suppress him on the surface, I would admire his courage in not fearing authority and be impressed by his dedication to justice and god-like case-solving abilities?
Certainly, this emotional and spiritual split was extremely distressing for me.
Until my teacher Fang Liang’s case became famous in the capital—first impeached by my former unsuccessful Prince Consort Han Fei, then personally tried by Song Langsheng, who would soon become my new Prince Consort.
I could almost imagine what a brutal battle that would be.
Countless disputes accelerated the deterioration of our relationship. Even in his study, I tore apart the folding fan he treasured, and he pushed me roughly aside, also tearing apart the last thread of hope in my heart.
After that, I didn’t visit the Court of Judicial Review for a long time, didn’t see him again.
The day Fang Liang left, snow fell heavily, wrapping everything in silver.
I secretly disguised myself and snuck to the city gate to see him off, unexpectedly spotting Song Langsheng.
Even without his official robes, he remained so conspicuous among the crowds, while Fang Liang stood calmly before him in simple cloth clothes, gentle expression, showing no sign of fatigue from just experiencing great disaster and major case.
I wore a bamboo hat, pretending to be a passerby as I slowly walked past them, only hearing Song Langsheng say: “These days have been hard on you, sir.”
Fang Liang seemed relieved as he patted his shoulder, and after a long while said: “Minister Song has worked harder.”
Then I passed by.
Obviously completely unable to understand what they were saying.
So unwillingly, I pretended to pass by again, turning back. Song Langsheng said… something I didn’t hear clearly, only hearing Fang Liang say: “It troubles you to let the Princess and Crown Prince misunderstand… sigh, this old man now has no way to repay you.”
Song Langsheng smiled indifferently, very lightly: “I haven’t helped you with anything, sir. Take good care of yourself on this journey.”
After another round, I still didn’t understand the mystery in their words.
When I circled back again, Song Langsheng was already taking a long bow to see off the departing Fang Liang. Only then did I realize I had come to see someone off and urgently wanted to step forward, when I suddenly heard Fang Liang laugh loudly: “This old man understands the Princess’s intention! Take care!”
I: “…”
When I turned around, I saw Song Langsheng looking over expressionlessly. I awkwardly removed my bamboo hat: “You discovered me?”
Song Langsheng said indifferently: “Didn’t Your Highness notice?”
I: “…”
Song Langsheng rudely turned around by himself. I looked left and right, not knowing whom to follow. Seeing me standing still, Song Langsheng stopped and looked back: “Is the Princess not returning to the palace?”
I pointed in Fang Liang’s direction: “My teacher’s case—did he prepare for it early on…”
Song Langsheng didn’t answer.
I lowered my eyes: “Did he deliberately calculate everything, first having Han Fei report him, then having you personally try the case? On the surface you’re the ones prosecuting him, but actually you’ve minimized the damage to the Fang family?”
Song Langsheng still didn’t answer.
I looked at him: “Did someone in the Cabinet want to use this to stir up huge waves? Was it unavoidable, so you struck first? Was it to protect the Crown Prince’s faction? Was it…” I choked up, “because you feared I would protect him at all costs, so you didn’t tell me the truth?”
Song Langsheng said calmly and solemnly: “Master Fang said ‘I only seek to not fail the country above or the people below, with no guilt in my heart.'”
I exhaled a long breath of white air, wanting to catch up and say something to Fang Liang, but Song Langsheng said: “Master Fang already said he understands. Why must the Princess say more and put him in a difficult position?”
Understands. How could I not comprehend my teacher’s heart?
At that time I truly didn’t know what to say.
I rubbed my nose and said angrily: “What does he understand? When drinking before New Year, he bet with me and lost, owing me three hundred taels that he hasn’t repaid. I came to collect the money…”
“…” Song Langsheng was too lazy to pay attention to me anymore and continued walking. I called out, gesturing for the shadow guards to stay away from me: “I snuck out today.”
He continued walking.
“I brought no guards or personal maids.”
He kept walking, his pace gradually slowing.
“I don’t even have a carriage. It’s getting dark, the snow is heavy, I can barely see the road, can’t return to the palace, about to freeze to death.”
He stopped. Turned around, his expression full of reluctance, even omitting the Princess title: “Aren’t you coming along?”
I happily stepped through the snow toward him, carefully following behind him all the way. Because the snow was extremely thick, I walked crookedly, several times bumping his back with my nose. Seeing his very unwilling posture, I had to follow farther away with lighter steps.
This way, with less movement, Song Langsheng had to look back from time to time to confirm I hadn’t gotten lost in the crowd before continuing to walk ahead nonchalantly.
He walked calmly ahead while I clumsily followed behind. In a trance, it seemed like many years ago on the mountain, when little sister also followed big brother this way, heart racing.
After sunset it became even colder. When I left I couldn’t find a relatively low-key coat, so I dressed too lightly. Now I couldn’t help shivering and sneezing repeatedly. I don’t know which sneeze it was when Song Langsheng stopped again, removed his cotton outer coat, took a deep breath, quickly draped it over my shoulders, quickly turned back, and said stiffly: “If the Princess catches cold, I’m afraid I can’t bear the responsibility.”
I was stunned, dazedly feeling the remaining body warmth on the cotton coat. Though happy inside, my habitual muttering problem acted up again: “You dared refuse the imperial marriage yet fear this?”
“…”
“Alright, I said nothing.”
“…About refusing the marriage…” Song Langsheng’s voice was flat, “I haven’t apologized to the Princess or expressed gratitude…”
My chest tightened, but I forced myself to wave dismissively: “Anyway, I’m already used to your rudeness.”
Song Langsheng, quite rarely, didn’t rebut anything. He was silent, making the atmosphere somewhat uncomfortable. I smiled and bounced in front of him, casually saying: “Hey, actually it’s not that serious. If Father Emperor wanted to force marriage, you could only agree, right?”
Song Langsheng thought: “Mm.”
I didn’t react for a moment: “Huh?”
Song Langsheng matter-of-factly glanced sideways: “Otherwise?”
I was dumbfounded: “I, I thought you would rather die than submit…”
He tilted his head: “Who would be stupid enough to rather die than submit over such a thing? Your Highness has read too many plays.”
I: “…” Han Fei, someone’s calling you stupid.
I steadied myself: “…You, you promised your late wife never to remarry. Don’t you fear betraying her?”
“True.”
I suddenly had a premonition he would say something with extraordinary logic.
Song Langsheng nodded seriously: “So I would feel guilty.”
I: “…” As expected… but then why was the situation so tense at the time…
Song Langsheng thought again: “However, I should also thank the Princess for dissuading His Majesty then. I never imagined refusing an imperial marriage decree could be so easy…”
I: “…”
All the way, my heart kept pounding. I even wanted to ask him directly if he still remembered that little sister from years past, yet I worried that this version of him would say things like “Which one? Now that you mention it, I vaguely recall such a person. Don’t tell me the Princess is that little sister? Has the Princess been waiting for me all these years? The Princess has read too many plays—how could childhood jokes be taken seriously?” Such words would make me utterly humiliated, so that even when we reached the palace gates and I watched him about to leave, I still couldn’t ask anything, only staring at him dryly.
After much internal struggle, I finally clenched my fists: “Minister Song, there’s a question I don’t know if I should ask.”
Song Langsheng raised an eyebrow: “Oh? If the Princess feels it inappropriate to ask, there’s no need to force it.”
“…”
I selectively ignored this: “Actually, this Princess has wanted to ask this question for a long time. Since Minister Song was willing to help my teacher, you naturally understand my difficulties and good intentions. Why do you oppose me everywhere and treat me so coldly?”
Song Langsheng didn’t speak, looking at me, then smiled slightly: “I’ve never opposed the Princess, only that I truly don’t wish to associate too closely with the Princess.”
“Why? Is it because of my reputation? Or because of rumors about… those people in my mansion?”
Song Langsheng rarely didn’t pick up my words, only looking at my eyes, then after a moment raised his head to watch the falling snowflakes: “Your Highness always reminds me of someone.”
I looked at him. In that hazy moment, his expression carried a trace of loneliness.
I: “…And then?”
Song Langsheng: “That’s all.”
I: “…”
“Your Highness should return early to rest. Without my coat, I too greatly fear catching cold.” After speaking, he leisurely performed the sovereign-subject bow and departed, leaving me alone, utterly perplexed.
Though I couldn’t decipher his cryptic words, recalling the day’s circumstances, that night I rolled around on my bed wrapped in his coat, my joy lasting long into the night.
I calculated that having made such a good start, if we continued to interact gradually over time, it wasn’t impossible for us to renew our former relationship.
What I could never have calculated was that within days, while Father Emperor was sleeping soundly and I was helping organize the imperial desk, I accidentally knocked over unreviewed memorials and inadvertently glimpsed a memorial from He Yun, Vice Minister of the Court of Judicial Review, with Song Langsheng’s name written on it.
I couldn’t suppress my curiosity and opened it to read carefully.
Even as my hands holding the memorial trembled uncontrollably, I still couldn’t accept its contents.
This was a secret memorial marked “For His Majesty’s Eyes Only.”
The content could be summarized as: Though Song Langsheng’s household registration showed him as from the Luzhou merchant Song family, he was not their biological son but an adopted one. After months of secret investigation, they discovered he was very likely a surviving remnant from the rebellion and family extermination case five years ago. They requested His Majesty conduct a thorough investigation.
Five years ago… wasn’t that exactly when big brother suddenly disappeared? Could it be he left without saying goodbye to escape for his life?
I feared this was exactly right.
It seemed Song Langsheng’s advancement in the Court of Judicial Review threatened this He Yun, so he spared no effort to secretly dig up Song Langsheng’s background.
If what was said was true, given Father Emperor’s methods, Song Langsheng would have absolutely no chance of survival.
I clutched the memorial in confusion, my heart in complete turmoil. Taking advantage of Father Emperor still sleeping, I hid the secret memorial in my sleeve and returned to my chambers, tossing and turning until dawn, thinking of thousands of solutions, yet none were perfect.
During morning court, I rose early to guard outside the hall listening to sovereign-subject discussions, watching He Yun in case he said anything while monitoring Father Emperor’s expression for any abnormalities or signs he had discovered something. Fortunately, everything appeared calm on the surface. Only when I heard “Court dismissed” did I breathe a sigh of relief, but I didn’t know whether to seek out He Yun or Father Emperor first.
While hesitating, I suddenly heard someone call “Your Highness Princess.” Looking up, I happened to see Song Langsheng’s fresh, clear features.
Song Langsheng smiled as he bowed: “Rarely do I see the Princess at such an hour.”
I was stunned.
This was the first time since our reunion that he had actively greeted me.
I suppressed my turbulent emotions: “Today… I rose early, taking a walk for exercise and health.”
Song Langsheng laughed heartily—that smile was truly indescribably beautiful. After laughing, he raised his sleeve: “Then I won’t disturb Your Highness’s elegant mood.”
Seeing him about to leave, I urgently called out: “Song Langsheng!”
He stopped, turned back, looked down at his sleeve being grasped by my hand, then looked at me in surprise, his eyes full of inquiry.
Meeting his gaze, I couldn’t suppress the impulse in my heart. I wanted to ask him, ask if he had intended to keep his promise then, ask if losing all his family members had left him grief-stricken with no one to accompany him, ask if during these years after marrying someone else he had ever thought of me, ask if at this very moment he still harbored hatred.
Yet somehow my thousands of words involuntarily became: “Song Langsheng, become my Prince Consort.”
New Year’s Second Update
I felt him freeze, then turn to face me directly, smiling: “Your Highness must not jest…”
“This Princess is serious.” I earnestly repeated: “Become my Prince Consort.”
Song Langsheng’s face finally showed shock. For a moment he didn’t know how to respond. I said: “I am not asking—I don’t want to hear you refuse me. Song Langsheng, if you don’t dislike me, then become my Prince Consort.”
Song Langsheng looked at me, eyes unmoving, body unmoving, as if frozen in silent contemplation for a long while. Then, slowly, he drew his sleeve from my fingers. After a long moment, he shook his head.
“This subject is unwilling to take the Princess as wife.”
It was ultimately my one-sided wishful thinking. One sentence pulled me back from self-deceptive fantasies.
I looked at him and smiled: “Then forget it.”
“This subject… takes leave.”
His gaze had already wandered elsewhere, unable to handle the current awkwardness, leaving me again with that familiar back that revealed no joy or anger.
I kept my eyes open, blinked away tears, telling myself repeatedly that now was not the time for melancholy over romantic feelings.
In the end, with no other options, only one plan could be tried—this was my sole strategy.
Every day at sunset, if official business wasn’t pressing, Song Langsheng would go to the tavern near his home for a few drinks.
Only today, the tavern keeper, after receiving my substantial payment, drugged his wine and food. Soon Song Langsheng collapsed drunk-like on the dining table.
My people, disguised as his Court of Judicial Review colleagues, openly carried him home—except they didn’t take him to his mansion.
But to the Princess’s sleeping quarters.
They changed Song Langsheng into eunuch clothes and, with proper tokens, handled the matter without leaving traces.
I had long dismissed the palace maids and eunuchs serving me, and that night, the vast sleeping quarters contained only Song Langsheng and me.
He slept deeply. Having heard his martial arts were strong, I had the keeper add substantial doses to every dish—by calculation, he should sleep at least five or six hours.
I crouched beside the bed, lightly touching his long eyelashes, refined nose, and red lips with my fingertips.
I whispered softly: “Song Langsheng.”
Naturally, there was no response.
I supported my chin with both hands, staring closely at him. Not knowing what he was dreaming, his brow was slightly furrowed. I reached out to smooth it, but no matter how I tried, it wouldn’t relax.
I removed his outer garments and my own outer garments. This activity alone left me red-faced and breathless—how could I have the courage to strip him completely? After much consideration, I gave up, crawled under the covers to listen to my own pounding heartbeat, as shame gradually replaced my helpless fear.
Until the next morning.
When Song Langsheng opened his eyes, he saw me staring straight at him.
He rubbed his head, closed his eyes, and continued sleeping.
Clearly, he thought he was dreaming.
Though… I was curious why he could remain so calm dreaming of sharing a bed with me, after he repeatedly confirmed he wasn’t dreaming, he literally tumbled from the bed to the floor in fright.
I said: “This is this Princess’s sleeping quarters. If anyone discovers you here at this hour in disheveled clothing, death would be unavoidable.”
Song Langsheng’s sleepiness hadn’t completely faded.
I said: “No one would care whether you came willingly or were kidnapped. I only know Father Emperor would never let me bring shame to the royal family.”
Song Langsheng stared speechlessly, his expression changing, cold intent gradually deepening in his eyes.
I seized the moment, declaring imposingly: “Now that the deed is done and the rice is cooked, Song Langsheng, you must become this Prince Consort whether you want to or not.”
I originally thought that given Song Langsheng’s character, he would resist somewhat.
But that day he said nothing, only calmly dressed himself and smiled at me.
I often recalled later that smile—no matter how I looked at it, it seemed to carry the meaning of farewell.
But he didn’t bid me farewell. On the contrary, he smoothly led me to kneel before Father Emperor requesting an imperial marriage decree.
I was anxious and uneasy, secretly ordering people to watch him closely, fearing he might have desperate thoughts and flee the capital again.
If he fled, He Yun would inevitably submit another memorial.
Regarding He Yun, he later personally sought an audience with me. By then, news of Song Langsheng becoming Prince Consort had already spread. Upon seeing me, he immediately insisted Song Langsheng absolutely could not become Prince Consort. So I mercilessly threw that secret memorial in his face, saying: “Regarding Song Langsheng, this Palace doesn’t care what past he has. He will definitely become Prince Consort, and he will definitely become Minister of the Court of Judicial Review.”
He Yun remained relatively calm upon hearing this: “So Your Highness suppressed this secret memorial. If His Majesty learns of this…”
Before he could finish, I threw another letter at him. He picked it up, looked at it, and immediately collapsed to the ground, completely deflated.
I bent down to look at him with a trace of a smile: “Minister He writes excellent essays. Weren’t you the Tanhua scholar personally selected by Father Emperor in the palace examination? Oh, but if Father Emperor knew this Tanhua scholar had advance knowledge of the examination topics, I wonder what Father Emperor would think? I imagine he definitely couldn’t become Minister of the Court of Judicial Review.”
He Yun was so terrified his tongue wouldn’t straighten. I said: “Two paths.”
“First, submit that secret memorial again—you can accompany Minister Song to the underworld.” I extended two fingers: “Second, join us in the same boat.”
New Year’s Day Third Update
Thus I married Song Langsheng.
The wedding day was precisely the spring March when flowers bloomed everywhere. After overwhelming luxury came general amnesty.
Before that, I had never been able to estimate what consequences forcing infatuation into reality would bring.
Initially, I didn’t think it was particularly unbearable.
Song Langsheng’s coldness amounted to me sleeping in the inner room while he slept in the outer room. When we could avoid meeting, we didn’t meet. When we did meet, he pretended not to see. During meals, he ate silently, his gaze fixed either on his own bowl or the dishes.
I was once completely overwhelmed watching him stare intently at the fish with such focus.
But being treated like thin air day after day, I couldn’t remain so calm.
I began trying to be more proactive.
Such as wearing different styles of dresses and flashing past him.
Such as personally grinding ink and preparing paper for him or buying books.
Such as replacing his clothes and bedding when weather turned cold or hot.
He continued ignoring my existence as always.
I endured and endured, but couldn’t endure anymore. One evening while he was practicing calligraphy in his study, I threw a tantrum, overturned his desk, and threatened that if he didn’t share a bed with me, it would constitute deceiving the sovereign, inevitably bringing disaster to his entire family.
Song Langsheng was clearly also extremely angry. Since I was a princess whom he couldn’t hit or scold, he could only storm out angrily.
I went back to the bedroom and lay face-down on the bed, sulking for quite a while, before hearing the creak of him pushing open the door.
He held a pillow in one hand and bedding in the other, walking toward me with a stern face. He freed one hand to point: “I’m used to sleeping outside!”
I: “…”
After speaking, without waiting for me to respond, he hurled my pillow hard toward the inner wall, placed his own pillow on the outer side, removed his shoes and socks, sat down, and used his body to push me inward.
I: “…”
Then he covered himself completely with his bedding, head and all.
I: “…”
After a moment, he stuck his head out and said “You extinguish the lamp,” then immediately retracted his head back into the bedding.
I: “…”
Thus, more than three months after Song Langsheng married Princess Xiangyi, the first words he spoke were: “I’m used to sleeping outside.”
How could this Princess’s fluctuating emotions always be so indescribable?
Second Day of New Year, Fourth Update
After that day, apart from sharing a bed with different pillows at night, he was no different from usual.
Naturally, this Princess no longer silently gave endlessly either.
Even embarrassing acts like timing my return to coincidentally encounter him when sharing a carriage to morning court, I performed with unchanged expression.
During meals, I tirelessly talked about what I saw, heard, thought, and felt. Even if he didn’t respond or make a sound, even if tears fell stubbornly the moment he left the room, the next day I could still cheerfully tell various fresh stories.
How long did I persist before he finally reacted?
I couldn’t calculate.
I only remember that one day, desperate for conversation, I told an extremely cold joke. The joke was so boring that even Crown Prince brother, who had an incredibly low sense of humor, didn’t even raise an eyebrow upon hearing it. Just as I felt cold sweat after telling it myself, Song Langsheng suddenly made a “pfft” sound. He was swallowing rice at the time and nearly choked, hurriedly grabbing his teacup to gulp it down.
I stared dumbfounded: “Prince Consort, are you laughing?”
Song Langsheng’s face was completely red. After a long while, he squeezed out: “It has nothing to do with the Princess—this joke was just funny.”
I: “…”
I screamed internally—I should have realized the Prince Consort had a strange sense of humor. Why had I done so much useless work before?
Thus, collecting completely unfunny obscure jokes became this Princess’s extremely enthusiastic hobby, a good method for making Prince Consort Song smile during leisure time, and unconsciously closed the distance between us. At least later when I spoke, he would respond with single words like “mm, oh, good, no, heh…”
Also, if I forcibly pulled him to lie on the grass with me to watch stars and moon, he wouldn’t refuse too strongly anymore.
Once he suddenly asked me: “Doesn’t Your Highness feel sad?”
I looked at him in surprise.
His gaze was on the stars in the sky: “With me being like this, doesn’t Your Highness feel hurt or sad?”
I straightened my head, my nose feeling somewhat sour: “Hurt, sad.”
He turned his head to look at me. I raised our joined hands, smiled, feeling something wet sliding down from the corner of my eye: “But… at least I caught hold of you, right?”
That night, Song Langsheng didn’t say another word.
Only while sleeping soundly, I vaguely felt someone tucking in my bedding. I thought it was a dream and closed my eyes, afraid to wake up. The next morning when I woke, the covers around my feet and neck were tucked tightly inward, wrapped securely to prevent drafts and cold.
Looking at past events, my relationship with Song Langsheng always shared a common characteristic.
Whenever there was a good beginning, the ensuing blow would inevitably shatter that trace of beauty.
On my birthday, I lured him onto a boat, out to sea, and to watch fireworks. (→Yi Shou Zhe Tian Yi Shou Chui Di – Chapter 21)
He spoke many words with me, words that seemed to carry some gratitude and affection.
I was extremely joyful at the time.
Returning to the mansion, I busied myself in the kitchen for most of the day, personally preparing a table of fine dishes to share with him.
After sitting down, I remembered the warmed fine wine hadn’t been brought out yet. I told him to start eating while I skipped out to fetch it. Having just run two steps, I was truly curious what expression he would have tasting my carefully prepared delicacies, so I tiptoed back and secretly peeked through the door crack.
I saw him take out a black pill from his pouch, about to put it in my soup bowl.
My entire body felt as if plunged into an ice cellar, unable to move.
Coincidentally, a sudden strong wind blew past, and the door swung open with a sound. Song Langsheng’s hand holding the medicine froze in mid-air. He turned his head—our four eyes met.
I saw him quickly withdraw his hand and stand up, but because he rose too hastily, he knocked over the entire dining table. I stared numbly at the mess everywhere, my mind filled with images of myself starting from cutting carrots, occasionally cutting my hands and being splashed by oil, myself pestering the imperial chef daily to teach me for the sake of the dishes’ flavor, and myself lying every night looking at Song Langsheng’s back, fantasizing before sleep that he would praise my cooking.
I asked: “Is it poison?”
Song Langsheng’s expression had become somewhat blurred in my eyes. I clenched my fists, struggled to stand steady, and repeated: “Is it poison?”
Song Langsheng didn’t answer for a long time. After a long while, he softly said: “Yes, but…”
“Let’s end this, between us.”
So I said—
Long-Awaited Return Fifth Update
I picked up the pill that had fallen to the ground, spread it in my palm, and asked: “We share a bed every night—how difficult would it be to kill me?”
His eyes were deep as the sea: “This is Soul-Forgetting powder. Those who take it will forget past events, requiring two years to fully recover.”
I vaguely guessed something in my heart: “Why?”
I looked up at his picturesque features, eyes like stars, hearing him say: “The Princess is intelligent. Only if the Princess forgets can I have a chance to escape.”
I inhaled deeply upon hearing this, my heart surging with countless thoughts with nowhere to vent: “Escape?”
Song Langsheng looked steadily at me: “I want to leave the Princess.”
All the past events struck my heart like a mountain—extreme pain. Yet I couldn’t scold him, couldn’t hit him, couldn’t even say a harsh word. My myriad thoughts fell from the corners of my eyes, dripping onto the black pill. I curved my mouth in self-mockery: “If that’s the case, then as you wish.” I raised my hand to put the pill in my mouth.
Unexpectedly, the next moment my wrist was painfully gripped tight by him. Song Langsheng had somehow approached me, snatched away the Soul-Forgetting powder, his expression ugly to the extreme.
I thought I must be hallucinating—Song Langsheng’s voice actually carried suppressed trembling: “Princess Xiangyi dares to love and hate—when has she ever shown such self-destructive appearance? If you hate me, you should even more…”
I interrupted him: “I like you.”
“Like you so much that just seeing you makes me happy for ages, like you so much that I can savor your words to me repeatedly, like you so much that I can throw away a princess’s airs and dignity, like you so much that I’m willing to do anything for you gladly, like you so much that just thinking you’re my Prince Consort makes me feel like the happiest person in the world…”
“But this kind of liking… seems to only go this far.”
The dim candlelight in the room flickered, wavering across his eyes full of deep, painful affection. For a moment, I almost felt bewitched again, so I covered my eyes with my palm, no longer looking at him, and turned around: “Rest assured—with or without that medicine, I won’t pester you anymore.”
Outside, white snow was gradually melting. Somehow, I suddenly missed the red maple that fell with big brother that year—so dazzlingly red and vibrant, far brighter than this plain white elegance.
I said: “Song Langsheng, from now on, we shall never meet again.”