Hearing this, the man in white raised his hand and gently brushed the snow-white strands beside his cheek. His gesture seemed half murmur, half reminiscence. The faint curve at the corner of his lips carried only bitterness.
When his gaze returned to Feng Xuanyi, it held no focus at all—as though he were looking not at the man before him, but through him, into some distant past… or perhaps an unreachable future.
“…Turning a small matter into a great accusation—how legitimate your cause must seem. What skill. I, your servant, can only admire it.”
The man in white smiled faintly.
“I can sacrifice righteousness for you. I can bear the shame of disloyalty and unfilial conduct. I can let the entire world point their fingers at me and curse my name. I can wound anyone for your sake—even willingly lower myself, bowing to serve you!”
In the blink of an eye, his expression shifted to furious grief. His exquisitely sculpted brows drew tightly together; the sorrow in his eyes was so deep it seemed he had long since exhausted the ability to shed tears.
“But you… you never trusted me!”
“…Come back.”
The voice of Feng Xuanyi finally sounded, low and restrained, as though he had endured long in silence.
“That is an order.”
His tone was calm—so calm that not a ripple of emotion could be heard.
“Trust me… or not?!”
The man in white demanded again.
His hoarse voice rang sharp and piercing in the night air.
Even now, he still longed for an answer.
Even if it were nothing more than a lie.
But this time Feng Xuanyi did not speak.
The clouds swallowed the firm outline of his face, leaving only a shadow behind. Time seemed to stretch endlessly until the moonlight finally broke through the suffocating silence once more.
In that pale glow, the kingly visage of the ruler appeared colder and more composed than ever.
Seeing it, the man in white gave a desolate laugh.
“Of course… my Emperor.”
He smiled faintly, yet the smile drained all color from the world around him.
“At a time like this, what need is there to ask? Whether you trust me or not—hasn’t it been obvious all along?”
“Humiliating myself… humiliating myself…”
“I truly have learned my lesson.”
With a flick of his sleeve, his expression suddenly became one of startling calm.
The sorrow vanished.
The obsession faded.
The hatred dissolved.
His black hair had long since turned white as snow, swaying in the wind. His white robes fluttered like drifting sand—ethereal, indistinct.
The past, the dreams once cherished…
They were nothing more than flowers reflected in a mirror, the moon mirrored upon water.
Things he could not release.
Things he could not bear to abandon.
Things he had never been willing to accept.
But now…
Even this story had reached its end.
The night was cold as water.
The pale moonlight felt strangely elusive—like a wild horse that had broken its reins, or a firefly slipping free from the palm of one’s hand, its faint glow flickering in the dark.
In the end, it was nothing more than a moth flying into flame.
“In this life, I wish you ten thousand years upon the throne… an empire everlasting.”
He turned back once more.
There was longing in his eyes—yet also release.
It was both a blessing and the echo of a shattered love.
“If there is another life… may we meet again—”
“—without knowing one another.”
Then he leapt.
With that single motion, he cast aside the tangled love and hatred of both past and present lives.
Behind him, someone shouted—but the roaring wind swallowed the sound.
His eyes, long since dry, curved into a faint smile—one born from absolute resolve.
The darkness of night.
The coldness of the wind.
Eighteen short years of life.
Like flowers in a mirror, like the moon upon water.
Everything felt unreal… yet painfully real at the same time.
Scenes from his life passed before his mind like fleeting images in a dream—familiar yet distant.
If only three years ago…
I had not reached out my hand.
If only you had not turned back to look.
Like a winter plum blossom falling, pale as moonlight caught upon a cicada’s wing—
This was Nalan Xuan.
To the world he was a figure of supreme honor and unmatched beauty—
the peerless, breathtakingly beautiful male Empress of the Hua Dynasty.
He had once ruled the imperial harem and influenced the court itself.
Yet in the eyes of the world he was also shameless and greedy—
the most short-lived Empress in the history of the dynasty.
Watching the pale figure vanish into the darkness below, Feng Xuanyi remained alone atop the city wall.
In his hand remained only a torn corner of white gauze cloth.
No one knew what expression the normally calm and reserved emperor wore at that moment.
Nor did anyone dare approach to find out.
The soldiers who had witnessed the leap all stood frozen in shock.
The Emperor remained motionless upon the wall.
None dared move.
After a long time, Feng Xuanyi suddenly turned and strode down from the wall.
All he left behind was the retreating figure of imperial yellow robes.
“Return to the palace.”
His voice remained as calm as ever.
So calm that it almost seemed the scene just now had been nothing more than an illusion—
as though the man who had leapt from the wall were not the Empire’s Empress at all, but merely an irrelevant stranger.
Below, Mo Yan loudly announced:
“Prepare the imperial procession—return to the palace!”
Soon the sound of horses’ hooves echoed as they rode away.
But the soldiers stationed on the wall could not leave so easily.
Instead they stood awkwardly, looking toward the man who had arrived late in magnificent robes—
the Emperor’s current favorite consort,
Han Ruifeng.
Under everyone’s watchful gaze, Han Ruifeng walked gracefully to the edge of the wall—the very place where Nalan Xuan had fallen.
He looked down into the bottomless darkness.
The worry and urgency that had filled his powdered face earlier vanished completely.
In its place appeared a faint smile—half amusement, half satisfaction.
“Send people down to search,” he said.
“Alive or dead, a body must be found. After all… he was our Empire’s Empress.”
Then his tone shifted slightly.
“But this wall is so high. Even someone with divine powers couldn’t survive such a fall, could they?”
He dabbed at the corner of his eye, though not a single tear appeared.
“Ah… peace has only just returned, and now we must prepare another state funeral.”
Turning around, Han Ruifeng cast a meaningful glance across the gathered soldiers.
His murderous intent was unmistakable.
Whether Nalan Xuan lived or died, once such an order was given, survival itself would only lead to death.
And among these soldiers, none would dare plead for a disgraced Empress who had already lost the Emperor’s favor and been cast into the Cold Palace.
“If he’s dead, don’t leave the body at the gates of the imperial city. That would be unlucky.”
“Find somewhere with good feng shui and bury him there.”
As he spoke, Han Ruifeng casually tossed a gold ingot to a nearby soldier before turning away.
“No need to report back to me.”
“Don’t blame me for being ruthless,” he murmured softly to himself.
“Once you step inside these palace walls, neither you nor I can control our fate.”
“To the Emperor, no one is irreplaceable.”
“Your peacock throne will soon belong to someone else. All your past glory will be buried forever.”
“The one destined to hold all the Emperor’s favor… is me, not you.”
With the help of his attendants, Han Ruifeng elegantly stepped into his sedan chair.
Inside, his eyes flashed with cold determination.
“If you wished so desperately to leave the palace…”
“…then I will grant your wish.”
“Consider it repayment for all the years you once served me.”
“The dynasty… the imperial palace…”
“…never lacks an Empress.”
Below the City Wall:
Nalan Xuan had already resolved to end everything.
The roaring wind cut against his face as he fell. The force of it stung his eyes and made breathing difficult.
Yet strangely, his mind had never been clearer.
Memories long buried began surfacing one by one—forgotten years, sealed pasts, fragments of old recollections.
Before he could fully process them, he suddenly felt a tightening around his waist.
His uncontrollably falling body abruptly stopped.
Turning his head, he saw only a masked figure.
The person’s face was hidden.
In a blur of rising and falling movements, Nalan Xuan felt himself carried lightly through the air.
Moments later—
his feet touched the ground safely.
Futile Devices Scans 
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