No longer saying anything, Ning Xuan walked directly to his seat and sat down, picking up the prepared chopsticks and beginning to eat. Yet the corner of his eye never left Qing Zhu and Mo Qi. The moment he started eating, Qing Zhu visibly relaxed, letting out a quiet sigh as though a burden had finally been lifted from his shoulders. Instead of reassuring Ning Xuan, however, it made his brows draw together even more tightly. He became increasingly certain that something had happened and that they were doing everything possible to keep it from him.
The dishes were actually quite good—steamed pork ribs coated in rice flour, assorted crispy pastries, all things Ning Xuan normally loved. Yet at this moment, even delicacies fit for an emperor tasted as dry and flavorless as chewing wax. Though that was how he felt inside, his expression revealed nothing. He continued wolfing down food as usual, occasionally letting out a satisfied sigh as though he were thoroughly enjoying himself.
“Heh, his skin really is thick enough. Even at a time like this, he can still sit there and eat happily. I can’t tell whether he thinks too highly of himself or whether he’s just given up and decided to grab whatever benefits he still can.”
The two low-ranking servants standing in the corner whispered among themselves. Although they had deliberately lowered their voices, every single word reached Ning Xuan’s ears with perfect clarity.
“Who do you think you are, and who do you think he is? He actually thought he could compare himself to him?” one sneered. “That one stripped himself bare and climbed into the master’s bed to exchange his backside for wealth and glory. As for you and me, all we can do is run errands and do chores. That sort of sacrifice? We couldn’t handle it.”
The moment those words were spoken, several nearby servants burst out laughing. Though each of them kept their heads lowered, their shoulders shook uncontrollably. Ning Xuan could not pretend not to notice even if he wanted to.
He clearly saw Qing Zhu tense immediately. Mo Qi merely frowned, but Qing Zhu’s face had already changed color. Sweat beaded across his forehead despite the freezing weather, making it all the more conspicuous.
“Exactly,” another person chimed in with a laugh. “People like us couldn’t survive the sort of life where serving the ruler is like living beside a tiger. We were born with lowly fates, but at least we’re content. Unlike certain people who were born lowly yet still dream of flying onto a branch and becoming a phoenix.”
“Listen to you. When you were flattering him before, you didn’t sound like this,” another joined in. At first his words sounded fairly reasonable, but the next sentence revealed his true intentions. “Now he’s just a crow that fell off the branch before making it all the way up. Even if you all got a share of the benefits before, there’s no need to stomp on him the moment he falls.”
“If you’re on duty, then act like you’re on duty. What kind of behavior is this, huddling together gossiping endlessly?” Yi Xuan suddenly walked in from somewhere unknown, coldly rebuking the group standing sloppily in the corner.
The moment they realized it was Yi Xuan, one of the prince’s personal attendants, the servants who had been chattering away turned pale. Straightening themselves immediately, they bowed their heads and stammered, “This servant was wrong.”
Yet Yi Xuan did not spare them so much as a glance. He walked right past them and headed directly toward Ning Xuan. Having long grown accustomed to Yi Xuan’s carefree grin and unserious demeanor, Ning Xuan felt his heart skip a beat when he saw him looking so serious—or perhaps so normal.
Ever since he and Feng Xuanyi had gotten together, when had the rumors and gossip ever truly stopped? Usually, people only talked behind their backs after meals, satisfying themselves with idle chatter. The words were unpleasant and often downright offensive, but Ning Xuan understood their feelings to some extent. Who wouldn’t want wealth, luxury, and a soft bed? Who wouldn’t want to be born surrounded by privilege and treated as precious? Yet there were simply too many things beyond one’s control. Some things were decided from the moment of birth, regardless of whether you accepted them or struggled against them. Thus, Ning Xuan usually let such remarks enter one ear and leave through the other. At most, he would brood for a while and direct a bit of misplaced temper toward Feng Xuanyi. It never lasted long. But things had never been this blatant before. Coupled with the expressions on Yi Xuan, Qing Zhu, and Mo Qi’s faces, an answer was already forming in his chest. His fingers clenched involuntarily. He did not know whether it was nervousness or fear—fear that everything had merely been flowers reflected in a mirror, the moon reflected in water, and that he had been indulging in impossible fantasies and foolish dreams.
“It’s getting late. You’re only eating dinner now?” Yi Xuan forced the corners of his lips upward. Ning Xuan could tell he was trying to smile, but the effort was entirely futile.
“Where’s the prince? Whatever it is you’re hiding from me, just tell me all at once.” Ning Xuan got straight to the point, unwilling to waste words. His expression remained calm, but his dark eyes were frighteningly sharp. Though he was speaking to Yi Xuan, his gaze swept over Qing Zhu and Mo Qi, both of whom clearly already knew what was going on.
For a moment, nobody spoke. The room became so quiet that the sound of a needle falling could probably have been heard. Yi Xuan deliberately avoided Ning Xuan’s gaze. Qing Zhu had even begun wiping sweat from his forehead. Ning Xuan’s brows knitted tightly together as he turned toward Mo Qi. “You tell me.”
Mo Qi neither avoided his gaze nor answered. The nameless anger of being the only one kept in the dark surged within Ning Xuan. Raising an arm, he pointed toward the servants and maids who had been gossiping in the corner moments ago, his smile cold. “Or would you rather I go ask them?”
Still no one spoke. Ning Xuan ground his teeth in frustration.
“Fine!”
The moment the word left his mouth, he rose and strode toward the gossiping servants. Qing Zhu reacted instantly, rushing forward to stop him.
“Alright, alright! I’ll tell you!”
Ning Xuan raised an eyebrow, silently telling him to get on with it.
Qing Zhu clenched his teeth, looking as though he were making some monumental decision. After struggling for a long while, he finally muttered, “The prince had dinner in Madam Liu’s room tonight.”
Ning Xuan froze. A vague understanding began to form in his heart, though he still clung to one final thread of hope. Perhaps there was some reason. Perhaps it was only dinner. Yet the next sentence shattered that hope instantly.
“And tonight, Madam Liu was also summoned to attend the bedchamber.”
The words struck like a bolt from the blue. Ning Xuan’s head spun, and his vision blurred. His ears rang so loudly that he could hear nothing else. Only the phrase Madam Liu was summoned to attend the bedchamber echoed over and over in his mind. He dared not think too far ahead. He dared not ask Feng Xuanyi—or even ask himself—how long this happiness and sweetness could truly last. The word forever was beautiful, but it was also unbearably bitter. It was not that he did not want it. It was not that he was unwilling. It was that he did not dare, and could not. Deep down, he had always known what an impossible dream it was. Yet he had still willingly immersed himself in it, like a moth flying into a flame, unable to pull away. He simply had not expected reality to arrive so quickly. So quickly that in the span of a blink, happiness had vanished without a trace.
Ning Xuan did not know what he wanted to do. He did not even know what he was trying to accomplish. Acting purely on instinct, he rushed out of the room. Ignoring Yi Xuan’s attempts to stop him and turning a deaf ear to Qing Zhu’s desperate shouts behind him, he only wanted to see Feng Xuanyi again. To see the man whom he had been apart from for merely one afternoon, yet who now felt as distant as though a century had passed. He could not understand what had happened. He could not understand why things had turned out this way. All he had done was commit a minor breach of etiquette at lunch. Surely that was not a crime worthy of death. Besides, the blame could not possibly rest entirely on his shoulders. Even if he were being sentenced, shouldn’t he at least be given a chance to defend himself?
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