With only a quilt separating them, Feng Xuanzhe did not have time to see that Ning Xuan’s face was wooden even as tears already streamed down it, just as Ning Xuan likewise failed to notice that Feng Xuanzhe was drenched in sweat from desperately suppressing his desire out of regard for his promise and because Ning Xuan would begin a long, exhausting journey the following day.
He was a prince, one of the most powerful and ambitious contenders for the throne in this dynasty. Feng Xuanzhe had always been accustomed to summoning wind and rain at will, yet for Ning Xuan’s sake, he was forcing himself to exercise restraint and was even willing to place himself in Ning Xuan’s position and consider what was best for him.
Turning onto his side with his back facing Ning Xuan, Feng Xuanzhe squeezed his eyes shut. A fine layer of sweat beaded across his forehead. His arms were folded tightly over his chest, both fists clenched so hard that his neatly trimmed nails dug deep into his palms, nearly piercing the flesh. He ignored the tent raised high beneath him. Who was he, Feng Xuanzhe? When had he ever forced himself to suffer such frustration?
Those who accomplished great things did not concern themselves with minor details, he repeatedly told himself. He merely cherished talent and valued a capable general. He simply did not want to injure a soldier who would depart for the battlefield the next day, especially when that person would be risking his life on Feng Xuanzhe’s behalf.
He continued reassuring and hypnotizing himself, all merely to deceive himself and conceal the truth that was faintly beginning to emerge.
Yet Ning Xuan, hidden beneath the quilt, knew nothing of Feng Xuanzhe’s struggle and restraint outside. His body, which had stiffened from the moment before, remained rigid. He did not dare move even the slightest bit. Both hands gripped the quilt tightly as he remained buried beneath it without making a sound.
As a man himself, Ning Xuan had no difficulty understanding the torment of pulling back at the brink. Yet it was precisely because he understood that everything became even harder to see clearly. Feng Xuanzhe’s purpose, Feng Xuanzhe’s intentions—he dared not investigate too deeply, much less guess. If this was a deception, then the performance was far too convincing. Ning Xuan could not understand what bargaining chip he possessed that could make Feng Xuanzhe endure such humiliation. But if it came from genuine feeling, Ning Xuan found that even more impossible to believe. The odds were smaller than Mars crashing into Earth. How could true affection exist within an imperial family? It had not existed before, did not exist now, and would never exist in the future. Feng Xuanyi was like that, and Feng Xuanzhe, who made no attempt to conceal his desire to stand at the pinnacle of power, was even more so. That innocent period of self-deception had already become history. His pain had forced him to confront the bloody reality.
Yet precisely because of that, Ning Xuan could neither see clearly, guess correctly, nor understand what this performance was ultimately meant to reveal, what it was plotting, what it was planning, or what it was calculating…
Despite his heavy thoughts and muddled mind, he still slept until dawn. Outside the city, fifty thousand soldiers and horses stood fully prepared to depart. Their weapons gleamed, their armor shone silver, and the generals rode their warhorses through the prosperous, noisy streets. With the campaign about to begin, this procession displaying their strength and confidence to the city’s people was less a triumphant show of force than a customary and established ceremony.
Seated upon his warhorse, Ning Xuan looked at the stern, tense profiles of the other soldiers and at the worried eyes of the relatives who had come to see them off yet could not put their fears into words. A wave of melancholy passed through his heart. If he truly died on the battlefield, who would remember him? Who would grieve for him?
He abandoned his attempt to search the crowd for that person’s figure, because Ning Xuan knew Feng Xuanyi would not come. Concealing his strength, remaining outside the conflict, and presenting himself as carefree and unruly—those were the only things Feng Xuanyi could do now, and also the wisest course available to him. At such an openly grand scene where factions and influence collided, if Feng Xuanyi truly appeared, Ning Xuan would instead have no idea what to do.
A bitter smile touched his lips as he straightened his back. His body was neither frail nor particularly muscular, but the sharply defined, imposing armor subdued some of the allure in his brows and eyes, lending him a valiant and heroic bearing. His gaze inadvertently caught sight of a figure beneath the city gate. A deep purple robe accentuated the man’s tall form. One hand rested behind his back, while the wind and snow lifted the hem of his robe, revealing trousers and brocade boots in the same shade. Though dressed so lightly, he appeared entirely unafraid of the bitter weather. Ning Xuan could not clearly make out his features from this distance, yet somewhere deep inside, he knew that this man had come to see him off and was looking at him at that very moment.
His chest jolted as though struck by lightning. The heart that had already abandoned all hope was forcibly stirred into widening ripples. Unable to control the joy spreading across his face, Ning Xuan swung down from his horse, handed the reins to a nearby soldier, and ran toward the city gate without caring about the occasion or propriety, running toward that person.
The instant their gazes met, sorrow flooded Ning Xuan’s heart. As expected, it had only been wishful thinking. This was reality. The person waiting beneath the gate was not Feng Xuanyi, but his elder brother, Feng Xuanzhe. Ning Xuan slowed his steps, yet the smile on his face remained unchanged from moments before. No matter who it was, at least the person standing there before him truly had Ning Xuan’s image reflected in his eyes.
Stopping two paces away, Ning Xuan suddenly directed an inexplicable burst of anger at Heming, who was attending Feng Xuanzhe. “How are you serving His Highness? It’s so cold, yet you let him dress so lightly and stand here by the city gate. Can you bear the consequences if he catches a chill?”
Feng Xuanzhe stepped forward and closed the distance between them. Raising a hand, he brushed aside the strands of Ning Xuan’s hair disordered by his running. Though his face remained expressionless, the gentleness in his eyes was warm as spring water, shimmering with tiny ripples of light. He leaned in and embraced Ning Xuan—an embrace filled with encouragement and trust, free of any desire, yet positioned perfectly to block everyone else’s view. A featherlight kiss touched Ning Xuan’s lips and immediately withdrew. “Protect yourself.”
The time had arrived, and Ning Xuan could delay no longer. He mounted his horse. The bitter winter wind and snow could freeze the body, but they could not erase the lingering warmth upon his lips. Feng Xuanzhe’s final words before his departure continued echoing beside his ear. They had not been encouragement to return beneath banners of victory, nor a heroic exhortation to earn glory and military merit. It was as though, compared with power, position, fame, and fortune, Ning Xuan’s life was the most important thing of all.
Countless ripples stirred within his heart, yet he could not speak of them, nor could he find anyone before whom he might release them. He suddenly realized that in this era, he did not even have a single friend with whom he could truly talk… Or perhaps he once had, but even with them, too many things could not be said and too much had to be considered. Even if he did not worry about being betrayed himself, he still had to consider their lives and families.
Feng Xuanyi’s affection, Feng Xuanzhe’s affection, and Ning Xuan’s own feelings—what was true and what was false, what was solid and what was illusion? There was far too much he could not understand or see through. Only now did he realize that calculation was not merely something spoken aloud, nor was it enough simply to remain vigilant. Trapped inside the game and surrounded by clouds and mist, unable to see clearly or distinguish his direction, exhaustion and helplessness suddenly swept over him, pressing down until he could barely breathe.
Raising his hand, he touched his warm lips with icy fingertips. They trembled uncontrollably. Ning Xuan did not even dare turn back and ask whether it had been real or false, nor did he dare ask himself whether he truly could remain unmoved.
Aside from a small detachment scouting the road ahead, Ning Xuan, as commander-in-chief, rode at the very front of the column. Prince Yu, Feng Xuanzhen, and Han Fei, Right Deputy Censor-in-Chief of the Censorate, rode half a length behind him on either side. Since leaving the city, Feng Xuanzhen’s brows had remained tightly furrowed, his mind clearly weighed down by concerns, while Han Fei rode expressionlessly with his eyes closed, looking perfectly calm and unperturbed.
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