“By the mandate of Heaven and the favor of fortune, the Emperor decrees: General Who Pacifies the West Ning Xuan has rendered meritorious service by pacifying the western frontier, displaying the might of our nation, and capturing the enemy commander alive. In recognition of his talent and achievements, We hereby bestow upon him the honorific ‘Valiant and Martial,’ promote him to the Junior First Rank, appoint him to serve in the Grand Council, and grant him a residence and one thousand mu of fertile land. Respect this decree.”
“This subject thanks Your Majesty for your boundless grace.”
This was what it meant to become famous in a single battle and attain both success and renown. Ning Xuan had transformed from an obscure young servant who could only allow others to trample upon him into a titled lord crowned with military achievements. A residence, farmland, property—he now possessed everything. Once, he had been denied even a charcoal brazier in winter because of another person’s displeasure, forced to shrink silently into a corner. Now, he was surrounded by the fragrance of aged wood and sandalwood, dressed in brocade and fed delicacies. An estate spanning more than a hundred mu belonged entirely to him. Servants waited upon him hand and foot, and countless people now revolved around him. Ning Xuan was caught completely unprepared. He stared blankly at everything before him, unable to keep pace with such a transformation. The roar of the crowds that had erupted on either side when he entered the city still echoed in his ears—the cheers, the excitement, their boundless joy and exhilaration. He did not understand when he had reached such a position, where he no longer had to endure people’s contemptuous looks, idle gossip, or cutting remarks, and could even control the course of other people’s lives to a certain degree.
Ning Xuan was unaccustomed to it, but he did not dislike it. To be honest, he even felt a trace of secret delight, a vindictive pleasure directed toward those who had once trampled upon him. There was helplessness and bitterness within it as well. He did not know when he had become this sort of person—someone who pursued fame and profit and yearned for nobility. Dignity was not something one possessed merely because one claimed to have it. At some unknown point, the approval of others had become so important. Somewhere in the unseen depths, a voice continually told him, This is who you truly are—noble and proud. You possess the right to look down upon all living beings.
Sure enough, once a person tasted sweetness, greed followed, and he could no longer remain content with what he possessed. Office, status, wealth, identity—these things had once been so distant and unattainable to Ning Xuan. Or perhaps it was precisely because they had been unattainable that he had never dared desire them. He could therefore assume the lofty attitude of regarding money, fame, and profit as filth, treating them with contempt and indifference. Back then, regardless of how hard he tried, obtaining them had been as difficult as ascending to Heaven. But now they were within reach—or rather, he was already immersed among them. He needed only to extend a hand to climb higher and possess more. He needed only to take two steps forward to grasp everything he could imagine within his hands. It was so real that it made a person tremble with madness and recoil with instinctive fear.
It was a gilded, jewel-encrusted abyss. A single step would lead to eternal ruin. How could Ning Xuan not know? Yet precisely because he knew, he understood how seductive and deadly the fragrance of vanity truly was.
He had originally intended to endure humiliation and bear his burden so he could help Feng Xuanyi ascend the throne. Yet within this struggle for fame and profit, Ning Xuan himself had begun to sink despite knowing better. Money was not all-powerful, but it was enough to corrupt everything that approached it. The only difference was whether one was willing to control the extent of that corruption.
“What are you thinking about so intently?” Feng Xuanzhe had entered at some unknown point and now stood close enough to touch. His profound eyes resembled forbidden fruit enticing others toward damnation, their depths impossible to see.
From the corner of his eye, Ning Xuan saw the steward standing to the side, his face covered in cold sweat. Despite the freezing weather, beads of sweat as large as beans coated his face, and his body trembled like a sieve. Ning Xuan immediately understood the reason.
He waved a hand, signaling for the steward to withdraw—for the sake of the man’s heart, which could no longer withstand further fright, and so the two of them could speak more conveniently.
The steward understood and fled in a panic, but before Ning Xuan could fully lower his hand, another hand caught it. “You haven’t answered my question, yet you’ve already learned to concern yourself with others. We were separated for two months. Was I the only one indulging in one-sided sentiment?”
“Hasn’t it always been that way from beginning to end?” Ning Xuan asked expressionlessly.
Just like this—grow tired of me, become weary and bored, and give up. Stop pursuing me so relentlessly. Stop showing me more of your devotion and consideration. My heart has been wounded, but it is not dead. I may be resolute, but I am not made of wood. I cannot control the way my heart races because of your every action, just as I cannot make an eternal vow when I do not even dare pray for a response. At first, it was only disappointment born from comparison, the desolation of mocking myself, and a helpless sigh. But later, even I could no longer distinguish what exactly made my heart tremble. Every one of my actions has a definite purpose. That was true before, it is true now, and it will inevitably remain true in the future.
Urgent confidential letters arrived one after another. You did not care whether they might give others grounds for criticism or place leverage in their hands. There were only a few sentences each time, yet every word overflowed with concern and worry. Had I been well that day? Had I eaten properly? Was I sleeping comfortably? I must not rush to earn merit; protecting myself was my foremost duty. You told me all of this, every word forceful and unmistakable. From time to time, the letters were accompanied by a fur collar, a warming stone, an antique hairpin, or a pendant. You clearly knew I had no use for them at the time. You clearly knew I would never respond, yet you persisted without ever stopping.
Humans are not grass or trees; how could they possess no feelings? Could you stop shaking my resolve? Could you stop confusing me? Could you stop forcing me to face choices that might make me waver? I can no longer distinguish the distance between reality and illusion. Every step I take now may lead into an abyss from which there is no return. I understand all of this, but understanding is all I can do. So could you simply leave me here? Could you abandon me and pay me no further attention? Just like him—never asking or caring from beginning to end, as though the instant I left his sight, I ceased to exist anywhere in this world.
Do not laugh if I lie drunk upon the battlefield; since ancient times, how many who marched to war ever returned?
I had wanted to say those words to him before I departed—to the person whom I did not even possess the courage to meet in a dream. Yet whether in dreams or waking life, he never spared me a single glance. You, however, have always been willing to give me that one glance, making it impossible for me to ignore you, gradually making me addicted, dependent, and accustomed to your presence. If “since ancient times, few who marched to war ever returned,” wouldn’t that have been a release for everyone?
Unfortunately, I actually returned…
Pain suddenly seized Ning Xuan’s shoulder, drawing his wandering consciousness back. “I don’t want to hear you speak to me in that tone, and I forbid you from thinking of someone else while you’re looking at me!”
The words were overbearing to the extreme. Perhaps Feng Xuanzhe’s mask of calm composure had finally reached its limit, leaving him almost like a childish boy unwilling to accept that he could not obtain the toy he wanted. Such words would not have been surprising from anyone else, but this was Feng Xuanzhe—reserved, profound, calculating, and endlessly scheming. It was the first time he had lost his composure so thoroughly over someone supposedly unrelated to him. Or perhaps it had begun even earlier, that day beneath the city gate, when he had gently embraced Ning Xuan and told him that military merit did not matter, that he would rather Ning Xuan bear the charge of failure than lose his life, and that he must return alive.
“It’s enough that you came back.” Feng Xuanzhe raised a hand and ruffled Ning Xuan’s meticulously arranged long hair. His manner was condescending and almost playful, yet Ning Xuan’s eyes unexpectedly grew wet.
Ning Xuan could no longer remember how long it had been since anyone touched him that way—with indulgence and a trace of helplessness, like a comforting gesture capable of tolerating everything.
“Feng Xuanzhe…” As though compelled by some unseen force, Ning Xuan spoke, directly calling his name without regard for rank or propriety.
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