On the twenty-third day of the twelfth lunar month, Little New Year’s Eve, the assembled ministers presented themselves before the emperor and the hundred officials paid court. The palace banquet, regarded as a display of the sovereign and his subjects united as one—something so distant that Ning Xuan had never dreamed of attending—now unexpectedly included a seat for him.
Elio’s Notes: Little New Year’s Eve refers to 小年夜, a traditional observance shortly before Lunar New Year. It marks the beginning of the final preparations for the New Year and is commonly associated with offerings to the Kitchen God, housecleaning, and preparing festive food. It is not the actual Lunar New Year’s Eve. The date varies by region—often the twenty-third day of the twelfth lunar month in northern China and the twenty-fourth in southern China. In this chapter, it falls on the twenty-third day, following the northern custom.
A young general, a rising star of officialdom, promoted to high office and granted nobility, crowned in glory. Ning Xuan received one unfamiliar face after another and could only accept the cups of congratulatory wine offered to establish connections. Looking at the two men seated together across from him, outwardly harmonious yet inwardly divided, he had to admit that, in a certain sense, they truly deserved to be called blood brothers. They were equally ambitious and equally profound in their schemes; it was merely that one displayed his intentions openly while the other concealed them. One sat upright and proper from beginning to end, and even amid casual conversation and laughter, his unspoken pressure and imposing presence inevitably revealed themselves. The other grinned and treated life as a game, never displaying the slightest decorum. Even at an imperial banquet, he drank boldly and carelessly, speaking without restraint. Yet the chill within his eyes took in every movement made by everyone present. No one ever noticed that pride or disdain. While they all believed his indulgent behavior had placed the throne forever beyond his reach, who among them had considered that he was only drawing closer and closer to it?
Watching brothers of the same blood engage in open and covert conflict over power and the throne, outwardly amiable but estranged at heart, turning an ordinary New Year’s Eve meal that would have been commonplace among the people into something so fraught with danger, Ning Xuan found himself pitying them. Had they ever known what parents were, what brothers were, or what familial affection meant?
At this very moment, both men were wholly focused on each other’s expressions and actions, on whom the other received and saw off and what he said in conversation. Neither spared Ning Xuan so much as a single glance. So-called love—did such a thing truly exist within the imperial family?
“Neither of us can afford the charge of losing decorum before His Majesty.” A hand pressed down upon the cup Ning Xuan was holding. “Go outside and get some air.”
It was Marquis Dingbei, Nalan Jian—someone who had no connection to him whatsoever. Yet ever since Ning Xuan heard Yelü Zhen’s remark, something had felt strange in his heart. What had he meant by, “So your surname is not Nalan”? He had gone to the battlefield once, but compared with the shock of struggling between life and death, that single sentence had affected him far more deeply. It was as though, at some unknown point, he had already grown accustomed to lives withering away. It was also as though some conspiracy was brewing unseen, faintly within reach, yet always impossible to touch.
“Thank you, Marquis.” Ning Xuan bowed respectfully and left his seat, offering a bitter smile and claiming that he could no longer hold his liquor to every official who approached to toast him. Leaving behind a slightly unsteady figure, he sought to escape, if only temporarily, from this place of conflict saturated with power and desire.
“Lord Viscount.”
Xuan Guang, who had been waiting outside the hall, saw Ning Xuan stagger out and reached forward to support him, but Ning Xuan refused.
“I’m going out for some air. I’ll be back shortly. There’s no need to follow me.”
Ever since they returned from the western campaign, Xuan Guang had remained at Ning Xuan’s residence. Unlike an ordinary servant assigned miscellaneous work, he had been granted the privilege of carrying a saber at Ning Xuan’s side and accompanied him everywhere to guard his safety.
The moon was bright and the stars sparse; even the clouds were pitifully few. The night wind carried a faint fragrance of plum blossoms. Icy air suddenly poured into his lungs, instantly clearing his head considerably. The lotus flowers of summer had long since withered, and the pond was covered by a thick sheet of ice. Ning Xuan crouched and reached out to stroke its bone-chilling surface, his lips curving upward and amusement entering his eyes. He remembered that when he first met Feng Xuanzhen, he had fallen into the lotus pond before even seeing the man clearly. The sensation of that bitter cold remained vivid even now. Yet unexpectedly, after only a few short months, the normally high-spirited Prince Yu had somehow appeared listless and dispirited tonight, even wearing an aggrieved expression. As for Yelü Zhen, whom they had brought back from the battlefield as a prisoner, Ning Xuan had not seen him once since their return to the capital.
At that thought, Ning Xuan’s brows knitted deeply. Perhaps it had been merely a careless remark, or perhaps Yelü Zhen had harbored some other intention, but those words—“So your surname is not Nalan”—had kept Ning Xuan from sleeping peacefully for days.
“Running alone to the edge of a lotus pond at night without even bringing a guard—aren’t you afraid someone might grow jealous and throw you into the water?”
So in the end, the only person who noticed me was him… Feng Xuanzhe.
“This is the heart of the imperial palace, after all. Even if someone intended to act against me, surely they would choose a more suitable time and place?” Ning Xuan turned and looked at Feng Xuanzhe. Dressed in a dark-purple brocade robe embroidered with silver auspicious clouds, he stood tall with one hand behind his back, appearing almost impossibly distant beneath the moonlight.
“That only proves you understand nothing. It is precisely because this is the heart of the imperial palace that people like you lower their guard. Even the tightest net has gaps and weak points. Take this moment, for example. If someone had bought my loyalty, you would already be dead. With so many people present today, even an investigation would have nowhere to begin.” Feng Xuanzhe’s deerskin brocade boots crunched against the snow as he approached. “Your identity and status are entirely different from before. You must always guard against others. Remember this: from now on, make that guard remain beside you every moment.”
Ning Xuan did not know when Feng Xuanzhe had become such a nagging person, constantly telling him what he should do, what he must be wary of, and that his life mattered more than wealth, influence, or power.
“Even if I had brought him, wouldn’t I have needed to order him away now? I clearly spared you the trouble, yet you’ve come to lecture me instead. It truly is difficult to be a good person.” Ning Xuan spread his hands and shook his head with an expression of profound grievance, leaving Feng Xuanzhe unsure whether to laugh or cry.
At some unknown point, Ning Xuan’s interactions with Feng Xuanzhe had ceased to consist solely of cold greetings and numb expressions. They could talk and laugh, though both still held something back. They shared physical intimacy, but had never taken it too far. They were slightly more than friends, yet slightly less than lovers. It was a subtle relationship, and both worked hard to preserve its balance. Ning Xuan could not understand it, while Feng Xuanzhe was unwilling to place too much pressure upon him.
“This blood-coral pendant was bestowed by Imperial Mother. It isn’t anything especially precious, but I liked the look of it and thought it would suit you, so I brought it over. Tonight’s banquet likely won’t end early, and I didn’t want to make a separate trip to your residence. The servants would never explain it properly. Still, you chose the perfect time to slip away. It seems you’re handling officialdom with considerable ease.” Without waiting for Ning Xuan to reply, Feng Xuanzhe lowered himself onto one knee and tied the blood coral at Ning Xuan’s waist. Beneath the moonlight, it shimmered brilliantly, as though fresh blood flowed within it.
“Nonsense. Didn’t you see those officials relentlessly forcing wine upon me? I only came outside because I genuinely couldn’t withstand any more.” Ning Xuan snorted unhappily.
“Wasn’t it precisely because I saw that that I hurried after you? I needed to make sure you didn’t accidentally fall into the pond, so I could seize the opportunity to rescue the beauty, earn a few additional points, and swiftly capture his heart.” Feng Xuanzhe abruptly rose and leaned close to Ning Xuan’s ear. His warm breath spilled entirely across it, turning Ning Xuan’s cheeks crimson.
The night wind swept past and lifted Ning Xuan’s black hair. Feng Xuanzhe reached out, caught a strand, and brought it to his lips. His profound eyes seemed capable of drawing out a person’s very soul as he gazed steadily up at Ning Xuan, gentle and deeply affectionate. He placed a kiss upon the strand of hair, yet it seemed to fall directly upon Ning Xuan’s heart. The indescribable trembling shook not only his dark eyes, but also the heart enclosed behind layer upon layer of walls.
“Sweet dreams.” Feng Xuanzhe turned away with a smile, leaving behind only his retreating figure as he disappeared beneath the bright moonlit night.
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