Feng Xuanyi did not pause or hesitate, nor did he show the slightest mercy or tenderness. His hips drove forward wildly, like a horse that had broken free of its reins, without rhythm or restraint. He took Ning Xuan again and again as though trying to reclaim something, prove something—or perhaps merely vent everything raging inside him. Every thrust was deep and brutal, relentless as a pile driver. He buried himself completely, withdrew almost to the edge, then drove back in. Blood flowed with the rhythm of his movements, trailing along the rigid length between them before dripping from where their bodies joined onto the elegant sandalwood table, where it spread into crimson blossoms. Yet the flesh already torn and wounded received not the slightest gentleness. Instead, Feng Xuanyi’s movements grew more violent by the moment, spiraling beyond all control.
In stark contrast to the violence below and the way his body was forced to jolt and sway, Ning Xuan kept his face turned aside and his brows tightly drawn from beginning to end, doing everything he could to detach himself from the cruelty being inflicted upon him. He never once looked at the man above him. He offered no plea for mercy, no surrender, not even a single groan or sign of weakness. Cold sweat soaked him until he looked as though he had just been dragged from the water. To smother every cry that might escape, he bit down upon his lips until fresh cuts split their surface. Their beautiful shape was swollen and bloodied, and dark-red blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, though he seemed entirely unaware.
The former brilliance had vanished from his phoenix eyes. Their dark depths were cold and still, like stagnant water untouched by the faintest ripple. At the end of his fixed gaze hung the bed curtains of the inner chamber. The crimson gauze was the glaring color of blood, embroidered with enormous scarlet hibiscus blossoms—just like that inexplicable dream. Dazzling red, bewitching flowers, and a heart frozen through.
Once, a table laden with food had taught Ning Xuan how quickly warmth could turn cold. It had forced him to recognize reality and understand how naïve and ridiculous he had been. Today, another table laden with food had brought him this.
You said you would give me whatever I wanted. How laughable. What I want is something you will never be able to give.
He did not resist or struggle. It was as though he could no longer feel what was happening, as though he had resigned himself and abandoned everything. Like a broken cloth doll, he allowed himself to be ravaged without the strength to fight back, watching his own humiliation with distant, indifferent eyes. He could neither think nor feel. Everything in the world seemed to have faded to white, stripped of importance and meaning.
Red candles flickered, and crimson gauze drifted through the air. What swayed in the wind before finally falling and withering was not merely his love, but his heart as well.
His eyelids grew sore and unbearably heavy, as though a crushing weight pressed down upon him and stole his breath. Everything before his eyes dissolved into bloody red. He could no longer tell whether he was looking at drifting gauze or those bewitching hibiscus blossoms.
When Ning Xuan opened his eyes again, the sun was already high. Fine trails of incense smoke curled through the room, carrying a faint and elegant fragrance that should have soothed the mind, yet could do nothing to ease the dull pain throbbing through his body.
The crimson bed curtains had been lowered. Through the gauze, he could vaguely make out an entire roomful of people waiting outside. Ning Xuan had barely shifted before the movement pulled sharply at his injuries. Before he could recover, Xiao Dezi heard the sound, briskly lifted the curtain, and leaned close with a bright, ingratiating smile.
“Master, you’re finally awake. The officials His Majesty sent with your rewards have been waiting outside the hall for quite some time. Please rise and prepare yourself to receive the decree.”
Xiao Dezi stepped forward to help him, but Ning Xuan knew the condition of his own body. With injuries that severe, walking was out of the question; even sitting upright would be difficult. Yet apart from the sharp, burning pain, there was nothing else unusual. Someone must have cleaned and tended to him. Ning Xuan smiled bitterly, uncertain whether he ought to praise Feng Xuanyi for being considerate afterward or merely conclude that fate had not yet decided to let him die.
He raised a hand to stop Xiao Dezi, his hollow gaze fixed upon the intricately carved canopy above the bed. “Let them come in.”
Xiao Dezi naturally understood what his master could not say aloud. He had served in the palace long enough to know that anyone incapable of understanding such things would never survive there. Some matters required no explanation before a servant understood them. Others had to be treated as unheard and incomprehensible even after one had heard and understood every word.
With a knowing smile, Xiao Dezi withdrew swiftly.
Ning Xuan had thought the room was already crowded, only to discover that its space could apparently be used even more thoroughly. The servants bearing the imperial rewards entered one after another, each carrying a tray filled with treasures: a white-jade ruyi scepter, sumptuous brocade, a black-jade ring carved with spiraling patterns, gold-woven snowflake boots, a crimson-jade pendant threaded with silk and inlaid with gold, a snow-fox fur coat, a blue-jade night pearl, silver-jade coral beads, a purple-crystal imperial phoenix hairpin, Luoyu red sandalwood incense, golden melon seeds, and gold leaves. There were many more objects Ning Xuan could not name but could immediately recognize as priceless. Clothing, food, ornaments, and daily necessities—every conceivable need had been considered. One glance was enough to know that their combined value was beyond calculation.
What was this supposed to be—the stick followed by the carrot? Was he expected to greet it all with a grateful smile, forget everything that had happened, and thank Feng Xuanyi for his boundless generosity? So this was how Feng Xuanyi saw him: grasping, worldly, and consumed by a hunger for power and wealth.
“I may already have a princess consort, but I will still promise you the position of empress. I know you have no use for titles, rank, wealth, or empty splendor, but you cannot be indifferent to the promise of being loved wholly and exclusively that lies behind that title. I cannot give you complete exclusivity because my marriage to my princess consort was arranged by Imperial Father. I owe her responsibility for the rest of her life, and it is my duty to care for her until her final days—but it will never be anything more than duty. You, however, will be the only person I regard as my true wife. After you, I will take no other consorts or concubines, even if I become emperor.”
The voice echoing through Ning Xuan’s mind belonged to Feng Xuanzhe. That unwavering, affectionate gaze; that earnest, gentle voice. Whatever his purpose had been and whatever intentions he had concealed, it had still amounted to betrayal, deception, and exploitation. Yet the person who had truly understood Ning Xuan—who had seen directly into his heart—was the “enemy” he had known for scarcely ten days.
His eyes grew hot and painfully dry, but no tears fell. Ning Xuan wanted to laugh, yet could not summon even a sound. Feng Xuanzhe had been little more than a stranger then, and even he had understood. The man who had lived beside Ning Xuan day and night, shared his bed and body, and received his sincere devotion had understood nothing. Not once. Not from beginning to end.
Love had always been nothing more than one vast, cruel joke.
“I understand.” Ning Xuan closed his eyes, suddenly exhausted beyond measure. Something seemed to weigh upon his chest, making every breath difficult. He felt helpless, but no longer sorrowful. He had prepared himself for this long ago. He had simply failed to restrain his own heart and was now suffering the consequences.
At dinnertime, Ning Xuan stared at the table covered in exquisite dishes. None of his former wonder or eager appetite remained. Instead, inexplicable waves of nausea rose within him. He closed his eyes and forced the discomfort down, thinking it would pass if he endured it. But each wave came more violently than the last. Cold sweat broke across his skin. The nausea refused to subside, and a strange cramping pain began deep in his lower abdomen. At first it was faint, almost too slight to notice, but it steadily intensified until each spasm pierced him like a needle driven into his flesh.
When the meal had been arranged and Xiao Dezi entered to summon his master, he found Ning Xuan curled tightly upon the bed. His face was deathly pale, without the slightest trace of color. His teeth were sunk into his lip, tearing the wounds open again, and dark-red blood ran from the corner of his mouth. Cold sweat had soaked through his robes, while damp strands of long black hair clung to his cheeks.