Ignoring Ning Xuan’s mockery, Feng Xuanyi neither acknowledged his carefree grin nor reprimanded him for insolence. Instead, he abruptly changed the subject. “Marquis Dingbei submitted a memorial today. He says the two of you are remarkably compatible, so he wishes to take you as his adopted son.”
Perhaps Ning Xuan’s teasing had struck directly at something Feng Xuanyi preferred not to admit. Or perhaps Feng Xuanyi had simply realized that continuing to argue would only irritate himself. Either way, his refusal to pursue the matter could easily be mistaken for indulgence and affection.
“Marquis Dingbei?” Ning Xuan stared in surprise and searched through everything he knew about the famous marquis, yet remained completely baffled. If offending someone counted as having a connection, then Ning Xuan had indeed once received a recommendation from that famously uncompromising lord, although to this day he still did not understand why. If Marquis Dingbei had supported the eldest legitimate prince, why was Feng Xuanyi still willing to tolerate him? If he had belonged to the Crown Prince’s faction, why had he recommended someone associated with the eldest prince? And if he had secretly been Feng Xuanyi’s man, that made even less sense. With a figure as powerful as Marquis Dingbei behind him, why would Feng Xuanyi have needed to conceal his strength and patiently wait for so many years? “How could Marquis Dingbei have anything to do with me, much less want to take me as his adopted son? Does His Lordship have no children of his own, or…?”
“Of course Marquis Dingbei has an heir, and a son at that. The problem is that, in the marquis’s eyes, the boy has never amounted to much—too frivolous and fond of amusement. Marquis Dingbei has never even considered allowing him to command troops in battle, and the young marquis himself is in no hurry either. He takes nothing seriously. The late emperor tried repeatedly to entrust him with important positions, but both father and son found one excuse after another to refuse. He would not even accept a leisurely sinecure at court. He possesses a title and nothing more, spending his days idling around the imperial capital. He has never gone so far as to commit every conceivable evil, but he has certainly left Marquis Dingbei helpless.”
Elio’s Note: A sinecure is an official position carrying status or income but few substantial duties.
“But even so, why me? I’ve only met the marquis once.” Remembering that he had also spoken disrespectfully during their first encounter, Ning Xuan unconsciously shrank his neck. “Besides—” The General Who Pacifies the West, personally appointed by the late emperor and granted the honorific “Valiant and Martial,” as well as a noble title, was now one of the current emperor’s male consorts. Removing a decorated official and titled noble from public office so casually required some respectable justification to silence the court’s inevitable criticism. Ning Xuan did not say any of this aloud. He knew Feng Xuanyi understood exactly what he meant and what confused him. All Ning Xuan needed to do was wait. Whatever he was permitted to know would eventually be explained; whatever could safely be spoken would be said. As for those matters Feng Xuanyi did not permit anyone to touch or understand, he never left the slightest trace behind.
Ning Xuan looked at Feng Xuanyi suspiciously, yet his heart was strangely calm.
“What actually happened is unimportant. The justification does not matter either. Nor is approval or acceptance determined by a few words from other people. The right person appeared at the right time, in the right place, and made the right request. That is enough.”
In other words, Marquis Dingbei had chosen the proper moment and occasion and had accurately understood Feng Xuanyi’s intentions. Nothing more was required. Whether Ning Xuan truly became his adopted son, why the marquis wished to adopt him, or even precisely whom he was adopting hardly mattered. So many demanding conditions had already been satisfied; there was no need to insist upon absolute perfection.
“I told you before: whatever you ask for, I will grant, so long as you can name it and I have the power to give it.” Feng Xuanyi casually lifted a strand of Ning Xuan’s long hair from his chest. His dark eyes were black as ink and deep as the sea, hidden currents surging beneath their surface yet impossible to fathom. “The empress has committed no wrongdoing. Deposing her without cause would destabilize the foundations of the state. But there is plenty of time ahead of us.”
For Feng Xuanyi to say even that much was extraordinary.
How was it any different from saying, I have already begun paving your road to the position of empress?
And the foundation upon which that road would be built was none other than Marquis Dingbei, Nalan Jian—a veteran of three reigns, a celebrated commander of incomparable military achievement, and one of the most influential figures at the imperial court.
For one wild instant, Ning Xuan felt as though Feng Xuanyi would overturn the entire realm if that were what it took to possess him. The thought burst through him like dazzling fireworks, throwing his heartbeat out of rhythm.
It was always like this.
Again and again, Feng Xuanyi’s existence resembled a poppy exuding a rich, intoxicating fragrance. Ning Xuan knew perfectly well that it was poisonous. He knew it was dangerous. He knew he could not approach, could not trust, and above all could not permit himself even the smallest moment of emotional weakness. Yet his feet refused to obey. He wanted just one glimpse of that captivating beauty and found himself unable to resist its fatal temptation. Even fully armored, vigilant, and deliberately maintaining his distance, he still committed the same unforgivable mistake over and over again.
Ning Xuan secretly clenched his fist until five pale crescent marks appeared in his palm. The pain dragged him back to reality. He had originally come here for another purpose, yet now he seemed to have gone mute. He simply sat quietly nearby while Feng Xuanyi once again buried himself beneath the mountain of documents and memorials.
Ning Xuan still could not understand the man before him.
Feng Xuanyi could slaughter his own brothers without hesitation for the sake of obtaining supreme power, yet he could also forget food and sleep while laboring over matters concerning other people’s families. Affairs of state and affairs of the household might differ by only the smallest measure, yet that tiny difference could lead a thousand miles apart. If Ning Xuan were forced to choose, he would rather destroy the realm than fail to protect the people beside him.
Perhaps that was the uncrossable gulf between them.
Grand ambitions, noble aspirations, profound righteousness—all of them sounded wonderful when spoken aloud. But if he truly had to put those ideals into practice, Ning Xuan would rather remain a selfish villain.
Before Ning Xuan had even left the imperial study, word that Marquis Dingbei intended to accept him as an adopted son had already begun spreading silently through both the imperial court and the inner palace. Like a single stone stirring a thousand waves, the news immediately shook the entire palace. Until now, Ning Xuan had been regarded as a male consort who acted entirely as he pleased, possessing an impressive rank but no powerful family behind him. Yet the rumor spreading through the palace differed considerably from what Feng Xuanyi had told him: people were saying that Ning Xuan was not being taken in as an adopted son at all, but was instead Marquis Dingbei’s biological child, lost for many years and now finally being formally restored to his ancestral clan.
Inside Luoxiao Palace, the three women who had only moments earlier been gathered together mocking and cursing Ning Xuan for his arrogance, recklessness, outrageous audacity, and disrespect toward Consort Shu immediately fell silent when they heard the news. Each lowered her head and exchanged uncertain glances with the others, wishing she could bite off her own tongue. Consort Shu Meng, however, had always been arrogant but was still the daughter of a great household and no stranger to turbulent situations. Though she too had been startled at first, she quickly recovered and resumed drinking her tea as though nothing had happened, sampling the refreshments Jieyu Jiang had ordered rushed into the palace from her hometown by fast horse.
“What happened? A moment ago you were all talking without pause, words pouring out of you like waterfalls. Now you’re frightened speechless?” Consort Shu Meng swept an icy gaze across the three women seated below her and sneered. “Restored to his ancestral clan? Ha. They did not acknowledge him earlier or later, but conveniently choose this exact moment? Heaven only knows how many filthy schemes are hiding behind it.”
“But even if that is true, that is still Marquis Dingbei. Even the late emperor was somewhat wary of him—” Jieyu Jiang had barely begun speaking hesitantly when she struck directly upon Consort Shu Meng’s sore spot.
“What is Marquis Dingbei supposed to be?” Consort Shu Meng snapped. “Without the late emperor’s appreciation, what right would he have to swagger around the imperial court? Strip everything else away and he is nothing more than a servant who sells his life to the court and the imperial family. The Meng clan is connected to the imperial house itself. Are we supposed to fear some servant?”
The Meng clan might indeed possess enough influence to balance the Nalan family of Marquis Dingbei, but the natal families of these other female consorts fell far short. They had entered the palace seeking protection and security for their households. If they allowed themselves to become involved in a struggle over family power and imperial favor, they would be little more than weapons to be used and discarded whenever convenient. Their expressions revealed little for now, but each had already begun making calculations of her own and quietly planning a retreat.
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