By the time Ning Xuan returned to his palace, he had risen overnight into the ranks of a prestigious family, his identity and status transformed beyond recognition. Moon-Embracing Palace, normally so deserted that one could practically catch sparrows at the gate, suddenly overflowed with visitors, nearly wearing the threshold flat beneath their feet.
After entertaining wave after wave of smiling, exquisitely dressed beauties—men and women alike—and making conversation about one meaningless subject after another, Ning Xuan was exhausted. He knew perfectly well why they had come, yet he still had to greet them as though they were old friends reunited after years apart, smiling politely through every exchange. Once the final guest had departed, he propped his head against one hand and rubbed his throbbing temple with his fingers.
“Xiao Dezi.” Ning Xuan frowned and buried his face in his palm.
“This servant is here.” Xiao Dezi, who had gone out to see the guests off on Ning Xuan’s behalf, hurried back and answered respectfully.
“Close the doors to visitors. If anyone else comes asking for me, tell them I’m tired and have gone to sleep.” Ning Xuan had originally intended to ask Feng Xuanyi to permit Yelü Zhen to enter the palace, only for the unexpected events of the day to interrupt him. His stomach had been growing increasingly uncomfortable lately. Waves of nausea struck more and more frequently, and his appetite worsened by the day. To keep anyone from noticing, he could only force himself to eat three meals as usual. Heaven alone knew how miserable it was to stuff food down his throat, or how wretchedly he vomited in secret whenever no one was around. And the cause of all this was that man—who remained completely unaware.
“But Marquis Dingbei, General Nalan, is outside requesting an audience,” Xiao Dezi said awkwardly. “He has already arrived at the entrance. Does Master wish to see him or not?”
Speak of the devil. The man was now his father in name, yet to Ning Xuan he had been nothing more than someone he had met briefly at the Ministry of War. Ning Xuan had never even had the opportunity to ask why the marquis had so strongly recommended an outsider like him for such a crucial responsibility—sending him west to suppress the rebellion—only to show no reaction whatsoever when he returned victorious and renowned.
When Ning Xuan entered the main hall, Marquis Dingbei Nalan Jian looked exactly as he remembered: imposing and heroic, his proud, commanding presence allowing no defiance or disrespect. His tall, broad figure stood against the light, yet inexplicably gave Ning Xuan a sense of warmth and stirred an impulse to lean upon him for support.
Ning Xuan rose and bowed. Although he now held the position of an imperial consort, the salute he gave Marquis Dingbei was that of a junior military officer greeting his superior.
For some reason, the corners of Nalan Jian’s eyes now carried more than the weariness of passing years. There was exhaustion there—and pain. The way he looked at Ning Xuan resembled nothing so much as a father finally reunited with a son lost for many years: affectionate, gentle, warm, and filled with paternal tenderness.
“His Majesty has already issued the decree. Your name will be entered into the Nalan clan genealogy. You can no longer use the name Ning Xuan. From today onward, you are Nalan Xuan, the second son of Marquis Dingbei.” Nalan Jian came straight to the point, his words brief and direct.
“My Lord, forgive me for asking, but I don’t understand why you would do this.”
Nalan Jian hesitated for a long while, as though weighing his words again and again, before finally releasing a quiet sigh. His expression was bitter. “It doesn’t matter if you cannot remember now. Just remember this: act within your abilities. Don’t be impulsive, don’t force yourself, and don’t stubbornly insist on charging straight ahead. Sometimes taking a roundabout path or compromising does not mean weakness or surrender. It simply buys you time and leaves you room to maneuver. As for my clan, you need not worry. So long as I live, the Nalan clan will always stand behind you. Whatever you want to do, whatever you want—go and pursue it without fear.”
Those words, that expression—indulgent and protective, warm and full of compassion. For one fleeting instant, Ning Xuan nearly lost himself. It truly seemed as though the man standing before him were his own father, considering everything from Ning Xuan’s perspective and carefully weighing every advantage and danger on his behalf.
Nalan Jian reached into his robes and produced a small, exquisitely crafted silver longevity lock. Beautiful patterns climbed across its surface in rare designs with a distinctly foreign style. Numerous tiny silver bells hung along its lower edge and chimed softly whenever it moved, their clear sound strangely pleasant. Something seemed to catch upon a thread buried deep within Ning Xuan’s memory. His nerves spasmed sharply, pain piercing straight through him as darkness flashed across his vision and cold sweat broke out over his entire body. At the center of the longevity lock, carved with exquisite precision, was a single character: Xuan.
Elio’s Notes: A longevity lock (長命鎖) is a traditional protective ornament, often given to children in the hope that it will ward off misfortune and ensure a long, healthy life.
Ning Xuan accepted the longevity lock from Nalan Jian. The man’s body heat still lingered upon it, warm and strangely reassuring. That unfamiliar yet inexplicably familiar sensation twisted Ning Xuan’s face with pain. His chest felt as though a thousand-catty boulder were pressing down upon it, leaving him unable to breathe. Confused, he raised his head and met Nalan Jian’s gaze, his eyes filled with silent questions.
“Every child born into the Nalan family wears a longevity lock engraved with his or her name from birth. Now that you are one of us, this one belongs to you.”
His memories became chaotic. Something seemed poised to break through the surface, yet the facts he had personally experienced roared again and again that such speculation was absurd. If Ning Xuan had originally belonged to this era—an orphan without parents who had endured hardship and wandered from place to place—then discovering that he possessed an unknown background and a powerful father lost to him for many years would have been easy enough to accept. But Ning Xuan remembered perfectly that he had transmigrated here. He had originally lived in the modern world, in the twenty-first century, an advanced age of civilization where people celebrated science, emphasized human rights, and called for humanity and compassion. Precisely because he remembered so clearly where he had come from, he could not explain what he was feeling now: inexplicable familiarity, inexplicable emotion, the joy of blood relatives reunited after a long separation, tinged with bitterness yet overflowing with warmth. Had he not been desperately restraining himself, Ning Xuan would not have minded demonstrating exactly what it meant to cry from sheer happiness.
Ning Xuan. He had been “Ning Xuan” for so many years, yet from this day onward he was suddenly supposed to become “Nalan Xuan.” Strangely, he felt no rejection, disgust, or resistance—only confusion. Something that anyone else might call an unbelievable stroke of fortune had somehow fallen directly into his lap. Yet alongside the surprise brought by the name Nalan came an inexplicable weight.
If you cannot have it, then stop dreaming about it. Time is short. Do not forget what you set out to accomplish in the first place.
For no apparent reason, the stranger’s words echoed through Ning Xuan’s mind. He could no longer clearly remember the man’s face, yet every sentence, every word, remained distinct.
If I cannot have it… then what exactly am I seeking? Fame and profit? Status? Identity? Favor?
Time is short. Why is time short? What is about to happen?
And what was my original purpose? At first, he had loved Feng Xuanyi, and that was why he had thrown himself without hesitation into this quagmire where power and desire clashed. Then Feng Xuanzhe entered his life. Although Feng Xuanyi had never truly left it, Ning Xuan had thought he understood what he should choose and where he ought to go. But if even that had been nothing more than a deception—a trap constructed for the sake of seizing power and ascending the throne—then what choice was he supposed to make now?
By instinct, Ning Xuan had chosen to disregard everything and release Feng Xuanzhe. Even now he did not know whether that decision had been right or wrong. All because of one line spoken for the sake of an act—You understand me. Yet from beginning to end, Ning Xuan had never been able to find where his true self actually stood. He instinctively rejected the pursuit of fame and profit. He had instinctively wanted to follow that person away from this mire, ending all entanglements, abandoning everything, and retiring somewhere deep among the mountains. But when all of that became impossibly distant, he had felt only a hollow sense of loss. The heavens had not collapsed. There had been no devastating grief or desperate refusal to accept reality. Instead, he had simply accepted it calmly—with a composure so complete that even Ning Xuan himself found it astonishing.
Was he genuinely that calm, or had none of this ever been what he truly wanted?
At that moment, Ning Xuan was genuinely lost.
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