“And as for the extraordinary condition Young Master possesses, something no ordinary person should have, the only explanation I can offer is that Young Master must be a descendant of the Changyu Clan.”
The answer was unexpected, yet almost identical to what Yelü Zhen had told him that day. For a moment, Nalan Xuan could no longer tell what was true and what was false.
He was pulled into Feng Xuanyi’s arms again. Nalan Xuan could clearly feel the emperor’s excitement and complete loss of composure. Feng Xuanyi wanted to hold him tightly, yet feared hurting his injured shoulder; if he loosened his arms, however, he seemed unable to contain the joy overflowing from him. An indescribable sense of delight and fulfillment radiated from Feng Xuanyi as his warm gaze settled upon Nalan Xuan’s still-flat lower abdomen.
“You are always surprising me. You never give me a chance to catch my breath. How many more surprises are you planning to give me? What am I supposed to do with you?” His chin rubbed gently over the top of Nalan Xuan’s head again and again. His voice was low, his murmur soft—warm, contented, carrying the serene ease of someone who had weathered a thousand sails and finally found peace.
Then Feng Xuanyi’s body suddenly stiffened, as though he had only just remembered something. “Virtuous Lord was injured and lost so much blood. Will it affect the child?”
“Your Majesty need not worry. Although Young Master has lost considerable blood and is physically weak, and pregnancy in a male body inevitably places a greater burden upon him, fortunately he is also trained in martial arts and has a strong physical foundation. So long as he recuperates carefully and receives proper nourishment, there should be no serious problem. However, his body now sustains two lives, so fatigue is inevitable. Morning sickness will be particularly difficult, and he absolutely must not stop eating because of it. This subject will carefully prepare a gentle nourishing prescription to strengthen Young Master’s health, but regular meals are the foundation of the body and must never be neglected.” Once the elderly physician entered the territory he knew best—and particularly with the authority of someone speaking from long experience—his advice inevitably became rather long-winded.
Nalan Xuan grew sleepier and sleepier as he listened. He endured as long as he could, but eventually began yawning repeatedly.
Feng Xuanyi immediately interrupted Imperial Physician Liu’s endless lecture. “Enough. It is already late. You may withdraw for tonight. Tell Mo Yan anything else that needs attention or preparation. If there is too much to remember, write it down. Xiao Dezi, you listen as well. Keep your wits about you.”
With that, Feng Xuanyi waved his hand and drew Nalan Xuan against him, carefully avoiding the injury. “All of you may withdraw.”
After being tormented for most of the night, Nalan Xuan—who had originally been tossing and turning in bed unable to sleep—was now so exhausted his eyelids kept drooping. Sleep pressed heavily upon him. He could not tell whether it was simply because the hour was late or because the atmosphere surrounding him at that moment carried an inexplicable sense of comfort and security.
The pain in his shoulder had already dulled into numbness. The physician had used only the finest medicines, and although the wound still burned unpleasantly, it was nowhere near enough to overcome Nalan Xuan’s overwhelming desire to fall straight into bed.
“Your Majesty summoned Guishi Liu tonight. It would be inappropriate for Your Majesty to remain here with this subject. Please forgive me for being unable to escort Your Majesty farther because of my injury. This subject respectfully sees Your Majesty off.”
Feng Xuanyi interpreted Nalan Xuan’s flat, emotionless attempt to dismiss him as a jar of vinegar fragrant enough to perfume ten li. Taking advantage of the moment, he dropped comfortably onto the bed, shifted left and right until he had claimed a territory of his own, then pulled Nalan Xuan firmly into his arms. Raising his chin, he smiled with shameless playfulness. “What? Am I no longer allowed to stay in Moon-Embracing Palace?”
He reached out and gently stroked Nalan Xuan’s waterfall of black hair, his tone softening with the movement. “Sleep. You have had a long day. You were injured, yet you still gave me such an enormous gift. Xuan, how many more secrets and surprises are you going to bring me? This is my first child. I will treat our child well. If it is a boy, he will be the future emperor of Hua. If it is a girl, she will be the foremost princess of Hua. No one will possess greater honor or favor. I promise you, I will give this child the very best. Everything will belong to our child. I will clear every obstacle from the road ahead.”
Curled against Feng Xuanyi’s chest, Nalan Xuan listened to a promise that practically offered away the future of the realm, yet his expression was frighteningly calm—cold, even. The faint curve at the corner of his lips seemed capable of freezing everything beneath Heaven. How much are your promises really worth? Wealth, rank, and glory may not be what this child wants at all. How many eternal vows and sweet promises have turned into shattered dust overnight, worth less than weeds beneath one’s feet? And even if you truly keep your word, my child has no need of it. The road to the throne is an Asura path paved with the blood of one’s own family. I will never allow my child to walk a road that destroys every trace of humanity.
“I will make it up to you. I will give you an explanation. And I will make certain our first child enters this world in glory. Give me a little time. I will give you what you want. In my heart, you are my one and only empress.”
Sleep surged over Nalan Xuan with increasing force while Feng Xuanyi continued murmuring into his ear as though talking to himself. His voice became like an old monk endlessly reciting scripture, or a childhood lullaby repeated again and again. His palm moved in rhythm, occasionally passing through Nalan Xuan’s hair and then down his back. Through the haze, Nalan Xuan vaguely heard him saying something in an unwavering, righteous tone. But the moment he realized it was probably another promise, he found it almost funny despite being so tired that even his breathing had begun to slow. That intermittent word—only—was an even greater joke, absurd at its very foundation. Nalan Xuan simply did not have the energy to answer him, much less argue about how completely incompatible Feng Xuanyi was with that particular word, or how thoroughly the man profaned it merely by speaking it.
The night passed without dreams. When Nalan Xuan awoke, everything had changed again.
“By the Mandate of Heaven, the Emperor hereby decrees: Nalan of the title Virtuous Lord has been diligent and respectful, gentle in character and proper in conduct, and has won Our great favor. In recognition of his devotion, We hereby elevate him to the rank of Noble Lord. Respect this decree.”
Elio’s Notes: Noble Lord (貴君) is a high-ranking male-consort position in the novel’s fictional harem hierarchy. With his existing honorific 賢, Nalan Xuan’s full title becomes Virtuous Noble Lord (賢貴君).
Mo Yan had arrived early in obedience to the decree and waited outside Moon-Embracing Palace for quite some time, yet showed not the slightest impatience. The moment Nalan Xuan awoke, he first hurried to have him dressed and served breakfast before finally proclaiming the decree. No one would accuse Mo Yan of neglecting his duty. Anyone perceptive enough to have served inside the hall the previous night understood that Feng Xuanyi currently treasured Nalan Xuan so extravagantly that if Nalan Xuan asked for the moon itself, the emperor would probably issue a decree ordering someone to pluck it from the sky without hesitation. Whether such a thing could actually be accomplished would merely become the problem of whoever received the order.
“Congratulations, Virtuous Noble Lord.” Mo Yan rolled up the imperial decree and presented it respectfully with both hands. The smile on his face showed no trace of affectation or flattery, as though he were sincerely pleased. Perhaps that was precisely why, although everyone was human, only Mo Yan had managed to rise to the position of Chief Palace Steward.
Nalan Xuan held the yellow imperial scroll in his hands without feeling the slightest joy. It was not that he lacked gratitude; he simply understood too clearly what Feng Xuanyi intended with this decree. Although certain developments had been unexpected and some details had deviated from his plans, the overall direction remained largely what he had anticipated: climb higher, step by step, and win more room for survival for the child who had not yet been born. “I have troubled Chief Steward Mo.”
Everyone understood the perfunctory official courtesies exchanged on such occasions. Amid polite smiles and pleasantries, news that Virtuous Lord had been promoted to Virtuous Noble Lord spread throughout the palace. The reactions of the various palaces differed, but among them there was one person conspicuously absent: Meng Zhen.
With their leader gone, Jieyu Jiang and the others now gathered instead in Jieyu Jiang’s palace, every one of them looking like frightened birds startled by the mere twang of a bowstring. Their faces were grave and dispirited. One assassin and one side of the story had been enough to send Meng Zhen to the Cold Palace without even giving her a real opportunity to defend herself. Meanwhile, on the other side, Nalan Xuan continued rising step by step. He had accomplished no great new merit and had, if anything, accumulated minor faults, yet within only a few short months he had soared straight to the rank of Noble Lord. The emperor’s blatant favoritism could hardly have been clearer.
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