Her anguished cries rang toward the heavens, every sound seemingly wrung from blood, yet those bleak and desperate screams would never reach Feng Xuanyi’s heart. Such emotions were something Feng Xuanyi could never understand. Remaining unmoved was already the limit of his patience; the fact that he did not answer with mockery or contempt could practically be considered a courtesy.
Gathering what seemed like the last of her strength, Meng Zhen suddenly threw herself against one of the hall’s supporting pillars. She struck it with a thud, and blood splattered across the scene.
Everything happened too quickly. None of the servants in the room had time to react. In the blink of an eye, when they looked again, her body had already gone limp like a kite whose string had snapped, slowly sliding down the pillar. Her fading gaze rested beyond the window, her expression gentle yet sorrowful. Her lips, no longer capable of producing sound, moved faintly. Nalan Xuan saw them clearly. She was saying, Imperial Cousin. Even at the moment of death, the person occupying Meng Zhen’s heart was still the man who had destroyed her clan—the man she both loved and hated, the man who could never return her feelings: Feng Xuanyi.
Jieyu Jiang screamed at the sudden turn of events and practically leapt into a corner. Han Ruifeng remained somewhat calmer, but even he was caught off guard and retreated several steps. Only Nalan Xuan, standing closest and seeing everything most clearly, remained expressionless and utterly unmoved. Blood from the impact had even splattered near his feet, yet he still showed no reaction.
“Master.” Xiao Dezi stepped forward and called to him softly. The servants were at a complete loss after the sudden tragedy. Meng Zhen might have been rejected by the emperor and thrown into the Cold Palace to be ignored, but that did not mean anyone had been given permission to disregard whether she lived or died. So long as no imperial decree ordered her death, no matter how much contempt or mistreatment she suffered, no one had the authority—or the courage—to simply let her die. Yet a living person had just spilled her blood and collapsed before their eyes. No palace servant in that room could possibly bear responsibility for it. At that moment, Nalan Xuan was unquestionably their safest shelter.
“Report it to His Majesty. I certainly cannot decide how this should be handled.” With that, Nalan Xuan did not linger. Perhaps he had lived within the palace too long—long enough for his heart to grow cold and his emotions to harden. Compared with Jieyu Jiang’s terror and Han Ruifeng’s forced composure, Nalan Xuan truly was as unmoved as he appeared. His heart seemed made of stone, as though scenes of death and separation like this had already become so ordinary that they no longer caused even the discomfort he would once have expected.
Feng Xuanyi hurried to Moon-Embracing Palace as soon as he received the news. Only when he saw Nalan Xuan completely unharmed, sitting on a chaise in the sunlight with his complexion unchanged, did he visibly relax. Even so, he could not help asking with concern, “Does anything feel uncomfortable? Have you been taking your medicine according to the imperial physician’s prescription? If something feels wrong, summon a physician. Don’t always endure it in silence.”
Question after question, every one filled with concern. To have someone constantly thinking about him, to matter so much to another person—this had once been exactly what Nalan Xuan wanted: something peaceful and reassuring, a love that would give itself wholly and exclusively to him. Yet every so-called truth he had discovered had frightened him again and again until he had begun retreating from it. He was so close now, close enough to reach out and touch what he had once longed for, yet he had somehow lost the desire that had begun everything. He no longer felt moved or comforted. His calmness was so complete that even he found himself unfamiliar, like a detached observer watching an unrelated stranger perform a series of actions. The only thing separating Feng Xuanyi from a true stranger, perhaps, was the bitterness Nalan Xuan tried desperately to ignore beneath his calm, expressionless surface—and failed to suppress.
“How does Your Majesty intend to handle Cainü Meng’s death?” His answer had nothing to do with Feng Xuanyi’s questions. Nalan Xuan made no attempt whatsoever to explain the connection between Meng Zhen’s death and his own unexpected visit to the Cold Palace, as though he did not care what Feng Xuanyi thought—or perhaps simply believed that with a clear conscience, he had no reason to fear anyone’s gossip.
“Don’t worry.” Feng Xuanyi sighed softly. After adjusting his position on the chaise, he reached out and drew Nalan Xuan into his arms, stroking his back through the layers of elaborate clothing in silent comfort. “I told you before that I would give you an explanation. I will not allow you to be wronged again, nor will I make you swallow your anger in silence.”
Suddenly, Nalan Xuan, who had made no attempt to resist and remained nestled in Feng Xuanyi’s arms, smiled soundlessly. He did not know what sort of “explanation” he was supposed to want. Feng Xuanyi had already decided who the mastermind was, even though Nalan Xuan himself saw far too many suspicious gaps in the affair. What exactly did this “explanation” Feng Xuanyi kept insisting he would give him mean? Another act of ignoring and trampling over someone? This time, however, Meng Zhen could no longer see or hear it. Her words seemed to linger beside his ear like a curse, refusing to fade, echoing again and again.
Do you think you won? Heh… You did win. From the looks of it, you certainly won. Virtuous Noble Lord—ha! You’re a Noble Lord now. Fine clothes, exquisite food, endless imperial favor, and a natal clan basking in limitless glory. But aren’t you afraid when you think about what comes next? Other than the order in which we received His Majesty’s favor, what difference is there between you and me? Young faces, powerful families, His Majesty’s favor granted to us as though it were only natural. We were too much alike, and that was why we could never stand one another. Why should you possess something I do not? Why should something that belongs to me suddenly have to be divided equally with you?
Heh… It seems an old love really cannot compete with a new favorite. I have become the old love now, but you—when will you become one too? When will you come here and finally experience my grief and helplessness for yourself?
I’ll wait. I’ll stay right here and wait patiently, day after day and night after night. I’ll keep my eyes wide open and watch you destroy others and yourself until you follow in my footsteps!!
Afraid of what comes next…
It was not that Nalan Xuan felt no fear. He simply did not dare face it. He did not dare think about it or look too closely, afraid that once he did, he would no longer be able to take another step forward. By now, he had already lost the courage to turn back. Even allowing himself one extra step of speculation exhausted him completely. He worried about when he might follow Meng Zhen down the same path, worried that when disaster finally descended upon him, he might not even be given the chance to scream or demand an explanation.
New favorite, old love. Meng Zhen had called herself the old love and Nalan Xuan the new favorite, yet perhaps those words had no real meaning at all. If one insisted on measuring only by time, then how was Nalan Xuan himself not an old love? And how had Meng Zhen not once been the new favorite? None of them could see clearly into Feng Xuanyi’s heart, and no one could predict what he would do next. Whether concepts such as “new favorite” and “old love” had ever truly existed in Feng Xuanyi’s mind—even for a fleeting instant—was something only he himself could know. Such heartlessness and ruthlessness were things only Feng Xuanyi seemed capable of. Yet merely for the chance to bask in even a moment of newly bestowed favor, the entire imperial harem could be driven into chaos.
“Is there anywhere you feel uncomfortable, or anything in particular you want to eat? I’ll have the Imperial Kitchen prepare it for you. The imperial physician said that although the Changyu Clan was blessed by the gods, pregnancy is still extremely difficult for a man. If anything feels wrong, you must tell me. Anytime.” Feng Xuanyi rested his chin against the crown of Nalan Xuan’s head, lightly brushing him with each word. “Once this turmoil has settled, I will announce it to the realm. My eldest imperial son—I will give him and his mother a magnificent ceremony worthy of them. You will become the empress whom everyone accepts and supports.”
Feng Xuanyi’s solemn promises echoed beside him. Nalan Xuan, quietly resting within his arms, had no way of knowing what Feng Xuanyi’s simple “Don’t worry” had meant for Meng Zhen after her death. Her body was buried intact, but she was not interred in the consorts’ mausoleum. No epitaph or memorial inscription marked her grave, nor was any special effort made to bury her alongside the Meng clan. She was simply put into the earth with almost indecent haste, without the honors due a consort in death and without even the minimum dignity her former station might have warranted, like an ordinary commoner placed in the ground after death. Feng Xuanyi’s attitude toward it all was as indifferent as that of a stranger who had happened to pass by.
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