The scandal that had shaken the capital gradually quieted and finally drew to a close: Consort Shu Meng, driven by jealousy, had supposedly attempted to assassinate Virtuous Noble Lord; when her actions were exposed, her natal family was implicated and the entire clan condemned to death, while she herself, rejected by the emperor and banished to the Cold Palace, ultimately killed herself in despair. Nalan Xuan had thought he might finally gain a little peace and that the imperial harem might remain quiet for a few days, but he had underestimated its endless capacity for grudges and conflict. One wave had barely subsided before hidden currents began surging elsewhere, ready to raise another.
Nalan Xuan had never been especially diligent about going to Fengyi Palace at fixed times to pay his morning and evening respects to the empress. There had always been gossip about it, but over time it had gradually died away. Recently, however, the criticism had grown increasingly intense. With no one left who could balance Nalan Xuan’s influence, his already elevated position naturally drew even more attention, and he had become the target of everyone’s arrows. Outwardly, people still smiled and showered him with flattering words, intimidated by an imperial favor so absolute that even Consort Shu Meng had been unable to shake it, but behind his back no shortage of dirty water was thrown his way. The empress herself might not care, but there would inevitably be people hoping to attach themselves to her who were eager to take offense on her behalf.
Elio’s Notes: 晨昏定省 traditionally refers to paying formal respects to one’s elders in the morning and evening. Within the imperial harem, it can refer to the expected routine of consorts attending the empress to offer their respects.
When Xiao Dezi announced that someone from his natal clan had requested an audience, Nalan Xuan froze. He spent a moment wondering what “natal clan” could possibly mean for someone like him, who had transmigrated here without family or relatives, before belatedly remembering that he was now supposedly a member of a prestigious and powerful household. Yet when the visitor entered the hall, Nalan Xuan was startled all over again. He had expected Marquis Dingbei. Instead, the man who appeared was the stranger he had met only briefly inside the palace walls, the one who had left him with several cryptic sentences before walking away—Marquis Dingbei’s eldest son and, in name, Nalan Xuan’s elder brother: Nalan Zhen.
Nalan Zhen strode into the hall with his head held high. The first thing he did was tell Nalan Xuan to dismiss everyone else. Nalan Xuan often wondered whether the two of them had some grievance left over from a previous life. Why did every meeting between them feel like enemies confronting one another, their eyes immediately turning red at the sight of each other? Nalan Zhen, for his part, did not seem remotely concerned whether his behavior might be offensive or whether his words and actions conformed to proper etiquette.
Once everyone had withdrawn, Nalan Zhen came straight to the point with a rebuke. “Whatever you are secretly planning, whatever you have been arranging, you went too far this time. The Gurun Prince Consort could not be killed. At the very least, this was not yet the time to eliminate him.”
Nalan Xuan almost laughed. Why did everyone insist on assuming this had been his conspiracy, that he had been determined to get rid of Consort Shu Meng? He was the one who had been attacked for no apparent reason. Feng Xuanyi was the one who had ordered the entire household executed. Feng Xuanyi was the one who had stood by and driven Meng Zhen to her death. Yet everyone in the world seemed convinced that Nalan Xuan had been responsible. Even if he had not acted personally, they apparently assumed he must at least have whispered into the emperor’s ear and fanned the flames.
“It wasn’t me.” Nalan Xuan fought down the urge to roll his eyes, dropped casually into a chair, and tossed the three words back at him without warmth or irritation.
Nalan Zhen did not care about Nalan Xuan’s attitude. Without offering a greeting or waiting for permission, he found himself a comfortable seat as well, then called through the door for Xiao Dezi to bring tea—specifically Pu’er.
“Whether it was you no longer matters. Things have already reached a point that neither you nor I can control. Perhaps you still do not understand what the collapse of the Gurun Prince Consort’s household means for the Nalan clan. If you were still who you once were, if you still remembered what you originally set out to do, then no matter how Meng Zhen had insulted, trampled upon, or humiliated you, you should have fought with everything you had to protect her—or at the very least protected the Gurun Prince Consort and kept him alive.”
There it was again. Nalan Xuan felt a headache coming on. Nalan Zhen always looked at him in a way he could not understand and spoke in sentences that seemed completely disconnected from reality. Yet whenever this happened, Nalan Xuan grew inexplicably agitated. The irritation did not come from Nalan Zhen forcing baseless accusations onto him. What frustrated him was that he wanted to understand—and every time he tried, his head began hurting as though it might split apart.
“It seems you still don’t understand.” Seeing Nalan Xuan frowning in thought yet unable to reach an answer, Nalan Zhen suddenly seemed to let something go. He laughed softly, though the sound carried an inexplicable bleakness and helplessness. “But it no longer matters. I only came into the palace one final time to see my younger brother, say a few things, and talk for a while. Whether you understand is irrelevant. Perhaps to you, all of this is nothing more than baggage you had long wanted to throw away.” As he spoke, it truly began to resemble an ordinary conversation between brothers: sitting calmly together, exchanging reflections and regrets, speaking of helplessness and sharing dreams that had never been given the chance to come true. “Being able to forget is not necessarily a bad thing. But since you have forgotten, then it would be best if you could remain forgetful forever. Do not try to search for what was lost, and do not try to understand it. Ignorance can be its own kind of happiness. Perhaps the day you finally understand, finally see clearly, finally wake up—that will be when the real hell begins. The Asura path is not an easy road to walk. Being able to recognize the danger halfway through, retreat, and preserve yourself is a good thing. At least it is something I will never be capable of doing.”
He had arrived without warning and left just as inexplicably. Even as he was preparing to go, Nalan Zhen continued emphasizing the same thing to Nalan Xuan: abandon what ought to be abandoned, forget what had already been forgotten, and stop clinging to things that no longer mattered.
At that time, Nalan Xuan still did not understand what those words meant, nor did he understand why Nalan Zhen had made this visit or said any of it. Yet as he watched Nalan Zhen arrive in haste and leave just as quickly—departing without even touching the tea he had specifically asked Xiao Dezi to prepare—an inexplicable bitterness rose in Nalan Xuan’s heart. Familiarity. Longing. His nose suddenly prickled, and for some reason he felt the urge to cry.
It felt as though something were slipping through his fingers. Something he should have been able to grasp, something he should have been able to control, yet it vanished in an instant and would never return.
Nalan Xuan climbed to the pavilion on Moon Lake. The spring wind carried boundless vitality and waves of warmth, yet none of it could warm his body, which had inexplicably turned cold. The chill came from somewhere deep within his heart.
For half a month straight, Feng Xuanyi did not visit Moon-Embracing Palace. Nalan Xuan was not surprised. Expecting an emperor to be devoted to one person alone was nothing short of a fool’s dream, especially when that emperor was Feng Xuanyi, a man who seemed not to understand what devotion even meant. Still, the sudden quiet of Moon-Embracing Palace left Nalan Xuan strangely unaccustomed to it. At some point, he had grown used to having that contradictory warmth beside him. At some point, he had grown used to being summoned in and out of the imperial study every day. At some point, he had grown accustomed to seeing the palace attendants who followed Feng Xuanyi bustling in and out of Moon-Embracing Palace.
“Master, it’s getting late. You should rest early.” Xiao Dezi lowered the blood-red bed curtains and helped Nalan Xuan undress.
“Where is His Majesty staying tonight?” It was only a casual question. Even Nalan Xuan himself did not understand why he wanted to know.
“Yonghe Palace.”
“Liu Yin’s quarters?”
“The western side hall of Yonghe Palace. Han Ruifeng’s quarters.” Xiao Dezi continued what he was doing, folding Nalan Xuan’s waist sash and outer robe neatly and placing them over the folding screen while carefully watching his master’s expression. “Master, don’t think too much about it. His Majesty is being considerate because Master is pregnant and it is inconvenient for you to attend His Majesty in the bedchamber. He is sparing you because he cares for you. Just look around the palace—which food, clothing, or daily necessity isn’t the finest available? What good thing doesn’t come to Moon-Embracing Palace first? Master should rest early. Taking care of your health is what matters most. Once the little prince is born, he will be His Majesty’s eldest imperial son. Master’s position in the imperial harem will only become more secure.”
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