“And besides, His Majesty has already issued the decree. How easy do you think it would be to make him take it back? Even though Virtuous Noble Lord enjoys extraordinary favor, if you had pleaded before the decree was issued, perhaps there might truly have been some room to turn matters around. But now the decision has already been made…” Liu Xiaoyun wore the expression of someone sincerely offering advice for Nalan Xuan’s own good, though the cold amusement in her eyes could not be concealed. “Virtuous Noble Lord understands His Majesty’s temperament so well. Surely you know how absurdly overconfident it would be to defy the imperial will now and force His Majesty to lose face before the entire realm? If this consort were in your position, I certainly would not come to the audience hall now to plead with His Majesty. It would accomplish absolutely nothing. If His Majesty were to grow disgusted with Virtuous Noble Lord because of it, wouldn’t that be an even greater loss? All the favor and glory already in your hands could disappear in an instant. You would be better off requesting permission to leave the palace at once and seeing whether you can at least meet your family one final time.”
After delivering this “earnest and heartfelt” advice, Liu Xiaoyun turned away and instantly transformed back into the dignified Guipin Liu—proud and reserved, yet still graceful and beautiful. She did not even spare the palace attendant Nalan Xuan had hurriedly stopped a proper glance before looking down at him and saying, “Go announce this consort’s arrival to His Majesty.”
Somewhere deep inside, Nalan Xuan already understood what it meant for the tide to have turned and what it meant for a situation to be beyond saving. Yet he still could not accept defeat until every road had been blocked in front of him. He hurried to the palace gates. Consorts were not permitted to leave the palace without authorization, but such restrictions had always been little more than empty formalities for the continuously favored Virtuous Noble Lord. Today, however, the guards at the palace gates suddenly became models of dutiful discipline.
Nalan Xuan understood that they were only servants carrying out orders. Making a scene or throwing his status around would accomplish nothing. If a consort wished to leave the palace, he needed either an imperial decree from the emperor or an edict from the empress. And when Nalan Xuan was barred outside Fengyi Palace on the grounds that Her Majesty the Empress was indisposed, he finally understood what a cage truly was—and what it meant for every hope to die at once.
There was none of the hysterical despair he might have expected, nor even overwhelming grief. His heart simply felt empty: quiet, hollow, as though nothing mattered anymore. Perhaps he ought to behave like every other political ally, gathering when there was profit and dispersing when the profit was gone. Perhaps preserving himself was the wisest course. Perhaps, just as Guipin Liu had said, he ought to stay far away from the center of the storm and devote himself entirely to survival.
His mind was a muddled haze. Nalan Xuan could no longer think, nor did he want to. Yet his body seemed to have intentions of its own, stubbornly holding on to some final thread of resistance. Like a moth flying into flame, he insisted on confronting the impossible simply to obtain an answer.
Outside the imperial study, he was still dressed in the same thin snow-white inner robe in which he had rushed out that morning. Xiao Dezi alone stood silently beside him. Nalan Xuan did not ask anyone to announce him, nor did he cry out or display any dramatic grief. He knew Guipin Liu was still inside. He also knew Feng Xuanyi would not see him now. When Meng Zhen had died in the Cold Palace—the woman he had once indulged almost to the heavens—Feng Xuanyi had not gone to see her even once, not even for a final glance. When the news reached him, his expression had not changed. He had merely replied, calmly and indifferently, “Understood,” and said nothing more.
Nalan Xuan knew what it meant to understand one’s own limits, what it meant to overestimate oneself, and what it meant to stubbornly refuse to learn. So he simply stood there. Quietly. He ignored every cold remark from those passing by or deliberately coming to watch the spectacle. He ignored every gaze filled with contempt, disdain, or counterfeit sympathy. From beginning to end, he stood without moving, staring straight at the ornate palace doors closed tightly before him, his expression blank and cold as ice.
He had no idea how much time passed. Ever since hearing that Marquis Dingbei’s household had been sentenced, Xiao Dezi had become almost as silent as Nalan Xuan himself. At last, unable to bear watching his master subject himself first to the cold wind and then to the growing heat of the sun, he called softly, “Master…”
Nalan Xuan answered him with the same expressionless silence as before.
More time passed. At last the doors opened a narrow crack, and Mo Yan emerged. He showed no surprise at finding Nalan Xuan standing there almost alone, enduring the occasional mocking remark tossed casually in his direction. Mo Yan descended the white-marble steps before the palace doors and stopped at a distance that was neither too near nor too far, every aspect of his posture perfectly respectful.
“Virtuous Noble Lord, please return. His Majesty has been occupied with affairs of state lately and is afraid he cannot spare the time to accompany Noble Lord. Please do not overthink matters. Taking care of your health is what matters most.” Mo Yan leaned slightly closer and lowered his voice. “Even if you won’t think of yourself, Noble Lord, you must at least think of the little prince in your belly. The weather may have warmed, but you still cannot stand outside dressed this lightly for so long.”
“Virtuous Noble Lord may set your mind at ease. His Majesty still has Noble Lord in his heart. You need only return to your palace and recuperate peacefully. When His Majesty has time, he will certainly come to see you.”
Nalan Xuan responded exactly as before: with complete disregard and complete silence. It was as though he had separated himself from everything in the world outside his own body and built a thick wall between himself and everyone else.
After all his rushing back and forth earlier, Nalan Xuan had spent half the day wandering like a displaced ghost and accomplished nothing. He had sweated through his clothes, then stood outside the imperial study until the sweat cooled and dried against his skin. Only now did he suddenly notice that his hands and feet had gone numb and his entire body was cold. The little thing in his belly, usually so quiet it was almost possible to forget it existed, seemed to have chosen precisely this moment to join the chaos.
Sharp, dragging cramps began deep inside him, drilling downward as though something were pulling at his abdomen from within. Nalan Xuan stubbornly clenched himself against the pain and refused to make a sound. His thin inner robe became soaked with sweat, dried, then became soaked again, over and over.
“Virtuous Noble Lord.” Mo Yan frowned almost imperceptibly. Seeing Nalan Xuan’s face grow paler by the moment, he could not suppress his alarm. “Does Noble Lord feel unwell? Shall I summon an imperial physician?”
Nalan Xuan pressed his lips together and clenched his teeth, refusing to let so much as a sound of pain escape. He lifted one hand to silence Mo Yan’s questioning. Even that small movement seemed to drain what little strength he had left. With his arm half bent and slightly raised, Xiao Dezi immediately understood and stepped closer to support him.
His vision blurred again and again as darkness rolled over him in waves. Nalan Xuan bit hard enough into the corner of his lip to draw blood, using the pain to force back the overwhelming dizziness and weakness. He turned and began walking, wanting nothing more than to return to Moon-Embracing Palace immediately. Without making it obvious, he shifted more and more of his weight onto Xiao Dezi. Only one thought remained in his mind: I absolutely cannot collapse here.
Someone, sometime, had once said something about all prospering together and all suffering together. Nalan Xuan simply did not understand why either prosperity or ruin had to be tied to him at all. He did not need glory, nor did he believe there was anything for him to lose. Yet things were always simply handed to him first—hope thrust into his arms for no reason, regardless of whether he wanted it. Then, once he had gradually grown accustomed to it, once he had slowly come to understand the beauty of this thing that had suddenly entered his life without warning and was finally willing to accept it sincerely, it would be ripped away just as forcibly. He would be thrown back to where he had begun, back to that place where he possessed nothing and was nothing.
That feeling of suddenly losing what one had only just learned to cherish was not quite grief, nor was it despair. It was only boundless emptiness, an endless hollow void that swallowed a person whole.
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