A moment ago, Nalan Jian’s restrained, lukewarm manner had somehow seemed unbearably hateful and filled Nalan Xuan with inexplicable rage. Yet now, seeing him furious enough to thunder and roar, Nalan Xuan felt strangely refreshed and almost pleased. Instead of meeting him head-on with equally harsh words, the body he inhabited remained calm enough to smile placatingly. “What? You already did it, but now you’re afraid of people talking about it?”
The words were not openly abusive, yet they poured oil straight onto the fire. Nalan Jian’s face immediately turned ashen. His whole body shook with rage, both fists clenched so tightly that even his knuckles turned blue-white, as though he were desperately suppressing something.
Seeing him like this brought an indescribable sense of satisfaction rising from somewhere deep inside Nalan Xuan. A nearly mad impulse even flashed through him: he almost wanted Nalan Jian to simply slap him.
“In any case, when I say no, I mean no!” Nalan Jian ground out through clenched teeth, clearly at the limit of his patience and unwilling to waste another word. “From today onward, you are confined to the residence and may not leave without my permission. You there—watch the Second Young Master carefully. If he takes even one step across this threshold, come see me with your heads in your hands.”
With that, Nalan Jian flung his sleeves aside and stormed out without looking back.
Yet the body Nalan Xuan occupied remained seated calmly in the chair, neither arrogant nor agitated, continuing to savor its tea. Nalan Xuan’s consciousness, unlike the body’s effortless composure, was completely overwhelmed with confusion.
Where is this? What identity do I have here? He remembered calling Marquis Dingbei “Father” just now, and Marquis Dingbei had openly acknowledged him as the Second Young Master. But that was impossible. Nalan Xuan and Marquis Dingbei were only nominal father and son because Feng Xuanyi had forcibly twisted them into that relationship with an imperial decree. In reality—in reality—
Why am I beginning to doubt it? Why am I questioning things I saw with my own eyes, heard with my own ears, and personally experienced? And when is this supposed to be? Nalan Xuan had no memory whatsoever of ever having such a conversation with Marquis Dingbei. This place was clearly not the imperial palace, and it could not possibly be Prince Rong’s residence or Prince Yi’s residence either.
Why was I hostile toward him? And what was I secretly planning?
His head hurt terribly. His chest felt as though a thousand-jin boulder pressed down upon it, making breathing difficult. Smoke curled upward from the incense burner, hazy strands slowly thinning into the air, but the lingering fragrance of borneol refused to disperse. It made his head feel swollen and heavy. Nalan Xuan’s consciousness was increasingly agitated, yet the body remained maddeningly at ease.
Elio’s Notes: Borneol (龍腦) is a strongly aromatic crystalline substance historically used in Chinese medicine, perfumery, and incense. Its sharp camphor-like fragrance becomes an important sensory trigger for Nalan Xuan here.
“…Master… Master… what’s wrong?… Master?…”
A faint voice echoed from far away, circling toward him as though it came from somewhere deep inside his own mind, indistinct and buzzing. It was Xiao Dezi.
“…Master… Master, what’s wrong? Please don’t frighten this servant.”
Xiao Dezi’s voice was no longer so distant and unreal, while the teacups, furniture, carved beams, and painted rafters before Nalan Xuan were gradually swallowed by the rising mist. Someone else seemed to enter, but Nalan Xuan could not make out the person’s face or hear what was said. Everything receded farther and farther until the room disappeared entirely beneath the haze and not another sound remained.
“Master…”
Nalan Xuan slowly woke. When his vision focused again, he was still where he had been all along: deep within the imperial palace, inside his own bedchamber at Moon-Embracing Palace. He lay safely in bed just as he had originally believed, one corner of the gauze curtain drawn back while Xiao Dezi knelt anxiously beside him.
“What happened?” Only after speaking did Nalan Xuan realize how hoarse his voice was. His throat was dry enough to ache, and his entire body felt exhausted.
The excesses of the previous night returned before his eyes like scenes spinning through a revolving lantern—his own loss of restraint, Feng Xuanyi’s intensity, and the long night they had spent tangled together.
Seeing Nalan Xuan awake, Xiao Dezi hurriedly offered him a cup of tea. “Master was trapped in a nightmare just now. This servant had been waiting outside when I suddenly heard Master asking ‘why’ over and over, so I entered without permission. But no matter how I called, I couldn’t wake Master.”
Seeing Xiao Dezi hesitate, Nalan Xuan sensed there was more. “That was all I said?”
Xiao Dezi cautiously studied Imperial Noble Lord’s expression, inwardly miserable but unable to do anything except confess honestly. “Master also mentioned Marquis Dingbei… but it was all broken and intermittent. This servant was too far away to hear clearly. As for anything else, I truly don’t know.”
It was exactly the answer Nalan Xuan had expected.
“What time is it?”
“It’s only just past dawn.”
Nalan Xuan was inwardly startled. This early? Morning court must only just have begun.
“When did His Majesty leave?”
“At the second quarter of the Hour of the Tiger. His Majesty did not return to Yuliu Palace. Chief Steward Mo brought His Majesty’s court robes here before dawn, and His Majesty changed directly at Moon-Embracing Palace before going to morning court.”
Nalan Xuan pushed himself upright, and the brocade quilt slid downward with the movement. Fortunately, Feng Xuanyi had made sure he was washed and changed before sleeping, otherwise this accidental exposure might have ended up implicating who knew how many unfortunate servants.
Xiao Dezi immediately fetched a soft pillow and placed it behind him so he could lean back comfortably. “It’s still early. Would Master like to sleep a little longer?”
His legs were weak, his waist and abdomen ached, and the lingering soreness left by the previous night made Nalan Xuan sink tiredly against the headboard. He paid no attention to Xiao Dezi’s considerate gesture. Instead, he frowned and looked through the slightly parted bed curtains at thin strands of pale smoke still curling above the candlelight. “Put out the incense.”
“Huh?” Xiao Dezi did not react immediately. The sudden change of subject was strange enough, but his usually mild-tempered master had awakened with an unusually explosive mood—and was directing it at the incense he normally liked best.
“Put out the incense. Do not make this palace say it a third time.”
Xiao Dezi no longer dared hesitate. He jolted and hurried over to carry the incense burner out. Even that was not enough for Nalan Xuan. “Open every window in the hall.”
“But Master, it may already be spring, but the weather is still cold. Master’s body is not the same as usual now. If you catch a chill—”
“You are becoming remarkably skilled at your duties. Now even this palace’s orders need your approval first.”
“Th-this servant would never dare! Master, please forgive me!” Accompanying a sovereign was like accompanying a tiger. No matter how gentle and accommodating someone usually seemed, status still governed everything. Xiao Dezi dropped to his knees with a thud, the impact sounding sharply even through the thick layers of his clothing.
“Go. Open the windows.”
Nalan Xuan understood that Xiao Dezi had done nothing wrong. The fault lay with himself. A fire seemed to burn inside his chest, leaving him restless and irritable. The borneol incense filling the air was frighteningly similar to the scent in his dream, making it impossible for him to distinguish reality from illusion for a moment. His irritation worsened, and his head felt ready to split apart.
Holding the quilt around himself, Nalan Xuan sat alone and silent on the bed. Everything he had just experienced had felt impossibly real, yet apparently it had been nothing more than a fleeting Yellow Millet Dream. People said that what occupied the mind by day entered one’s dreams by night, but where had this dream come from? He opened his hand and stared at his empty palm. He could almost still feel the grain of the wooden table beneath his fingertips, the smoothness of the porcelain cup, even the sensation of its glaze. How could something that real have been nothing more than an illusion?
Elio’s Notes: The “Yellow Millet Dream” (黃粱一夢) comes from a traditional tale in which an entire lifetime of glory and loss is dreamed while a pot of millet is still cooking. The idiom refers to an extraordinarily vivid but ultimately illusory experience.
More than any of that, however, Nalan Xuan cared about one question: why had he dreamed of Marquis Dingbei at all? What exactly was the relationship between them? Why had the dream contained such a complicated mixture of resentment, grief, desolation, concern, longing, admiration, and affection?
Something had begun slipping beyond his control, and something else was about to rise to the surface…
Leave a Reply