The days passed one after another, peaceful on the surface, yet somehow beginning to feel different. Nalan Xuan’s relationship with Feng Xuanyi seemed to improve steadily. Feng Xuanyi came when he was summoned and left when he was dismissed; his complete indulgence and favor were enough to satisfy even the most excessive vanity. Yet this life that seemed removed from all the filth of palace struggles did not produce the result Feng Xuanyi had apparently expected. No matter how composed and content Nalan Xuan appeared on the surface, only he understood the bitterness beneath it.
The nightmare from that day had not ended. It had only been the beginning, followed by countless continuations that returned night after night. Yet the dreams always revolved around the same sequence of events:
It was still that same old-fashioned room, carrying the same inexplicable familiarity and the same faint scent of borneol incense in the air. Its furnishings would have been considered tasteful in any wealthy household, but compared with Marquis Dingbei’s status, the room seemed almost too plain. Nalan Xuan, however, found himself liking that quiet simplicity.
He sat alone in the seat where Nalan Jian had once sat, leisurely drinking tea after dismissing all the servants. One hand tapped slowly and rhythmically against the tabletop, producing a series of crisp sounds as though he were waiting for someone.
“Since you’ve already come, why not come in and have some tea?” Nalan Xuan heard himself say in the dream.
He raised his head toward the wide-open doorway. Almost as soon as the words left his mouth, someone appeared there. Backlit by the sunlight, the man’s face was impossible to make out at first, yet somewhere deep inside, Nalan Xuan seemed already to know who it was.
“Second Brother is as alert as ever.” Nalan Zhen walked into the room without the slightest awareness that he had arrived uninvited, went straight to the reclining chair beside the window, and settled comfortably into it. He rocked lazily back and forth, squinting contentedly as the sunlight warmed him. “You really do know how to enjoy yourself.”
“My mind is made up. There is no point saying more, and you and I never had much to talk about in the first place. If you like that chair, take it. I won’t have any use for it afterward anyway.” Before Nalan Zhen could even exchange a few pleasantries, Nalan Xuan preemptively made it clear that he wanted him gone.
“Ha. I haven’t even opened my mouth, and you already know what I came to say? And you look so impatient with me too.” As he spoke, Nalan Zhen theatrically touched his own face. “Am I really that unpleasant to look at?”
Nalan Xuan gave a cold laugh without answering. He rose, flicked his sleeves, and left behind only the words, “Suit yourself,” before turning to leave.
“This is…” Nalan Zhen’s lips moved, but all sound abruptly disappeared. He drew a small gilt box decorated with colored glaze from his robes and idly turned it in his hand. “I think you’ll want this very badly. Rather than letting you exhaust every possible method without ever finding a way to obtain it, perhaps this elder brother of yours should show a little kindness and grant your wish.”
Nalan Xuan’s body stiffened violently. He turned and stared at the box in Nalan Zhen’s hand in disbelief, his expression dark and uncertain as his gaze moved repeatedly between Nalan Zhen and the object.
Nalan Zhen seemed completely unconcerned by Nalan Xuan’s suspicion; if anything, he appeared to enjoy being doubted. In an excellent mood, he said, “Believe me or don’t. I brought the thing here. Whether you use it is entirely up to you.”
“Didn’t he send you here to talk me out of it?”
At that, Nalan Zhen actually doubled over laughing. “The old man talks so much every day. How could I possibly remember everything he says? And even if I remembered it, whether I obey is hardly up to him. If you distrust someone, don’t employ him; if you employ him, then trust him. Since he decided to send me, he should have considered every possible consequence. Besides, you’re hardly the only one defying him. With you already taking the brunt of it in front, even if I wanted to charge into battle and be the first one over the line, Heaven itself probably wouldn’t let me. Difficult, truly difficult.”
“All right, I’m not going to waste time talking nonsense with you. There are three things you need to remember. First, the medicine will take effect within about two hours, so if you have anything that needs arranging, do it early—and you would be wise to arrange things as though you were preparing your final affairs. Second, this medicine is extraordinarily potent and could certainly be called a miraculous drug, but every benefit has its price. As for how long its effects can last without giving you away, that can only be left to fate. Third, and most importantly, think very carefully. Etch your purpose firmly into your mind. Otherwise, even if you finally get the opportunity to accomplish what you want, you may still fail at the very last step because you can no longer even remember who you are. Now that really would be a gloriously tragic tale.”
“I don’t need you to teach me,” Nalan Xuan scoffed coldly.
“Of course. I’m not teaching you; I’m reminding you.” Having said what he came to say, Nalan Zhen showed no desire to linger and rose to leave. “I’d certainly like to see just how much trouble the son of a lowly concubine can really stir up.”
The sound of Nalan Zhen’s laughter as he left lingered endlessly in Nalan Xuan’s ears. Day after day, there were moments when he seemed to hear it even while fully awake. Because Nalan Xuan had once complained that the scent of borneol gave him a headache, Feng Xuanyi had replaced it with imperial-grade ambergris incense sent as tribute. But incense could be changed; the layers of memories and illusions stirred up by scent could not simply be dispersed.
Elio’s Notes: Ambergris (龍涎香) was a rare and highly prized fragrance material historically used in luxury incense and perfumery. It is distinct from the sharper, camphor-like borneol incense that has been triggering Nalan Xuan’s memories.
The crimson pill inside that box seemed to appear before Nalan Xuan’s eyes again—the faint fragrance, the sensation it had left upon his fingertips, the feeling of it lingering in his mouth before sliding down his throat. Every detail was terrifyingly clear. It was supposedly nothing more than an irrelevant dream, merely an illusion, so why did it feel so real, as though it had actually happened and he had personally experienced every moment?
There were only a few possible paths leading toward the so-called “truth,” yet Nalan Xuan dared not investigate any of them deeply, much less speculate about what they might mean. Sometimes truth was more frightening than deception because it threatened to deny the very foundation of one’s own existence. By now, Nalan Xuan no longer dared ask why. Yet the nightmares pursued him relentlessly day and night: Nalan Zhen’s final laughter, Nalan Jian’s furious attempts to stop him, and the question of why Nalan Xuan himself was here at all.
The timing was too coincidental, and Feng Xuanyi’s imperial decree had been too inexplicable. It had abruptly bound Nalan Xuan, who supposedly had nothing to do with Marquis Dingbei’s family, to them as kin, and then these incomprehensible nightmares had begun. Somewhere deep down, Nalan Xuan knew Feng Xuanyi had concealed something from him, yet he did not dare ask. He was afraid that even this final illusion of harmony—however performative and false it might be—would collapse completely.
He had already given up so much. If even the so-called principles of “justice” and the most basic boundaries of human dignity could be surrendered again and again, then all he could do was cling tightly to his final excuse: the child in his belly…
Feng Xuanyi naturally knew nothing of Nalan Xuan’s inner struggle and compromises. He only saw that Nalan Xuan had grown increasingly pale in recent days, and his own temper became correspondingly worse. Anger would flare inexplicably even during court, leaving the assembled officials fearful and perpetually on edge. Around this time, officials in one prefecture were exposed for protecting one another and taking bribes. Feng Xuanyi acted immediately and ruthlessly, issuing an imperial decree ordering the execution of the officials implicated in the corruption. The common people praised him endlessly and proclaimed the new emperor wise and enlightened, while the officialdom was left shaken and afraid for itself.
Imperial physicians became such frequent visitors to Moon-Embracing Palace that they were nearly taking Nalan Xuan’s pulse three times a day along with his meals.
Nalan Xuan could naturally see Feng Xuanyi’s anxiety, and sometimes he could not help being moved by it. Yet was that worry truly for Nalan Xuan himself, or merely for the flesh and blood growing inside him? Whenever he asked himself that question, his answer never changed: Don’t flatter yourself.
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