“Angry?” Nalan Xuan seemed to hear the most ridiculous joke in the world and suddenly burst into laughter. “Ha. Angry! Fine, let’s call it anger. Anger is good.”
But the more sincerely Nalan Xuan seemed to agree, the less Xiao Dezi believed him. Hearing that laughter and seeing the cold expression on his face made a chill run down Xiao Dezi’s back. He shrank his neck and murmured timidly, “Master…”
“All of you leave. No one is needed here.” Nalan Xuan’s voice returned to perfect calm, as though his loss of control moments earlier had merely been everyone’s imagination. Only the porcelain fragments still scattered across the floor testified that it had truly happened.
“What? His Majesty hasn’t deposed me yet, and already my words no longer count?” When no one answered or moved, remaining frozen like ice sculptures where they stood, the sight only reignited the anger Nalan Xuan had barely suppressed. His brows drew together, and the air around him seemed heavy with an approaching storm.
“Yes.” Seeing the situation worsening by the moment, everyone chose immediate retreat. They answered once and hurried away.
“Leave that. You go too,” Nalan Xuan said when Xiao Dezi crouched to gather the shattered remains from the floor.
“Master’s body is different now. How can there be no one beside you to serve you? What if you suddenly develop a headache, fever, or some other discomfort and no one is here? And these shards are frighteningly sharp. This servant should clean them up. If Master were injured—and the unborn little master suffered along with you—Master would surely be beside yourself with worry then.”
Xiao Dezi meant well. Everything he said was true, and at a time like this, the only person who would probably still dare explain the practical consequences to Nalan Xuan so plainly was Xiao Dezi, who had served beside him from the moment he entered the palace. Yet the same words spoken at different times could produce completely different results. At this particular moment, every word sounded unbearably mocking to Nalan Xuan.
“The little master? The little prince? Ha. Yes, naturally. That gives me far more value than I ever had on my own.” Nalan Xuan laughed coldly. “To hold another person’s fate in your palm, watch him struggle desperately and still be unable to escape; to leave him unable either to live freely or die freely; to make him endure endless humiliation and malicious gossip yet still willingly bear you a child—and as a man, no less. What satisfaction! Truly satisfying!”
“Master…” Xiao Dezi was terrified. The man before him was almost completely different from his usual master. If Nalan Xuan normally resembled an undisturbed lake, then now he was a raging fire. Instinct made Xiao Dezi fear him, yet at the same time worry for the vulnerability buried beneath all that shouting and fury.
“I said, leave!” Nalan Xuan’s voice turned razor-sharp, as though if Xiao Dezi dared speak one more sentence or hesitate another instant, he would cut him down without mercy.
A mere servant could hardly challenge his master’s limits. No matter how worried Xiao Dezi was, he could only obey and withdraw.
As he backed toward the doorway with his head bowed, Xiao Dezi abruptly collided with someone reckless enough to enter at precisely the moment no one ought to provoke Nalan Xuan. He spun around, ready to scold whoever it was, but the instant he recognized the newcomer, his clouded face brightened as though he had seen his savior. Hope flashed in his eyes, and excitement tangled his words. “Y-Your Majesty! His Majesty is here! This servant greets Your Majesty. May Your Majesty enjoy boundless peace and—”
Before the final word left his mouth, Feng Xuanyi raised a hand and stopped him. The emperor entered with a grave expression, his face scarcely better than Nalan Xuan’s. Every accompanying palace servant had been left outside. Even Mo Yan, who ordinarily followed him almost like a shadow, had been ordered to remain beyond the doors. Xiao Dezi immediately understood how serious the situation was.
“Leave. Close the doors.”
Xiao Dezi dared not disobey. He hurried quietly out of the bedchamber and carefully shut the doors tight behind him.
The moment Feng Xuanyi saw Xuan Guang return with the expression of a man facing disaster, he had known the matter had been exposed. The truth could not remain hidden forever. Feng Xuanyi abandoned the official matters before him and hurried over, only to find Nalan Xuan standing tall with his back turned to him amid complete devastation. Tea had splashed across the floor, and the air still carried its faint fragrance—the scent of Biluochun, Feng Xuanyi’s favorite tea. The fallen pastries were chestnut cakes, one of the few sweets he did not particularly dislike. Broken porcelain lay everywhere. Only after looking more closely did he notice a vivid red cut across the back of Nalan Xuan’s hand. A flying shard must have grazed him when the dishes shattered, and he had apparently been too distracted even to realize it. Blood ran down the back of his hand and dripped one drop at a time among the white porcelain fragments, startlingly bright against them.
Elio’s Notes: Biluochun (碧螺春) is a famous Chinese green tea known for its delicate curled leaves and fragrant, fresh aroma.
“Your Majesty certainly receives news quickly. This minister had barely stepped through the door before Your Majesty followed immediately behind. Ha. Either Your Majesty has eyes and ears everywhere, or you were prepared for this from the beginning. I wonder what brings Your Majesty here this time.” Nalan Xuan turned leisurely to face him, smiling without warmth. Every sentence contained “Your Majesty” and “this minister,” yet there was not the slightest genuine deference toward the supreme ruler standing before him. If anything, he looked down upon Feng Xuanyi with an oppressive authority so tangible that even the emperor himself could not ignore it.
Feng Xuanyi frowned in displeasure. Whether that displeasure came from Nalan Xuan’s blatant disrespect or from the invisible pressure that seemed, for an instant, to suppress even him was impossible to tell.
“You’re hurt. Let an imperial physician examine it.” Feng Xuanyi deliberately avoided the real issue. It was rare enough for an emperor to tolerate such an open challenge without immediately retaliating.
Following Feng Xuanyi’s gaze, Nalan Xuan looked down and only then seemed to notice the cut on his hand. He fell silent and gave a desolate smile. Always like this. Just when I’m ready to sever everything completely, you show me some faint trace of tenderness and make me believe that every little thing I do is seen by you, that I matter deeply enough for you to notice. But an illusion remained an illusion. In the past, a single ripple of warmth after countless moments of desolation had still been enough to move him. Now that same tenderness felt like one sharp blade after another slowly carving into his flesh and bone, reminding him of how pathetic and contemptible he was—for even now, after learning how everything had begun, his heart still reacted to it.
“No need for Your Majesty to trouble yourself. A little cut like this won’t kill me. It cannot compare with even one thousandth of what Your Majesty has already given this minister.” His neatly trimmed fingernails dug hard into his palms until fresh blood seeped between his fingers and mingled with that from the wound on the back of his hand, making it impossible to distinguish one injury from the other. He raised his head and, for once, did not retreat from Feng Xuanyi’s black eyes, deep and starless as a midnight abyss. With a cold smile, he said, “Your Majesty’s judgment has naturally always been excellent. If this minister hadn’t, by sheer chance, insisted that the Eighth Prince teach me martial arts while we were at the frontier, I would probably have been separated from my head long ago. That sword strike was truly precise. Truly excellent! I have only myself to blame. I failed to understand the imperial will and actually defied Your Majesty’s decree by struggling to survive until today. This minister truly deserves ten thousand deaths. Even death would not atone for the offense!”
As though determined to prove that every word came from the depths of his heart, Nalan Xuan never broke eye contact. He simply dropped straight to his knees—onto the porcelain shards Xiao Dezi had not yet had time to clear away. Almost immediately, blossoms of crimson began slowly spreading across the white-and-silver fabric over his knees.
Leave a Reply