Five zhang of height, the distance between life and death. Nalan Xuan had believed that this would be his ending, an ending of his own choosing. He had never imagined that everything had merely been proceeding step by step, that everything had been part of a plan. When misfortune reached its extreme, fortune was supposed to follow, yet Nalan Xuan would rather everything had ended with that somewhat willful, somewhat exhausted, somewhat self-abandoning leap. At least in that moment his heart had been perfectly still, with no more extravagant desires and no more hope. It was far better than now, when memories came flooding back one after another. Though he was so exhausted that even moving a finger seemed to drain every last bit of strength from him, he had no choice but to make himself move. He could not even find a reason to blame anyone else, because everything from beginning to end had been caused by his own hand, plotted by him long ago. Once he could condemn Feng Xuanyi for being cold-blooded and heartless, could despise and disdain him, yet only now did he realize that in the end, he himself had been even worse.
Chaotic memories came surging like floodwaters breaking through a dam. The pendulum of time gradually slowed to a stop, then slowly began to swing again, racing backward toward the past, toward the years that had once been missed and forgotten.
In the thirty-seventh year of Emperor Huawen’s reign, none of it had happened yet. Feng Xuanyi had not yet married, and Nalan Xuan had not yet been accidentally bought into Prince Rong’s residence. Emperor Huawen was still in the prime of his reign, vigorous and firmly in control of the court, while Marquis Dingbei, Nalan Jian, likewise dominated political affairs with absolute authority beneath only one man and above countless others. The only difference was that although everyone was still themselves, in another sense they were not—not yet in the identities Nalan Xuan remembered. The woman who would one day become Princess Consort Rong was still nothing more than an innocent and kindhearted young girl awaiting marriage, filled with dreams and hopes of love as she excitedly rushed toward Marquis Dingbei’s residence.
He Yilan was the same age as Nalan Xuan and was even a few months older, yet the way the two interacted seemed completely reversed. Nalan Xuan was mature beyond his years, steady, composed, neither arrogant nor impatient. He Yilan, however, was entirely different. She chattered endlessly from morning to night and could never sit still, acting on every impulse the instant it entered her head. She possessed none of the dignified grace and gentleness she would one day display, and instead resembled a complete wild child, someone to whom the lofty phrase “young lady of a great household” seemed utterly unrelated.
At fourteen, He Yilan had not entirely shed her childishness, yet she had already grown into a graceful and beautiful young girl. Her pale face and hands looked so soft and dewy that one might imagine water would bead from them at the slightest pinch, her fair skin naturally flushed with pink. She knew Marquis Dingbei’s residence as though it were her own backyard. Taking several familiar turns without hesitation, she headed straight toward a courtyard deep within the inner residence, one overflowing with flowers and plants.
“Brother Xuan—!” Her clear voice rang like a silver bell, delightful to hear, while her bright, innocent smile was breathtakingly beautiful. Her luxurious, brilliantly colored silks only made her already lovely figure even more striking. Clinging to the doorframe with both hands, she leaned her upper body around it and peered throughout the courtyard.
“Brother Xuan? Aren’t you here?” Disappointment and dejection immediately appeared on her face. Girls of this age were innocent and straightforward; whatever they felt and whatever they thought showed plainly in their expressions—happiness, delight, disappointment, concern. Just like now, after receiving no answer for so long, her pretty face drooped and her shoulders slumped, making her resemble an abandoned pet. Refusing to give up, she looked around once more before finally withdrawing her gaze in disappointment. She flicked at her skirt and, completely unconcerned that the dust on the steps might soil clothes whose value she probably could not even estimate, prepared to sit at the doorway and wait.
“If I’m not here, where else could I possibly be?” The young man’s voice had not completely finished changing, hovering somewhere between a child’s and an adult man’s, clear yet faintly deep. It carried helplessness, amusement, and tenderness all at once, instantly reigniting the tiny flame of excitement that had just been extinguished inside He Yilan.
“Brother Xuan!” She practically sprang into the air, leaping to his side and wrapping both soft hands around one of his arms before shaking it happily. Without the slightest restraint, she gave him a huge smile as bright and lovely as the most radiant peach blossom of spring.
“Why are you here so early? Didn’t Lord He keep you at home and hire tutors to teach you zither, chess, calligraphy, and painting?” Nalan Xuan showed no discomfort or resistance toward He Yilan’s intimacy, nor the slightest awareness that propriety required distance between unmarried men and women. It was as though such closeness between them had long ago become an understanding, a habit, an unspoken acknowledgment shared by them both. He reached out and affectionately tucked a loose strand of hair behind He Yilan’s ear, a smile as gentle as water remaining upon his face.
If fourteen-year-old He Yilan was already beautiful enough to topple a kingdom and impossible to forget after a single glance, then the young man standing a head taller beside her was so extraordinarily handsome it seemed almost offensive to Heaven itself. His slightly upturned phoenix eyes could send countless men and women into a daze with nothing more than a cold glance. His nose was delicate and high-bridged, his features sharply defined without appearing excessively hard, though one could easily imagine how intimidating they would become when he was angry. His pale, water-colored lips seemed touched with the sheen of pearls, always so moist and lustrous that the eye could scarcely look away. His tall, slender body was not heavily muscled, but neither was it frail. Even if he were dressed in scraps of cloth, he could somehow still make them seem as though they belonged on an immortal.
And this young man was none other than the person who, not long from now, would supposedly “transmigrate” here and call himself Ning Xuan—while in truth he was the genuine second son of Marquis Dingbei, Nalan Xuan!
Nalan Xuan’s seemingly casual gesture made He Yilan blush bright red. She lowered her head shyly, yet her eyes and the smile she could not suppress revealed just how delighted she was.
“I don’t want to learn any zither, chess, calligraphy, or painting. It’s so annoying. I already know all of it, but Father still goes on and on without stopping.” Thinking of Left Chancellor He Liangyu chasing her throughout the residence simply to make her learn what it meant to be virtuous, gentle, and proper, He Yilan pouted. Her delicate oval face instantly puffed into a round bun, while her clear black eyes filled with indignation and resentment. “And he even said…”
“Lord He is only doing it for your own good. Look at the daughters of all those other officials. Which of them doesn’t remain inside the inner quarters, never stepping beyond the main gate while waiting to marry?” Nalan Xuan said with amusement.
But his words instantly made He Yilan bristle. “What did you say?! So Brother Xuan means you like girls who spend all day shut inside drawing pictures and writing?!”
A young girl’s mood was like the weather in June, changing without warning. A moment ago He Yilan had been smiling so sweetly one could nearly drown in it, yet in the blink of an eye she had transformed into a veritable Lioness of Hedong, her expression practically declaring, “Just try saying yes and see what happens.”
Elio’s Notes: “Lioness of Hedong” is a traditional expression for a fierce or jealous woman, originating from a famous literary anecdote.
Nalan Xuan remained completely unmoved, as though he had not noticed the little flame now blazing furiously before him. “Those young ladies may be fine, but how could any of them compare to even one ten-thousandth of you? Naturally, the one I like is Yilan.”
He Yilan had never expected Nalan Xuan to say to her face that he liked her. Shock and delight struck at once, and her face instantly turned as red as a cooked shrimp. She hurriedly avoided his gaze and protested coquettishly, “What are you saying? Brother Xuan is always teasing me.”
Nalan Xuan ignored the awkward yet sweet thoughts of the young girl beside him and continued as though nothing had happened. “Although if you ask me, I don’t think Lord He should have you studying zither, chess, calligraphy, and painting either. Learning some embroidery and needlework would be much more practical.”
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