The greatest distance in the world was not the ends of the earth, nor was it loving someone yet being unable to say it aloud. It was standing directly before you, confessing love again and again, only for you to dismiss every word with contempt. It was not because I lacked sincerity, nor because you were too cold-hearted and resolute. It was because you no longer believed me—because whatever credibility I once possessed in your eyes had already been completely destroyed.
Back on the palace wall, Nalan Xuan had asked whether Feng Xuanyi had ever trusted him, and Feng Xuanyi had answered with silence. Trust was a laughable thing for a sovereign. And so perhaps this was Heaven’s retaliation: in exactly the same way, believing a sovereign was equally foolish for someone who had already once been betrayed by him.
Seeing the emperor like this made Mo Yan’s heart pound uneasily. Whenever the empress was involved, His Majesty behaved abnormally. In the past, Feng Xuanyi had at least tried to suppress it, while Mo Yan pretended not to notice. Now, whenever no outsiders were present, Mo Yan had been forced to become accustomed to these states—yet still had to continue pretending he saw nothing. “Your Majesty, it is time for the midday meal.”
“Prepare the imperial procession for Fengyi Palace!” Other than that place, Mo Yan could not imagine His Majesty choosing anywhere else. Fengyi Palace might not exactly be conducive to digestion, but it was the only place where the emperor willingly lingered.
At that same moment in Fengyi Palace, Nalan Xuan was practicing martial arts in the courtyard dressed in fitted training clothes. His sword flashed from its sheath. His wrist turned, blossoms of sword-light unfurling through the air—thrusting, cleaving, slashing, the point lifting with a razor-sharp edge. At one moment he skimmed over walls and eaves, at another he twisted aside with agile precision. Every movement flowed into the next like drifting clouds and running water. His dark hair flew freely around him, making him look arrogant, untamed, and effortlessly dashing. Xiao Jiu and He Xiang stood nearby holding a handkerchief and cloak, staring in amazement as though witnessing an immortal. Yet both instinctively drew their necks in. They had once been blind enough to offend someone like this. Even without his present rank and status, killing them would have been effortless for him.
Reality, however, was not nearly as impressive as it appeared to outsiders. Nalan Xuan himself knew exactly what condition his body was in. Perhaps the medicine Feng Xuanyi had given him throughout the return journey had been too strong, because after barely a hundred exchanges his strength was already fading and his limbs had begun to feel weak.
Nalan Xuan frowned to himself. Almost out of spite, he forced more strength into the sword, but his disordered breathing gradually made his movements lose their earlier precision.
The palace servants had not yet announced anyone, but for a martial artist, noticing another presence nearby was easy enough, particularly for someone like Nalan Xuan, who remained constantly alert. From the instant someone stepped into the main hall of Fengyi Palace, he had already sensed it.
He counted the approaching steps and calculated the distance. The moment the timing was right, his toes lightly tapped the palace wall, graceful as a dragonfly touching water. He rose into the air, spun, and thrust forward. His sword carried a chilling intent as it shot directly toward the uninvited visitor.
Everyone froze in shock. Eyes widened, mouths opened, yet before anyone could cry out, Nalan Xuan had already closed the distance.
The instant his sword had launched, Nalan Xuan saw clearly that the person at its point was Emperor Huawu, Feng Xuanyi. Instead of weakening, the force behind his sword sharpened, turning colder and faster as it drove toward Feng Xuanyi with every appearance of intending to pierce his throat. With Feng Xuanyi’s martial skill, evading such an attack should have required less than an instant. Yet he stood completely motionless like a wooden statue, regarding the deadly assault before him as though it did not exist.
At the final, critical moment, Nalan Xuan abruptly tilted the blade and swept his arm aside. The sword took only a lock of black hair from Feng Xuanyi’s temple.
Again. Another rare opportunity, and once again the same result as before. Why?
Nalan Xuan’s chest rose and fell violently, his brows drawn tightly together. Though he had turned the sword away, he could not soften the knife-sharp glare fixed upon Feng Xuanyi. He stared viciously at the emperor’s perfectly composed face as though he wanted to tear him limb from limb. His depleted strength sent waves of dizziness through his vision, yet he refused to lose even the slightest measure of momentum in front of Feng Xuanyi.
Mo Yan had witnessed everything from beginning to end. His heart had practically leapt into his throat and remained suspended there. Even someone accustomed to great storms could hardly remain calm in such a situation.
His gaze dropped, and his sharp eyes caught a thin red line running from Feng Xuanyi’s Adam’s apple toward the side of his neck. It looked abrupt and startling. Before Mo Yan even had time to wonder what it was, bright blood suddenly welled from it like a breached river, pouring down Feng Xuanyi’s neck and soaking his collar. Drops spread across the dragon robe like unfolding petals.
“Y-Your Majesty!” If Mo Yan had still been forcing himself to remain composed before, now he was genuinely terrified out of his wits. He rushed forward, raising one hand as though to cover the wound, then hesitated for fear of offending the emperor or handling it incorrectly. His hand hovered helplessly in the air. “This—”
Nalan Xuan had changed the sword’s path in time and avoided cutting Feng Xuanyi’s throat outright, but he had still failed to completely draw away the blade’s fierce edge—or perhaps Feng Xuanyi had simply never intended to avoid it. A narrow wound, neither especially deep nor shallow, stretched across the side of his neck. It had missed the artery, but the skin there was thin and vulnerable, and blood poured freely from the cut.
Feng Xuanyi did not seem to care. His gaze remained fixed upon Nalan Xuan as though he could not feel the injury at his neck, not even the slightest sting.
Nalan Xuan narrowed his eyes and forcibly suppressed the hatred surging from the depths of his heart. He returned Feng Xuanyi’s stare with open hostility, the faint curve at his lips filled with provocation and disdain. With a cold laugh, he said indifferently, “My apologies. I lost control for a moment.”
Then he flipped the sword backward and tossed it to Xiao Jiu, accepted the handkerchief Ji Yu offered, and wiped the sweat from his temple. He Xiang, being a woman and somewhat less bold than Xiao Jiu, had already been frightened speechless. The teacup in her hands shook constantly, producing a faint clatter, clatter. Nalan Xuan calmly took the tea from her and drained it in one breath, seeming extraordinarily refreshed, then turned and returned to the bedchamber to change.
Feng Xuanyi said nothing at all and simply watched Nalan Xuan leave unharmed. To the palace servants, the entire scene was terrifying beyond description. Only after everyone finally recovered did they hear Feng Xuanyi coldly say, “If you still want to keep your heads, then keep your mouths shut.” And with that, the matter was considered settled.
When Nalan Xuan emerged after changing clothes, he found Feng Xuanyi seated upright in the main hall with his lips pressed together and expression blank. Mo Yan, meanwhile, was rushing around him, changing bloodied gauze, applying wound medicine, and trying to clean away the blood. Palace servants moved constantly in and out carrying basins stained red.
An injury to the emperor’s body could be a minor matter or an enormous one. Even an accidental injury could be treated as an assassination attempt, much less this deliberate “accident.” How could it truly be dismissed in a few casual words the way Nalan Xuan had done?
Feng Xuanyi had refused to summon an imperial physician precisely because he wanted the incident concealed. Mo Yan was hardly an expert in medicine, so his movements were inevitably clumsy and uncertain. Yet he had no choice but to obey His Majesty’s order while trembling with anxiety, leaving Fengyi Palace unusually chaotic.
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