Yelü Zhen could tell that Emperor Huawu was nowhere near as calm and composed as he appeared. Still, he had already achieved the purpose of this visit. Just as when he had arrived, he left with the faintest hint of a smile on his face.
Mo Yan watched Yelü Zhen come and go in such a hurry, his expression unchanged from the moment he entered to the moment he emerged. He stood there dazed for a long while before cautiously going inside to attend the emperor and calling tentatively, “Your Majesty.”
No one answered. Feng Xuanyi sat with his head lowered, his entire face buried in his hands. Waves of cold ran down his back. Yelü Zhen’s words sounded no matter how he considered them like a deliberate attempt to sow discord, yet they continued to echo in his mind, impossible to drive away. Every sentence, every word, scraped over him again and again like a branding iron, leaving him bloody and raw.
He had thought the past was already behind them. He had thought they could finally begin again. If… if what Yelü Zhen said was true… then how could the past possibly be put behind them so easily?
Feng Xuanyi shook his head hard enough to send the golden crown binding his hair flying, as if doing so could fling every wild thought out of his mind as well. “How could that be? Impossible. It’s all nonsense. Nonsense!”
Watching the emperor sit alone on the dragon throne, his expression turning vicious one moment and breaking into sudden laughter the next, Mo Yan’s legs began to tremble. They gave out beneath him, and he collapsed to the floor.
He could not investigate it, and he was even less willing to. There were some people and some matters that, even when placed plainly before one’s eyes, still demanded that one cover one’s ears, shut one’s eyes, and pretend nothing had happened and nothing was known. Sometimes the truth itself was not what mattered. Facing it was what suffocated a person.
“Your Majesty, it is already the You hour. Where would you like to have the evening meal?” Mo Yan had watched Feng Xuanyi remain motionless all afternoon, leaning against the dragon throne with half his face covered, silent as a lifelike statue. The memorials on the desk had gone unread, and the tea placed within reach had remained untouched. He had spent the entire afternoon on tenterhooks, but now that the sun had set, however terrified he was, duty still forced him to speak words the emperor might not wish to hear.
Naturally, Feng Xuanyi ignored him. Cold sweat poured from Mo Yan’s temples. Winter was nearly upon them, yet he felt as though he were standing in the height of summer, wiping his forehead again and again.
“Your Majesty…” Mo Yan tried once more, his voice trembling now. He had served at Feng Xuanyi’s side since childhood. What had he not seen? Yet only twice had Feng Xuanyi’s presence alone frightened him from the depths of his heart: when Empress Yu leapt from the palace wall, and now.
Mo Yan desperately reviewed the emperor’s recent interactions with Empress Yu and confirmed that nothing serious had gone wrong. Judging from what he had seen at noon today, things had even looked extremely promising. So what in the world had happened this afternoon?
His stomach was stuffed with ten thousand questions, but Mo Yan did not have the courage to ask a single one.
“Prepare the imperial procession for Yonghe Palace.” Mo Yan had been racking his brain for a third attempt, convinced Feng Xuanyi would continue ignoring him, when an icy voice suddenly sounded above his head, cold enough to form frost.
“Huh?” No one knew better than Mo Yan what it meant to lose composure before the emperor, or what the consequences were. But everything happened too quickly. Before he had time to react, the sound of surprise had already escaped his mouth. Regretting it afterward was useless. Mo Yan desperately wished he could slap himself unconscious on the spot. At least if he fainted, he would not have to remain here suffering this torment.
“Have Noble Attendant Liu prepare to receive me.”
Nothing more needed to be said. Although Mo Yan’s belly was still full of questions, he could only swallow every one of them and hurry off to carry out the order.
At around half past five in the evening, the imperial palanquin swayed away from the imperial study, followed by a grand procession of palace attendants as it headed openly toward Yonghe Palace. This was the first time since Feng Xuanyi resumed handling state affairs that he had spent the night anywhere other than Fengyi Palace or Yuliu Palace, and the first time he had summoned any consort other than the empress to attend him. For a moment, everyone was shocked, yet perhaps they should not have been. One could say the emperor had changed his heart and fallen for someone new, but in the past he had practically embodied the phrase ‘an emperor is amorous by nature.’ If one instead said that appetite and desire were simply in his blood, then why had he spent so many days and nights favoring only the son of a convicted criminal? No one knew, and no one could explain it. The world always said the sovereign’s heart was impossible to fathom, never understanding how bitter that heart could be.
He was not deliberately neglecting Nalan Xuan, nor had he become curious about something new and decided to change his tastes. At this moment, Feng Xuanyi truly did not know how to face Nalan Xuan. Yelü Zhen’s words echoed in his ears without cease like a death-summoning curse, while before his eyes lingered the image of Nalan Xuan’s deathly pale face and agonized expression when he had lost the child, frozen there and impossible to dispel.
“Set down the palanquin!” Mo Yan called loudly, his voice reverberating through Yonghe Palace. Feng Xuanyi did not even wait for the bearers to lower and steady the palanquin. Ignoring Liu Yin, who had come forward and knelt to receive him, he swung himself down from the side and strode straight into the sleeping chamber.
The palace attendants were baffled. What was wrong with His Majesty? Why was he in such a hurry? Only Liu Yin, who had come to meet him, saw Feng Xuanyi’s expression as he swept past. Liu Yin froze halfway through his bow, leaving the gesture awkwardly unfinished. He merely shrugged, unconcerned, told the attendants beside him not to follow inside, and gave Mo Yan a look. Mo Yan naturally understood how to arrange the people who had accompanied the emperor.
Liu Yin stretched out a hand, pushed open the door, and walked in. Judging from his stride alone, he showed not the slightest fear. “This subject greets Your Majesty. May Your Majesty enjoy lasting peace and good fortune.”
He deliberately lowered his baritone, making anyone who heard it break out in gooseflesh, as though an unseen hand were idly scratching at the listener’s heart. His manner remained respectful and proper, yet for some reason, it seemed to lack a certain something that was always present before other people.
Feng Xuanyi said nothing, so Liu Yin remained kneeling. Unlike others, however, he showed none of their trembling terror, only the amount of apprehension proper for an imperial consort and a subject. Perhaps kneeling was growing tiring. Without drawing attention to it, he shifted his weight backward until his buttocks rested against his heels, leaving him practically sitting on his own feet.
When Feng Xuanyi still had not spoken after a long while, Liu Yin finally ran out of patience and rose on his own, naturally using the excuse of pouring tea for the emperor. The tea made a conspicuous splash, splash as it struck the bottom of the cup in the otherwise deathly silent chamber. “Why did Your Majesty not go see the empress today? What rare mood brought you here to sit with this subject instead?”
Had it been any other palace consort, whatever Feng Xuanyi’s reason for coming, they would already have stripped themselves bare and thrown themselves at him without caring about anything else. Who would push away an emperor who so rarely visited? Besides, no matter how one listened, Liu Yin’s words did not sound remotely jealous.
Feng Xuanyi ignored Liu Yin’s teasing half-smile. His brows had remained tightly drawn from beginning to end, and the oppressive weight in the room finally forced even Liu Yin to sober.
On the surface, Liu Yin was one of the emperor’s favored consorts and held a rank that was by no means low, but that identity was only a smokescreen, a convenient veil that gave both men room to maneuver. Here, Feng Xuanyi could use the excuse of seeking pleasure to evade watchful eyes and quietly turn the situation on its head, while Liu Yin used his consort rank to conceal his true identity: the foremost assassin of Dark Gate and its master.
Many schemes had been born here, and many lives had ended here. Whenever Feng Xuanyi came, it usually meant the beginning of an operation or a new plot. It had been so with the Meng family, and so with the Nalan family. Yet never had Feng Xuanyi arrived with such a troubled expression, as though he had come not to announce a decision, but to seek an answer.