Elio’s Notes: The chapter title comes from Li Yu’s Geng Lou Zi, carrying the sense that, despite everything, the feelings of two hearts remain as they once were.
In the side courtyard, Zhao Kuangyin held Ehuang firmly by the back of the neck. She could only shout, yet the place was ordinarily unoccupied. Since Zhao Kuangyin had moved in under mysterious circumstances, the few servants assigned nearby had avoided contact with him, frightened by the weapons he carried. For a long while, no one came to investigate.
Ehuang had completely lost her composure after Zhao Kuangyin’s outrageous words. She had prepared herself to uncover some conspiracy, but never imagined she would hear something like this. She struggled desperately against the hand restraining her neck, yet Zhao Kuangyin seemed almost entertained by her resistance and did not move. His eyes were resolute, and her shouting meant nothing to him. “Madam, have I frightened you? Weren’t you the one who came looking for the truth? Now that I have told you, you cannot accept it.” His tone was openly teasing.
“What exactly do you want with Congjia? Madman! Why would he bring you into this residence!” The instant the words left her mouth, she froze.
“Good question. Madam has finally grasped the heart of the matter. I did not force my way into the Duke of Anding’s Residence. Quite the opposite. Your Congjia saved me, brought me back himself, and even summoned someone to treat my injuries.” The more Zhao Kuangyin spoke, the more exhilarated he became. The words were not merely meant to provoke her. He was speaking them to himself as well. It was as though saying them aloud could shatter the obstacle that had tangled itself around his heart, peeling away layer after layer of some inexplicable feeling until at last it emerged into daylight. Zhao Kuangyin drew a deep breath.
The mist and rain of Jiangnan wrapped around that man had, for the first time in Zhao Kuangyin’s life, made him hesitate to act as freely as he pleased. Even the greatest sandstorms of the northern frontier seemed defeated by the sight of blue-green robes flying atop a high tower, by the refined outline of Li Congjia held against him in midair, by the grace of that lifted wrist as Li Congjia tipped back his head and drank. The sight had seized Zhao Kuangyin’s soul outright.
Whether he admitted it or not, Zhao Kuangyin was far more straightforward than Li Congjia. He was not someone who hesitated over his own true feelings or pretended not to notice them. Had Ehuang not come today and torn through that thin paper screen between them, perhaps everything could still have maintained its former appearance. Zhao Kuangyin might have forced himself to suppress these strange thoughts temporarily for the sake of his greater plans. He had already intended to let events return to their original course. Yet now, at this exact moment, he felt utterly exhilarated. The brilliant peony before him had lost her soul, as though frost and snow had frozen everything she believed in. She was a woman like a phoenix, yet one hand from Zhao Kuangyin held her by the vital point and kept her from taking flight.
What an overwhelming sense of victory.
“Madam,” Zhao Kuangyin said, still allowing no resistance, “I will not do anything to you. I only want you to see how your husband intends to deal with this bottle of poison. Qingu. Have you heard of it?”
Ehuang shook her head desperately. Her once-neat hair had been pulled completely loose. Her pale face was forced upward toward Zhao Kuangyin. She looked at him as though she were staring at an evil spirit. “You truly are mad…” Her voice had nearly failed her. The nightmare had already left her weak, and now she felt as though someone had seized her throat. Worse still was the sudden realization that the truth was far uglier than anything she had imagined.
Li Congjia in the Mountains-and-Rivers Brocade. Since marrying him, Ehuang had never once seen him willing to wear it on any occasion. She had only occasionally seen the robe sealed carefully away, its extraordinary embroidery and dye work still impossible to conceal.
It was almost a taboo. For years, the Duke of Anding had allowed no one to touch it.
He never explained why, so she had never asked.
Yet the first exception, the only time he had been willing to reveal all its splendor again, had not been for her alone.
Zhao Kuangyin took the small bottle. At such close range, the chill pouring from it was unmistakable. He held it before her and slowly rubbed his thumb over its surface. “Cold, isn’t it?”
Ehuang bit her lower lip and stared at him. Zhao Kuangyin continued, “Li Congjia took this and never told you. What do you think he intended to do with it? Suppose I told him that if he killed you, I would spare him. Do you think he would do it?”
Ehuang trembled violently. Slowly, tears clouded her frightened eyes. She shook her head without speaking, already unable to control herself.
“Don’t be afraid.” Zhao Kuangyin lowered his voice further and pulled out the stopper.
White cold vapor surged from the bottle.
Ehuang closed her eyes and screamed.
At the same instant, the wooden door crashed open.
Zhao Kuangyin looked with satisfaction toward the figure in Tianshui Blue standing in the doorway. “You are later than I expected.”
Li Congjia rushed forward and snatched the bottle away from behind Ehuang.
“Congjia…”
Ehuang struggled to turn toward him. Zhao Kuangyin struck the side of her neck with one hand. Her body went limp, and Li Congjia immediately caught her.
“What were you trying to do to her!” Zhao Kuangyin liked seeing Li Congjia angry. Only then did he cease to feel so distant. Zhao Kuangyin met his eyes. Even now Li Congjia remained elegant, the quality innate rather than something deliberately maintained.
“You should know that if I had intended to harm her, you would only be arranging a funeral now.”
“Shut up!”
“She is fine. She only fainted. Have someone take her back and let her sleep properly. As for…” Zhao Kuangyin extended a hand toward Li Congjia with deliberate meaning. “What she learned and what she did not learn, I am afraid I can do nothing about that.”
Li Congjia visibly retreated two steps.
“Your clothes are wrinkled.” Zhao Kuangyin followed and placed a hand upon his shoulder. The soft gauze only made the pale blue-green look lighter. “A beautiful color.”
Holding Ehuang in his arms left Li Congjia unable to evade him. His eyes dropped to Zhao Kuangyin’s hand.
“Zhao Kuangyin, what exactly did you tell her?” His refined brows drew together beautifully enough to make Zhao Kuangyin sigh.
“Nothing. I only wanted to frighten her.”
Their eyes met. Neither spoke for a moment. Li Congjia stared at him for a long time as though trying to read something there. His dark gaze reflected Zhao Kuangyin’s complicated expression. At last the man in blue-green turned away. “You wanted to kill her.”
The statement made Zhao Kuangyin smile.
“And that is why you are unhappy.” Zhao Kuangyin spoke with certainty. “You see everything too clearly.”
“No.” Li Congjia said the single word distinctly.
Li Congjia waited for an argument, imagining every possible answer Zhao Kuangyin might give. He had expected Zhao Kuangyin to laugh at him, dismiss him, or speak arrogantly enough to humiliate him.
Perhaps Zhao Kuangyin would even have had the right. That night, Li Congjia had allowed him to advance step after step. After that, what right did he have to condemn Zhao Kuangyin’s absurd behavior?
He had only wanted to indulge himself once. The person who had spoken of living without restraint had refused to keep the appointment, but those words had remained.
And the result was that from then on, Li Congjia could no longer escape those sharp eyes beneath sword-like brows.
Li Congjia stubbornly turned his face away and refused to look at him, waiting for Zhao Kuangyin’s insolent reply.
Instead, he heard only a sigh.
Zhao Kuangyin raised his hand toward him again. He wanted Li Congjia to turn around. Li Congjia stubbornly refused and would not look at him no matter what.
Unable to do anything else, Zhao Kuangyin’s warm fingers climbed to Li Congjia’s face and stopped between his brows.
Li Congjia tried to lean away. Zhao Kuangyin had anticipated it. “Don’t move.” His voice was very soft, carrying an unexpected helplessness. “I won’t do anything. I only…”
For a long while there was nothing more. Zhao Kuangyin was not someone who often sighed. He believed in absolute power and decisive methods. Yet today he had no idea how to make the person in front of him a little happier.
“Stop frowning.” Zhao Kuangyin’s voice had never been so gentle. It sounded nothing like the manner of a man who could throw his head back and laugh so boldly.
That tone confused Li Congjia enough that he finally turned to look at Zhao Kuangyin’s expression.
Once again, Zhao Kuangyin covered his eyes.
“What am I supposed to do with you?” Zhao Kuangyin’s voice was full of hesitation. He spoke softly into Li Congjia’s hearing, and Li Congjia felt his heart drift as though wind had passed straight through it. Cool, yet comfortable. Frightening, yet leaving him wanting more. With his eyes closed, he listened and imagined Zhao Kuangyin’s expression until even his own heart seemed impossible to grasp.
Zhao Kuangyin was simply afraid Li Congjia would see him. He did not want Li Congjia to witness him acting so unlike himself. Even now, pride refused to admit defeat.
Yet even a heart once hard as stone could not withstand the worried crease between the brows of a man who carried red sandalwood fragrance. At that moment Li Congjia resembled a child clinging stubbornly to a piece of candy, and the sight softened Zhao Kuangyin completely.
Zhao Kuangyin feared Li Congjia’s sorrow because it resembled Tianshui Blue. So clear one could fail to see it, yet always present. By the time you believed you had forgotten it, everything would already be too late.
Spilled water could not be gathered again.
Zhao Kuangyin released him and immediately turned away. “Do you still intend to carry this wager through to the end?”
Li Congjia opened his eyes and saw only Zhao Kuangyin’s back. “Even now, I still believe in him.” Of course he meant Li Hongji. Zhao Kuangyin understood.
“Fine. Then you can relax. I did not tell her anything about the Crown Prince.” Zhao Kuangyin suddenly sounded tired. “Aren’t you going to take her back, Duke of Anding?”
The reminder startled Li Congjia awake. He tightened his arms around Ehuang and carried her out. Many people had gathered outside Zhaohua Pavilion. Seeing him return supporting Madam, Liuzhu immediately hurried forward to help.
“Master, what happened to Madam?”
“She has been overworked recently and sleeping poorly. She fainted beneath the flower corridor.”
Hearing the Duke of Anding say so, Liuzhu naturally did not dare question him. Yet she clearly remembered searching every place Madam ordinarily visited. How could she possibly have missed her?
Piaopeng shot her a warning glance.
Liuzhu immediately stopped thinking about it.
The physician prescribed a decoction to calm Ehuang’s spirit and told them to let her sleep properly. Li Congjia sat beside the bed and dismissed everyone, watching her sleeping face in silence.
The bottle of Qingu remained in his sleeve, its cold chillingly sharp. Li Congjia drew it out and smiled helplessly. Such a tiny thing, yet it had truly been enough to overturn heaven and earth.
“Ehuang.” He lifted her slender hand and pressed it to his face, his voice so quiet that he seemed afraid of disturbing her. “I’m sorry. I truly am sorry.” Even saying it hurt. How could he have allowed her to suffer such fear?
It was his fault. Yet all he had done was try desperately to keep believing in something. “Ehuang, you do not know. My elder brother, the Crown Prince, and I grew up together. When I said I would not compete, I believed he could understand me. Just as surely as I believe in my own convictions, I believe he is not… truly willing to become this unscrupulous.”
That is why I have to take this risk. Do you understand, Ehuang?
If I lose completely, do not blame me.
“If something truly happens to me, the Crown Prince will not harm you. Ehuang… remember the Rainbow Skirt and Feathered Robe Dance. I will find that score for you somehow.” His voice became desolate. Li Congjia murmured to her, knowing she could not hear, and precisely because she could not hear, he found himself wanting to say more. Had she been awake, the words might never have come.
She loved him with all her heart, while he intended to gamble his life on an outcome perhaps already decided. But Li Congjia had been this kind of person from the very beginning.
His heart remained clear. Something childlike and sincere remained within him, stubbornly believing in the last things he could still hold.
“Ehuang, if one day you truly receive that score and I am… no longer beside you, promise me you will play it. Let everyone beneath Heaven witness its beauty.”
And let them witness Ehuang herself. Who else could be worthy of a surviving dream from a splendid age? Only her.
From the very first glance, her brilliance had burned across Li Congjia’s double-pupiled eye.
The countenance of an emperor? How absurd.
He knew that Ehuang had never regarded those eyes as anything extraordinary. That was why he loved her.
A peony destined to outshine every other flower had stubbornly chosen to walk beside quiet red sandalwood. His fragrance would conceal her beauty, staining her until she forgot the pride that had once belonged to her.
From the moment she leaned toward him and curved her brows in affection, she had already plucked away her own phoenix feathers.
Li Congjia closed the door gently behind him with the bottle in hand and slowly made his way to Dew Garden. The hour for gathering dew had long passed. No one remained.
Behind the artificial rocks lay the small pond, where a few hibiscus blossoms still floated.
Li Congjia threw the bottle into the water.
Plop.
Tomorrow, everything would finally settle.
Then he suddenly remembered Xiangquan, still forgotten at Shengding House. How could he possibly have forgotten it?
Zhao Kuangyin truly had thrown his heart into complete confusion.
Li Congjia left the residence. Piaopeng hurried after him, no longer daring to let the Duke of Anding wander away alone. The last time his master had walked home alone at night, he had returned with the mysterious Young Master Zhao. If something happened again, Madam would worry herself ill.
Master… forever impossible to understand.
Li Congjia turned and looked at Piaopeng. So be it. “We are going to Shengding House. I left Xiangquan there yesterday.” When he and Zhao Kuangyin descended upon the wind, how could he have remembered the guqin?
The instrument he had once treasured like his life, Flowing Wind and Xiangquan, peerless beneath Heaven.
A memory from youth. Brother Hongji’s birthday was approaching, and a garden was being built. The plans for the lake and pavilion never satisfied him. Sixteen-year-old Li Congjia completed the design in one stroke.
Flowing Wind.
Xiangquan.
Li Congjia still remembered how he felt that year.
Expectation and unease. He longed to see admiration in Brother Hongji’s eyes, yet feared Li Hongji might not truly like it.
So Li Congjia deliberately left the painting unsigned, wanting to know whether Li Hongji truly understood him.
Li Hongji did not disappoint him. The extraordinary elegance visible in every stroke of the scroll could have belonged to no second person beneath Heaven. How could Li Hongji fail to recognize whose spirit it was?
Today Li Congjia walked slowly through the streets of Jinling, still unaware that Flowing Wind was no more. The lake had been drained entirely. Old water continued to flow, yet could never again reach the heart of an old friend.
Li Congjia was still thinking about retrieving Xiangquan. He feared that if one day the string remained but the ancient guqin itself could never be restored,
regret alone would not be enough.
The afternoon market was lively. Li Congjia walked through it calmly, drawing shy glances from young women traveling in small groups.
His robe was blue-green, its fine weave and dye clearly revealing unusual status. No wonder passersby looked. Yet the instant they saw that double-pupiled eye, they hurriedly lowered their gazes.
Even the surrounding noise seemed gradually to soften wherever Li Congjia passed. Faint red sandalwood fragrance swayed around him like an untouchable screen. All the grime of ordinary life could only swirl at a distance.
Hongxiu happened to be going out to check whether her dance costume had been completed. Li Congjia turned toward the northern road, heading for Shengding House.
She approached from the west. The weather was fine, and the wine houses, music halls, and even small roadside tea shops were crowded with guests.
The woman in red casually raised her head and suddenly froze. From far away she saw Li Congjia walking slowly, wrapped in mist and rain that no eye could pierce. A folding fan rested in his hand. The hem of robes worth a fortune swept casually through dust and earth. She stood too far away to see his expression clearly.
Yet she could easily imagine it.
He was the kind of man one could never forget after a single glance.
At that distant sight, Hongxiu’s heart, unsettled for days, fell strangely silent.
She could almost see that heart capable of smiling while listening to lotus blossoms open.
How she envied someone like him. If only once in her life she could see him standing beside flowers, it would already be a blessing.
Yet tomorrow, she herself would destroy such a beautiful painting.
Hongxiu lowered her lashes. Her red embroidered shoes moved unsteadily, but she forced herself forward.
A person ought to understand fate. She and Li Congjia would never have anything to do with one another. What use was there in thinking again and again? Hongxiu reached the intersection he had just crossed, the same place where she had spoken with A-Shui on the day she arranged the wine.
To the south, she glimpsed Green Willow Lane once more. Cold spread through her entire body, and she hurried away.
From a small tavern along the market street, a man stumbled out, face flushed from drink. He clutched something tightly in his arms even while three or five men chased, shoved, and struck him.
He had probably failed to pay his wine bill. Such scenes occurred every day. Only today, overwhelmed by the beating and unable to see clearly, the man fled north.
Dodging amid shouted curses, he crashed into someone before he could stop himself. Before he could even see whom he had struck, he caught the faint scent of red sandalwood.