Deep within Prince Yi’s residence stood a quiet chamber that was usually unoccupied. A wall of blue-gray bricks cut off the clamor outside, while several creeping fig vines climbed over the top of the wall, and fine moss grew between the bricks.
There were few flowers or trees in the courtyard. Only a white plum tree had been planted on either side of the courtyard gate. It was not yet the flowering season, so the branches were bare, their twisted limbs casting sparse, scattered shadows against the gray-white courtyard walls.
Several days earlier, Lan Ningcheng had already ordered the place cleaned and prepared for use as a room for ritual purification.
The interior was so plain that it was almost empty.
There were no brocade curtains or soft couches, no incense burners or wine vessels. There was only a hard wooden bed covered with a plain white cotton mattress without any patterns.
A table and two chairs stood in the room, unadorned and without cushions. A celadon oil lamp sat on the table, its lamp oil faint and odorless.
The window lattice was covered with plain white paper, shutting out the splendor of the outside world.
Xiao Ying stood at the entrance of the quiet chamber, looking at the room.
He was accustomed to fine clothes and rich food, accustomed to the clamor of pleasure houses. Suddenly finding himself in such a desolate place, he felt as though all the disguises around him had been washed away, leaving behind nothing but a cold, lonely shell.
“Your Highness, the purification token.” Lan Ningcheng stood outside the door, presenting it with both hands.
Xiao Ying took the token and deftly tied it around his waist.
Lan Ningcheng continued, “Starting today, Your Highness must reside here alone for one day and one night. You must abstain from meat and fish, refrain from drinking alcohol and indulging in entertainment, avoid handling legal cases, and not enter the inner bedchamber. I will have meals delivered to the door at the appointed times. Your Highness need only collect them yourself. Tomorrow, at the third quarter of the Yin hour, the bells of the Temple of Heaven will ring nine times as the signal. Your Highness must rise, bathe, change clothes, and accompany the imperial procession to the altar.”
Lan Ningcheng paused. His gaze swept over the hard wooden bed inside the quiet chamber, and he added in an even tone, “If Your Highness feels unwell during the night, you may call for me. I will be outside, beneath the corridor.”
Xiao Ying glanced at him and said nothing more, merely nodding slightly.
Lan Ningcheng looked at him for a moment, then repeated his reminder. “If you feel unwell, remember to call for me.”
Only then did he bow and withdraw, slowly closing the door behind him.
◇◆◇◆◇
The sky had only just begun to brighten when an extremely soft knock came from outside the door.
Xiao Ying opened the door. A lacquered wooden food box had been placed beside the threshold.
He bent down to pick it up, returned to the table, and opened it.
Inside were a bowl of thin rice porridge, a dish of boiled greens, and two pieces of plain vegetarian flatbread.
There was no soup or dessert, no candied fruit to aid digestion—only the simplest vegetarian fare.
Xiao Ying sat on the hard wooden chair, lowering his eyes to look at the bowl of white porridge without oil or salt.
At Prince Yi’s residence, even the most ordinary breakfast was accompanied by nourishing soups and desserts. Such austere fare was genuinely unfamiliar to him.
He picked up the bamboo chopsticks and took a few elegant sips. His movements were casual yet unmistakably refined.
However, after only a few mouthfuls, he found himself with no appetite at all and simply put down his bowl and chopsticks.
After breakfast, he strolled into the courtyard.
An old cypress with gnarled, twisting branches stood in the corner, with a stone table and stone stools beneath it.
Xiao Ying sat on one of the stone stools and closed his eyes halfway, listening to the rustling sound of the wind passing through the cypress leaves.
There was no osmanthus-scented wine, no clear music from a konghou, and no secret reports arriving.
It seemed that nothing remained between heaven and earth except his own breathing.
…It was far too quiet.
He did not like this kind of silence.
More precisely, he was not afraid of silence itself. He loathed the state of being forced to stop all activity, left to sit idly while anxiously waiting.
Even with absolute silence all around him, countless variables in the political landscape continued racing through his mind. Yet at this moment, aside from futile speculation, there was nothing he could do. He could only wait for time to pass slowly.
Before noon, Lan Ningcheng brought another wooden box. Inside was the ritual manual for tomorrow’s Heaven-Worshipping Ceremony.
Xiao Ying sat calmly at the table, carefully turning through the pages one by one.
The time to enter the grounds, where to take his position, when to kneel and bow, when to present the sacrificial wine—every word in the manual followed strict rules and procedures.
He ranked toward the lower end of the princes’ order of precedence, and every step he took and every line of the blessing he recited had its designated place.
He read slowly and attentively, committing every rule to memory without the slightest error.
Even though this was not his first time attending the Heaven-Worshipping Ceremony, he still had to ensure that every step was performed correctly.
He could not help recalling the scene from his childhood when his mother consort had taught him proper bearing.
He had been only six years old then, his body still soft and growing. When his kneeling posture was slightly off, his mother consort would gently yet firmly reach out to correct his shoulders and back, whispering, “Ying’er, there is a proper way to stand and a proper way to kneel. Others may go to great lengths to find fault with you, but you must never give them any leverage.”
Throughout all these years, whether before the lofty emperor or amid the undercurrents of the imperial court, he had never allowed the slightest flaw in his etiquette to show.
While playing the part of an idle prince, he had still maintained that elegant and courteous mask, deliberately revealing only the flaws he wanted his political enemies to see.
The only place where he could let down all his defenses was his own bedchamber, a place few people were allowed to enter.
Only within that space could he stop wearing his mask.
But he had worn that mask for far too long…
So long that parts of it had almost become a part of him, impossible to separate. Even he himself was beginning to lose the ability to distinguish what was genuine from what was false.
His fingertips, which had been turning through the ritual manual, suddenly stopped. He stared coldly at the faint trembling of his fingers. After a short while, he slowly withdrew his hand and continued turning the pages without expression.
Lunch was still the most austere vegetarian fare.
A bowl of plain noodles, two pieces of white tofu, and a small plate of pickled vegetables.
Xiao Ying ate very slowly.
Over the years, he had damaged his stomach and spleen by drinking excessively in order to convincingly play the part of a debauched nobleman.
Normally, Lan Ningcheng would always instruct the kitchen to prepare warm, nourishing soups to care for his stomach. Occasionally, he would even add a small dish of the candied fruit Xiao Ying liked to help with digestion.
Now, all he could taste was the faint sweetness of the plain noodles and the salty, astringent flavor of the pickled vegetables. It was rather difficult to get used to.
After forcing himself to eat a few mouthfuls, he pressed a hand against his faintly aching upper abdomen, his brows drawing together slightly. His stomach churned as though scorched by fire. Despite having no appetite, he knew full well that tomorrow’s grand ceremony would be physically demanding, so he forced himself to swallow the remaining noodles.
After lunch, he took a brief nap on the bed.
The hard wooden bed had no give at all. Even with the cloth mattress beneath him, his body still felt somewhat sore and numb.
His sleep was extremely light, and his dreams were completely blank.
The afternoon was the hardest time to endure.
There were no official documents to review, no spies bringing reports, and even the passage of time seemed unbearably slow.
With nothing else to do, Xiao Ying could only pick up the ritual manual and read it again.
When he reached the final page, his fingertips suddenly brushed against a thin sheet of paper.
It was an unsigned note, written in neat, elegant handwriting. A single line of small text was written on it:
“Tomorrow, during the Heaven-Worshipping Ceremony, Your Highness must remain standing for two shichen. If you find yourself unable to endure it physically, you may inform the ritual official in advance and withdraw to the side hall for a short rest during the interval after the third wine offering.”
Looking at the handwriting he knew so well, a warm glimmer appeared in Xiao Ying’s eyes.
Lan Ningcheng had deliberately slipped this note inside.
During this entire day of austere purification, spent alone and under such oppressive conditions, this calm and meticulous consideration, coupled with genuine concern, was the only thing reminding him that he was not fighting alone.
He carefully folded the note and tucked it deep into his sleeve pouch.
As the sun set in the west, the celadon oil lamp in the purification chamber was lit, its dim yellow glow illuminating the four walls.
Lan Ningcheng brought him a set of plain ceremonial robes for a prince.
There were no ornate brocade patterns or gold-thread embroidery. The entire set was pure and elegant, with only a delicate pattern of clouds and flowing water subtly embroidered in matching thread around the collar and sleeve edges.
Xiao Ying took the ceremonial robes and changed into them, checking that they fit properly.
He stood before the bronze mirror.
The person in the mirror had shed the flamboyant purple brocade robes he usually wore. He looked less frivolous and debauched, and more composed, with a dignified bearing.
This was no longer Prince Yi, who concealed his claws and fangs beneath a facade of wine, women, and pleasure.
Rather, this was a Prince of the Great Sheng Dynasty, stripped of all disguises and about to ascend the altar to offer his prayers.
This solemn appearance reflected in the mirror was what his true blood and nature ought to have been.
And yet, looking at the person in the mirror also gave him a strange sense of distance, as though that person belonged to another world.
He was… the version of himself he had failed to become.
◇◆◇◆◇
The night in the purification chamber was as still as ice, cut off from the striking of the night watch drums and cleansed of the turmoil of the bustling world.
Xiao Ying lay flat on the hard wooden bed, his eyes quietly fixed on the plain, unadorned canopy above him.
Severe pain surged through his head in waves like an undercurrent, tearing at his taut nerves as a ringing filled his ears.
He reached out and pressed his fingers against his temples, trying to rub away the unbearable throbbing. Yet the instant his fingers touched his skin, he realized that his fingertips were trembling slightly beyond his control.
The heavy price of these past years spent indulging in fine wines and excessive debauchery now revealed itself in all its naked cruelty on this night, when he had been deprived of alcohol’s numbing effects.
He turned onto his side, burying half his face in the cool bedding.
His body and mind were already exhausted to the extreme, yet his consciousness remained as clear as a solitary lamp that could not be extinguished on a freezing night, hanging in the wilderness and suffering in cold silence.
A faint chill spread through his bones.
The plain white cotton bedding was thin. He pulled the blanket tightly around himself, yet his body continued to tremble faintly.
It was not the cold brought by wind and frost, but the violent backlash that came from having some form of dependence forcibly taken away from deep within his very bones and blood.
…He knew perfectly well what his body was lacking.
He rose and stood in the darkness for a moment before slowly making his way to the window and pushing it open just a narrow crack.
Cold moonlight streamed through the gap, laying a white chain of frost across the floor.
The cool night breeze brushed his face, easing the throbbing in his head somewhat. He let out a long breath from deep within his chest.
At that moment, the warm glow of the ram-horn lantern at Wangchen Dock, the blue jacaranda swaying gently in the breeze, and Wu Jiuling’s clear, steadfast eyes naturally surfaced in his mind.
There was also the silver chain he had cut with his own hands, and the ice-green jadeite that gave off a faint purple cherry-blossom hue, which he had placed in the other man’s palm.
Jiuling must have already fallen into a peaceful sleep by now…
Knock, knock.
A faint sound at the door broke the silence.
Xiao Ying’s brows knitted slightly. The evening meal had long since been cleared away, and according to the rules, no one should disturb him at this hour.
He stepped forward and opened the door. The corridor was empty, with only a small lacquered wooden box quietly resting outside the entrance.
Xiao Ying carried the box back into the room.
The emptiness within his body, combined with the trembling of his hands, left him so weak when he tried to steady his breathing that he nearly dropped the box to the floor.
The moment his fingertips lifted the lid, an extremely familiar, faintly bitter medicinal aroma wafted toward him. Inside sat a bowl of dark, almost black medicinal soup, with a small dish of plums coated in osmanthus sugar crystals placed thoughtfully beside it.
He lifted the porcelain bowl to his nose and carefully inhaled. Beneath the overwhelming bitterness, he detected a barely perceptible trace of the mellow fragrance of wine.
The corners of Xiao Ying’s lips unconsciously curved into a bitter smile tinged with self-mockery and guilt.
There was no need to ask who had prepared this medicine.
Lan Ningcheng had always been strict about rules. Yet now, knowing full well that alcohol was forbidden during the purification period, he had still risked a grave breach of protocol by adding a little wine as a medicinal catalyst. He must have calculated that Xiao Ying’s symptoms of withdrawal were about to rebound and that there was no choice but to suppress them temporarily by such means.
To have driven someone who so scrupulously upheld his duties to this point—ultimately, it was Xiao Ying who had burdened him.
He tilted his head back and drank the warm medicinal soup in one go, then picked up a sugar-coated plum and placed it in his mouth.
The bitterness of the medicine, the mellow sweetness of the wine, and the sweet-and-sour flavor of the plum intertwined and spread across his tongue. Unexpectedly, they became the most vivid flavors he had tasted throughout this entire day.
In the latter half of the night, as the medicine took effect, the headache gradually subsided. He finally sank into a brief, tranquil, shallow sleep.
At the third quarter of the Yin hour, the ancient, resonant sound of a bronze bell broke through the air. It rang nine times in succession, echoing across the silent night sky above the Temple of Heaven.
Xiao Ying abruptly awoke from his shallow sleep.
He swung his legs off the bed, but the moment his feet touched the icy floor, his knees weakened slightly.
He immediately reached out to brace himself against the hard wooden bed frame, took a deep breath, and forcibly propped up his heavy body.
As he walked toward the bronze basin to wash his face, the trembling in his hands had still not subsided.
His shaking fingertips sent tiny, shimmering ripples across the surface of the water.
He pressed both palms against the rim of the bronze basin and closed his eyes for a long while. Only when the uncontrollable trembling had eased somewhat did he scoop up the cold water and splash it onto his face.
The process of changing into his ceremonial robes was unusually difficult. He had to adjust one of the silk sashes three times before finally fastening it securely.
It was not that the sash was complicated, but that his fingertips refused to obey him.
When he tried to fasten the white jade waist token, a symbol of a prince’s dignity, around his waist, his fingers trembled again. The token, together with its purple silk tassel, slipped from his grasp and fell to the floor with a soft clatter.
The round white jade token rolled halfway across the floor. The carved chi-dragon pattern on its surface reflected the lamplight, gleaming with a cool, lustrous sheen.
Xiao Ying stood before the floor, looking at the waist token lying flat on the ground and the purple tassel that had come undone. A layer of mockery surfaced in his eyes.
…It was only one day of purification, yet this body had already fallen into such a state of ruin.
Apart from Lan Ningcheng and the residence physician, no one knew the condition of his body.
He had always been a man who planned and strategized, yet now he could not even control such a trivial matter.
To kill him, Xiao Ying, there was no need to draw a blade or use poison…
—Creak.
The door was pushed open. Lan Ningcheng lowered his eyes, his gaze passing over the jade waist token on the floor as he walked forward with steady steps. He had already heard the movements inside clearly from the corridor and had calculated the right moment to enter.
Lan Ningcheng bent down slightly and first picked up the round white jade token. After confirming that it was undamaged, he straightened out the purple silk tassel and deftly fastened the token around Xiao Ying’s waist, without the slightest error. The purple tassel was secured, and the jade token hung neatly and steadily at his side.
As he rose, suppressed anger flickered deep within those eyes that were usually calm and devoid of warmth.
What displeased him was that he had clearly told Xiao Ying that if he felt unwell, Lan Ningcheng would be waiting outside in the corridor.
Yet Xiao Ying had chosen to endure it silently, until he had reduced himself to a state where he could not even fasten his own waist token.
Under that cold, heavy gaze fixed firmly upon him, Xiao Ying could only spread his hands and tug helplessly at the corners of his lips.
“Glaring at me won’t help. Some debts must be settled sooner or later. Surely this prince can’t ascend the Temple of Heaven reeking of alcohol.”
He had already glimpsed the danger facing this body back when he was first assigned to the Imperial Clan Court.
Four years of pretending that all was well with alcohol, of feigning the role of a dissolute nobleman, were finally beginning to demand their heavy price.
He had once considered gradually giving up alcohol, but the moment he cut off his supply, the backlash within his body would surge forth like an overwhelming tide. The political situation was as precarious as walking on thin ice. He absolutely could not allow the slightest flaw to show at a critical moment, so he had kept postponing the time to treat his condition.
…And yet, his Imperial Father had chosen precisely this crucial moment to hold the grand ceremony.
Deep within Prince Yi’s residence stood a quiet chamber that was usually unoccupied. A wall of blue-gray bricks separated it from the clamor outside, with several creeping fig vines climbing over the top and fine moss growing between the bricks.
There were few flowers or trees in the courtyard. Only a white plum tree had been planted on either side of the courtyard gate. It was not yet the flowering season, so the branches were bare, their twisted limbs casting sparse, scattered shadows against the gray-white courtyard walls.
Several days earlier, Lan Ningcheng had already ordered the place cleaned and prepared for use as a purification chamber.
The interior was so plain that it was almost empty.
There were no brocade curtains or soft couches, no incense burners or wine vessels. There was only a hard wooden bed covered with a plain white cotton mattress without any patterns.
A table and two chairs stood in the room, unadorned and without cushions. A celadon oil lamp sat on the table, its oil giving off no discernible scent.
The window lattice was covered with plain white paper, shutting out the splendor of the outside world.
Xiao Ying stood at the entrance of the quiet chamber, looking at the room.
He was accustomed to fine clothes and rich food, accustomed to the clamor of pleasure houses. Suddenly finding himself in such a desolate place, he felt as though all the disguises around him had been washed away, leaving behind nothing but a cold, lonely shell.
“Your Highness, the purification token.” Lan Ningcheng stood outside the door, presenting it with both hands.
Xiao Ying took the token and deftly tied it around his waist.
Lan Ningcheng continued, “Starting today, Your Highness must reside here alone for one day and one night. You must abstain from meat and fish, refrain from drinking alcohol and indulging in entertainment, avoid handling legal cases, and not enter your inner bedchamber. I will have meals delivered to the door at the appointed times. Your Highness need only collect them yourself. Tomorrow, at the third quarter of the Yin hour, the bells of the Temple of Heaven will ring nine times as the signal. Your Highness must rise, bathe, change clothes, and accompany the imperial procession to the altar.”
Lan Ningcheng paused. His gaze swept over the hard wooden bed inside the quiet chamber, and he added in an even tone, “If Your Highness feels unwell during the night, you may call for me. I will be outside, beneath the corridor.”
Xiao Ying glanced at him and said nothing more, merely nodding slightly.
Lan Ningcheng looked at him for a moment, then repeated his reminder. “If you feel unwell, remember to call for me.”
Only then did he bow and withdraw, slowly closing the door behind him.
◇◆◇◆◇
The sky had only just begun to brighten when an extremely soft knock came from outside the door.
Xiao Ying opened the door. A lacquered wooden food box had been placed beside the threshold.
He bent down to pick it up, returned to the table, and opened it.
Inside were a bowl of thin rice porridge, a dish of boiled greens, and two pieces of plain vegetarian flatbread.
There was no soup or dessert, no candied fruit to aid digestion—only the simplest vegetarian fare.
Xiao Ying sat on the hard wooden chair, lowering his eyes to look at the bowl of white porridge without oil or salt.
At Prince Yi’s residence, even the most ordinary breakfast was accompanied by nourishing soups and desserts. Such austere fare was genuinely unfamiliar to him.
He picked up the bamboo chopsticks and took a few elegant mouthfuls. His movements were casual yet unmistakably refined.
However, after only a few bites, he found himself with no appetite at all and simply put down his bowl and chopsticks.
After breakfast, he strolled into the courtyard.
An old cypress with gnarled, twisting branches stood in the corner, with a stone table and stone stools beneath it.
Xiao Ying sat on one of the stone stools and closed his eyes halfway, listening to the rustling sound of the wind passing through the cypress leaves.
There was no osmanthus-scented wine, no clear music from a konghou, and no secret reports arriving.
It seemed that nothing remained between heaven and earth except his own breathing.
…It was far too quiet.
He did not like this kind of silence.
More precisely, he was not afraid of silence itself. He loathed the state of being forced to stop all activity, left to sit idly while anxiously waiting.
Even with absolute silence all around him, countless variables in the political landscape continued racing through his mind. Yet at this moment, aside from futile speculation, there was nothing he could do. He could only wait for time to pass slowly.
Before noon, Lan Ningcheng brought another wooden box. Inside was the ritual manual for tomorrow’s Heaven-Worshipping Ceremony.
Xiao Ying sat calmly at the table, carefully turning through the pages one by one.
The time to enter the grounds, where to take his position, when to kneel and bow, when to present the sacrificial wine—every word in the manual followed strict rules and procedures.
He ranked toward the lower end of the princes’ order of precedence, and every step he took and every line of the blessing he recited had its designated place.
He read slowly and attentively, committing every rule to memory without the slightest error.
Even though this was not his first time attending the Heaven-Worshipping Ceremony, he still had to ensure that every step was performed correctly.
He could not help recalling the scene from his childhood when his mother consort had taught him proper bearing.
He had been only six years old then, his body still soft and growing. When his kneeling posture was slightly off, his mother consort would gently yet firmly reach out to correct his shoulders and back, whispering, “Ying’er, there is a proper way to stand and a proper way to kneel. Others may go to great lengths to find fault with you, but you must never give them any leverage.”
Throughout all these years, whether before the lofty emperor or amid the undercurrents of the imperial court, he had never allowed the slightest flaw in his etiquette to show.
While playing the part of an idle prince, he had still maintained that elegant and courteous mask, deliberately revealing only the flaws he wanted his political enemies to see.
The only place where he could let down all his defenses was his own bedchamber, a place few people were allowed to enter.
Only within that space could he stop wearing his mask.
But he had worn that mask for far too long…
So long that parts of it had almost become a part of him, impossible to separate. Even he himself was beginning to lose the ability to distinguish what was genuine from what was false.
His fingertips, which had been turning through the ritual manual, suddenly stopped. He stared coldly at the faint trembling of his fingers. After a short while, he slowly withdrew his hand and continued turning the pages without expression.
Lunch was still the most austere vegetarian fare.
A bowl of plain noodles, two pieces of white tofu, and a small plate of pickled vegetables.
Xiao Ying ate very slowly.
Over the years, he had damaged his stomach and spleen by drinking excessively in order to convincingly play the part of a debauched nobleman.
Normally, Lan Ningcheng would always instruct the kitchen to prepare warm, nourishing soups to care for his stomach. Occasionally, he would even add a small dish of the candied fruit Xiao Ying liked to help with digestion.
Now, all he could taste was the faint sweetness of the plain noodles and the salty, astringent flavor of the pickled vegetables. It was rather difficult to get used to.
After forcing himself to eat a few mouthfuls, he pressed a hand against his faintly aching upper abdomen, his brows drawing together slightly. His stomach churned as though scorched by fire. Despite having no appetite, he knew full well that tomorrow’s grand ceremony would be physically demanding, so he forced himself to swallow the remaining noodles.
After lunch, he took a brief nap on the bed.
The hard wooden bed had no give at all. Even with the cloth mattress beneath him, his body still felt somewhat sore and numb.
His sleep was extremely light, and his dreams were completely blank.
The afternoon was the hardest time to endure.
There were no official documents to review, no spies bringing reports, and even the passage of time seemed unbearably slow.
With nothing else to do, Xiao Ying could only pick up the ritual manual and read it again.
When he reached the final page, his fingertips suddenly brushed against a thin sheet of paper.
It was an unsigned note, written in neat, elegant handwriting. A single line of small text was written on it:
“Tomorrow, during the Heaven-Worshipping Ceremony, Your Highness must remain standing for two shichen. If you find yourself unable to endure it physically, you may inform the ritual official in advance and withdraw to the side hall for a short rest during the interval after the third wine offering.”
Looking at the handwriting he knew so well, a warm glimmer appeared in Xiao Ying’s eyes.
Lan Ningcheng had deliberately slipped this note inside.
During this entire day of austere purification, spent alone and under such oppressive conditions, this calm and meticulous consideration, coupled with genuine concern, was the only thing reminding him that he was not fighting alone.
He carefully folded the note and tucked it deep into his sleeve pouch.
As the sun set in the west, the celadon oil lamp in the purification chamber was lit, its dim yellow glow illuminating the four walls.
Lan Ningcheng brought him a set of plain ceremonial robes for a prince.
There were no ornate brocade patterns or gold-thread embroidery. The entire set was pure and elegant, with only a delicate pattern of clouds and flowing water subtly embroidered in matching thread around the collar and sleeve edges.
Xiao Ying took the ceremonial robes and changed into them, checking that they fit properly.
He stood before the bronze mirror.
The person in the mirror had shed the flamboyant purple brocade robes he usually wore. He looked less frivolous and debauched, and more composed, with a dignified bearing.
This was no longer Prince Yi, who concealed his claws and fangs beneath a facade of wine, women, and pleasure.
Rather, this was a Prince of the Great Sheng Dynasty, stripped of all disguises and about to ascend the altar to offer his prayers.
This solemn appearance reflected in the mirror was what his true blood and nature ought to have been.
And yet, looking at the person in the mirror also gave him a strange sense of distance, as though that person belonged to another world.
He was… the version of himself he had failed to become.
◇◆◇◆◇
The night in the purification chamber was as still as ice, cut off from the striking of the night watch drums and cleansed of the turmoil of the bustling world.
Xiao Ying lay flat on the hard wooden bed, his eyes quietly fixed on the plain, unadorned canopy above him.
Severe pain surged through his head in waves like an undercurrent, tearing at his taut nerves as a ringing filled his ears.
He reached out and pressed his fingers against his temples, trying to rub away the unbearable throbbing. Yet the instant his fingers touched his skin, he realized that his fingertips were trembling slightly beyond his control.
The heavy price of these past years spent indulging in fine wines and excessive debauchery now revealed itself in all its naked cruelty on this night, when he had been deprived of alcohol’s numbing effects.
He turned onto his side, burying half his face in the cool bedding.
His body and mind were already exhausted to the extreme, yet his consciousness remained as clear as a solitary lamp that could not be extinguished on a freezing night, hanging in the wilderness and suffering in cold silence.
A faint chill spread through his bones.
The plain white cotton bedding was thin. He pulled the blanket tightly around himself, yet his body continued to tremble faintly.
It was not the cold brought by wind and frost, but the violent backlash that came from having some form of dependence forcibly taken away from deep within his very bones and blood.
…He knew perfectly well what his body was lacking.
He rose and stood in the darkness for a moment before slowly making his way to the window and pushing it open just a narrow crack.
Cold moonlight streamed through the gap, laying a white chain of frost across the floor.
The cool night breeze brushed his face, easing the throbbing in his head somewhat. He let out a long breath from deep within his chest.
At that moment, the warm glow of the ram-horn lantern at Wangchen Dock, the blue jacaranda swaying gently in the breeze, and Wu Jiuling’s clear, steadfast eyes naturally surfaced in his mind.
There was also the silver chain he had cut with his own hands, and the ice-green jadeite that gave off a faint purple cherry-blossom hue, which he had placed in the other man’s palm.
Jiuling must have already fallen into a peaceful sleep by now…
Knock, knock.
A faint sound at the door broke the silence.
Xiao Ying’s brows knitted slightly. The evening meal had long since been cleared away, and according to the rules, no one should disturb him at this hour.
He stepped forward and opened the door. The corridor was empty, with only a small lacquered wooden box quietly resting outside the entrance.
Xiao Ying carried the box back into the room.
The emptiness within his body, combined with the trembling of his hands, left him so weak when he tried to steady his breathing that he nearly dropped the box to the floor.
The moment his fingertips lifted the lid, an extremely familiar, faintly bitter medicinal aroma wafted toward him. Inside sat a bowl of dark, almost black medicinal soup, with a small dish of plums coated in osmanthus sugar crystals placed thoughtfully beside it.
He lifted the porcelain bowl to his nose and carefully inhaled. Beneath the overwhelming bitterness, he detected a barely perceptible trace of the mellow fragrance of wine.
The corners of Xiao Ying’s lips unconsciously curved into a bitter smile tinged with self-mockery and guilt.
There was no need to ask who had prepared this medicine.
Lan Ningcheng had always been strict about rules. Yet now, knowing full well that alcohol was forbidden during the purification period, he had still risked a grave breach of protocol by adding a little wine as a medicinal catalyst. He must have calculated that Xiao Ying’s symptoms of withdrawal were about to rebound and that there was no choice but to suppress them temporarily by such means.
To have driven someone who so scrupulously upheld his duties to this point—ultimately, it was Xiao Ying who had burdened him.
He tilted his head back and drank the warm medicinal soup in one go, then picked up a sugar-coated plum and placed it in his mouth.
The bitterness of the medicine, the mellow sweetness of the wine, and the sweet-and-sour flavor of the plum intertwined and spread across his tongue. Unexpectedly, they became the most vivid flavors he had tasted throughout this entire day.
In the latter half of the night, as the medicine took effect, the headache gradually subsided. He finally sank into a brief, tranquil, shallow sleep.
At the third quarter of the Yin hour, the ancient, resonant sound of a bronze bell broke through the air. It rang nine times in succession, echoing across the silent night sky above the Temple of Heaven.
Xiao Ying abruptly awoke from his shallow sleep.
He swung his legs off the bed, but the moment his feet touched the icy floor, his knees weakened slightly.
He immediately reached out to brace himself against the hard wooden bed frame, took a deep breath, and forcibly propped up his heavy body.
As he walked toward the bronze basin to wash his face, the trembling in his hands had still not subsided.
His shaking fingertips sent tiny, shimmering ripples across the surface of the water.
He pressed both palms against the rim of the bronze basin and closed his eyes for a long while. Only when the uncontrollable trembling had eased somewhat did he scoop up the cold water and splash it onto his face.
The process of changing into his ceremonial robes was unusually difficult. He had to adjust one of the silk sashes three times before finally fastening it securely.
It was not that the sash was complicated, but that his fingertips refused to obey him.
When he tried to fasten the white jade waist token, a symbol of a prince’s dignity, around his waist, his fingers trembled again. The token, together with its purple silk tassel, slipped from his grasp and fell to the floor with a soft clatter.
The round white jade token rolled halfway across the floor. The carved chi-dragon pattern on its surface reflected the lamplight, gleaming with a cool, lustrous sheen.
Xiao Ying stood before the floor, looking at the waist token lying flat on the ground and the purple tassel that had come undone. A layer of mockery surfaced in his eyes.
…It was only one day of purification, yet this body had already fallen into such a state of ruin.
Apart from Lan Ningcheng and the residence physician, no one knew the condition of his body.
He had always been a man who planned and strategized, yet now he could not even control such a trivial matter.
To kill him, Xiao Ying, there was no need to draw a blade or use poison…
—Creak.
The door was pushed open. Lan Ningcheng lowered his eyes, his gaze passing over the jade waist token on the floor as he walked forward with steady steps. He had already heard the movements inside clearly from the corridor and had calculated the right moment to enter.
Lan Ningcheng bent down slightly and first picked up the round white jade token. After confirming that it was undamaged, he straightened out the purple silk tassel and deftly fastened the token around Xiao Ying’s waist, without the slightest error. The purple tassel was secured, and the jade token hung neatly and steadily at his side.
As he rose, suppressed anger flickered deep within those eyes that were usually calm and devoid of warmth.
What displeased him was that he had clearly told Xiao Ying that if he felt unwell, Lan Ningcheng would be waiting outside in the corridor.
Yet Xiao Ying had chosen to endure it silently, until he had reduced himself to a state where he could not even fasten his own waist token.
Under that cold, heavy gaze fixed firmly upon him, Xiao Ying could only spread his hands and tug helplessly at the corners of his lips.
“Glaring at me won’t help. Some debts must be settled sooner or later. Surely this prince can’t ascend the Temple of Heaven reeking of alcohol.”
He had already glimpsed the danger facing this body back when he was first assigned to the Imperial Clan Court.
Four years of pretending that all was well with alcohol, of feigning the role of a dissolute nobleman, were finally beginning to demand their heavy price.
He had once considered gradually giving up alcohol, but the moment he cut off his supply, the backlash within his body would surge forth like an overwhelming tide. The political situation was as precarious as walking on thin ice. He absolutely could not allow the slightest flaw to show at a critical moment, so he had kept postponing the time to treat his condition.
…And yet, his Imperial Father had chosen precisely this crucial moment to hold the grand ceremony.