Lord Yuexi listened in silence, and his thoughts drifted involuntarily back to that year. Memories that had long since grown hazy began to resurface.
That year, Wu Jiuling was only eleven years old.
When his father told him that he would be taking him and his eldest brother to a banquet at the Eastern Palace, he was so excited that he could not sleep the entire night.
It was his first time stepping into the legendary Eastern Palace, his first time seeing the vermilion robes and purple official gowns filling the grand hall. The laughter of the nobles mingled with the rich fragrance of fine wine, creating a splendor that seemed like a celestial realm. Countless palace lanterns formed a river of light, like a magnificent, golden dream.
During the court celebrations, he could only wait outside. It was not until the banquet was bestowed that he was led into the hall.
His father’s seat was somewhere near the middle, not particularly conspicuous.
He sat beside his eldest brother. On the table before him were longevity peaches and a pot of warmed wine.
Curious, he looked around from side to side until his elder brother gave him a gentle kick under the table. Only then did he rein in his curiosity, sit obediently, and lower his head, keeping his eyes fixed on his nose and his nose fixed on his heart.
After all, before leaving home, his father had reminded him once again that he must not look around indiscriminately, listen to things he should not hear, or speak out of turn. He had to behave himself. Only then would his father agree to bring him along.
It was not until the wine had gone around three times that the emperor seemed to say something, and the entire hall suddenly fell silent.
His elder brother gently nudged him with an elbow.
When he raised his head slightly, he caught sight of the side profile of a slender youth seated before a konghou harp.
The youth wore luxurious brocade robes. His eyes were lowered, his eyelashes like butterfly wings and his hair black as a crow’s feathers.
The glow of the colored-glass lanterns illuminated his profile, casting a faint halo around him. He was so beautiful that he seemed almost otherworldly.
Wu Jiuling stared at him in a daze.
The sounds around him gradually receded like the tide.
The youth sat before the konghou, his fingertips resting on the strings.
Wu Jiuling was deeply captivated by the melody. It was a gentle, melodious piece, brimming with emotion. He felt as though the person before him and the music itself belonged to a dream.
Everyone in the hall was listening, but most of them had their minds elsewhere.
The Crown Prince was drinking wine. The emperor was speaking with his close ministers. The nobles were exchanging favors and weighing their respective interests.
No one paid attention to the haunting, graceful music.
Only Wu Jiuling listened, completely absorbed.
At the time, Wu Jiuling was still cherished and protected by his family, held in the palm of their hands. He knew nothing of the turbulent undercurrents sweeping through the imperial court.
He had simply been drawn to the music and the figure with his eyes lowered.
He thought the gentle, flowing melody was extraordinarily beautiful, as though it did not belong in this noisy, bustling hall.
When the music ended, the youth rose, bowed, and quietly prepared to return to his seat.
Just as he passed their table, Wu Jiuling, for reasons he could not explain, instinctively lifted his head and stole a glance at him.
At that very moment, the youth’s gaze happened to sweep across the direction in which he was sitting.
It lasted only an instant.
So brief that it seemed like an illusion created by the flickering lantern light.
Wu Jiuling hurriedly lowered his head, but his heart was pounding like a drum.
To him, everything that had happened that night was an extravagantly splendid feast, so much so that he remembered the melody for several years afterward.
What he did not know was that beneath the same night sky, that very night marked the death of innocence for the young imperial prince.
Only today, after Xiao Ying personally recounted what had happened that night, did he finally learn that behind the music he had innocently remembered all those years ago lay such a silent humiliation.
How cruelly ironic fate could be.
Years later, when he was forced to shed the pride of a noble-born young master and, as Lord Yuexi, ingratiate himself with others on the Luoyue Terrace, the imperial prince who had once been forced to perform had become a patron watching from below the stage.
He had failed to recognize Xiao Ying.
And Xiao Ying… probably no longer remembered him either.
At last, he understood that a person could possess ability and ambition, and even be fully prepared to pursue them, yet still be forced by status, power, and the will of others to live as someone entirely different.
That had happened to him.
And it had happened to Xiao Ying, too.
“Yuexi.”
Xiao Ying’s voice drew him back from the depths of his memories.
He pushed the jade-green wine cup he had filled to the brim toward Lord Yuexi.
“Since you’re already here, why not have a drink with me?”
Lord Yuexi accepted the cup with both hands, tilted his head back, and drained it in one gulp. The osmanthus wine carried a rich, sweet fragrance.
The liquor burned as it went down, igniting a strange kind of courage within him.
After setting down the cup, he met Xiao Ying’s gaze and finally asked the question that had been circling in his heart for so long.
“Your Highness… what is it that you truly want now?”
He wanted to know what kind of future this prince, who had long since seen through the merciless nature of emperors and spent years concealing his true abilities, envisioned for himself.
Xiao Ying did not answer immediately.
He gazed at the still, undisturbed waters of the pond outside the waterside pavilion. Only after a long while did he speak in a low voice.
“What I seek is no longer the naive ambition I held in my youth. After seeing the true nature of this imperial city, all I want now is to live in peace and stability, and… to figure out how to survive.”
He turned his head, a faint, dark glimmer appearing in his eyes.
“Simply plotting every day how to uproot that poisonous flower and replace the Crown Prince has already exhausted all my strength. Where would I find the energy to think about anything further?”
Lord Yuexi felt a quiet shock.
The poisonous flower—that half-open peony whose roots had spread everywhere, sucking the lifeblood from Dasheng—naturally referred to the powerful Sheng clan.
He had known that for some time.
But… the Crown Prince.
The term referred to the heir seated in the Eastern Palace.
So Xiao Ying actually intended to move against the Crown Prince?
Yet, on second thought, the old emperor was already advanced in years. His death was only a matter of time.
If the Crown Prince succeeded to the throne without incident, given his attitude at the longevity banquet all those years ago, Xiao Ying’s circumstances would only become a hundred times more miserable than they were now. He might even… lose his life.
Was Xiao Ying revealing such treasonous intentions to him because he trusted him?
Lord Yuexi smiled bitterly inwardly. By now, they were already bound together aboard the same perilous vessel, one that could capsize at any moment. If it sank, neither of them would escape.
Lord Yuexi composed himself, his expression remaining unchanged as he picked up the wine pot and refilled Xiao Ying’s cup.
“Neither of these matters is anything short of climbing to heaven itself. Even His Majesty might not be able to accomplish them easily.”
Xiao Ying raised his wine cup, his eyelids lifting slightly as he looked at him with an almost amused smile.
“Oh? If even Father cannot accomplish them, where do you think I should begin?”
“I believe Your Highness should begin with the case you are currently investigating—the ‘Pruning Case.'”
Lord Yuexi met his gaze and put forward the doubts he had repeatedly considered.
“If it can be proven that someone has been secretly plotting against the imperial heirs, that would be a heinous crime capable of shaking the very foundations of the state. An ordinary family would never be able to carry out such a thing without leaving a trace.”
He rapidly reorganized the clues he had gathered over the past several days in his mind, then laid out his reasoning in a clear and orderly manner.
“To maintain this system of ‘pruning,’ someone must possess precise knowledge of the rules passed down from the previous generation, as well as the necessary means to carry them out. Behind all this… there must inevitably be a force that has survived across several generations of emperors.”
His gaze burned as he stared at Xiao Ying.
“Furthermore, over the past three hundred years, no matter how many times power within the palace has changed hands, they have always found a way to pass this secret to the next generation. The secret must have a way of finding its next inheritor, allowing the practice to continue.”
“It is precisely because this has continued for so long that I have begun to suspect something.”
Lord Yuexi’s voice grew more solemn.
“What lies behind it may not be a single person, nor even a single generation. It may be an enormous organization capable of preserving its core secrets through hundreds of years of imperial succession, passing them down from one generation to the next.”
Xiao Ying swiftly organized the information in his mind.
“I examined several centuries’ worth of medical records from the Imperial Medical Academy. The prescription known as the ‘Tranquility Decoction’ already existed in the early days of Dasheng, and its origins can be traced back more than five hundred years. It is an ordinary, ancient medicinal formula.”
Xiao Ying’s tone grew heavier.
“But the existence of the prescription does not mean the same thing as the existence of the conspiracy. The fact that the formula has existed for five hundred years does not mean this plot has been underway for five hundred years. The truly valuable clue is this: beginning roughly three hundred years ago, the way this ordinary prescription was administered to certain imperial heirs began to exhibit a consistent, recurring pattern of abnormalities. And that pattern can be traced continuously through the records.”
According to his investigations, the earliest traces that led him to suspect the imperial bloodline had been tampered with appeared approximately three hundred years ago.
Three hundred years of accumulated power was hardly unusual among Dasheng’s great aristocratic clans.
However, this family would need more than a long lineage, wealth rivaling that of a nation, and deeply entrenched connections within the bureaucracy. It would also need the ability to seamlessly place its own people within the imperial palace and medical system.
Most terrifying of all, it would have to remain firmly established even after changes in imperial succession and upheavals in the political landscape.
What kind of family could have carried out something as heinous as the murder of imperial heirs—a crime that should bring about the extermination of the entire clan—for nearly three hundred years without fail?
“The ancient families of Dasheng…”
Xiao Ying’s voice sounded especially cold in the night breeze, like jade striking against jade.
“Aside from the imperial Xiao clan, there are only the Sheng, Li, Jiang, Xia, and Zheng clans.”
“But antiquity does not necessarily mean capability.”
Xiao Ying set down his empty wine cup, gently rubbing his fingertip along its rim.
“What truly chills me to the bone is that, beginning around three hundred years ago, the medical records of imperial heirs started to show a concealed yet consistent ‘abnormality.'”
Xiao Ying raised his eyes, his gaze as unfathomably deep as an abyss.
“Repeated medication. Long-term dependence. Infants who originally suffered only from night crying and frightening dreams began to exhibit frequent records of ‘excessive sleepiness,’ ‘reduced appetite,’ and ‘listlessness’ after taking the medicine. Some children’s conditions actually improved once the medication was discontinued. Others eventually died young, with imperial physicians attributing their deaths to ‘weak internal organs’ or ‘sudden severe illness.'”
Lord Yuexi listened quietly, his thoughts racing.
Xiao Ying paused for a moment. His tone carried a chill that was almost suffocating.
“Look at any one case in isolation, and it is a perfectly plausible early death. But lay out the medical records spanning more than three hundred years, and what you see is a web.”
A fine layer of cold sweat spread across Lord Yuexi’s back.
He understood what Xiao Ying meant, and he also understood the central point of the deduction he had just proposed.
“So the key lies not simply in the Tranquility Decoction.”
Lord Yuexi lowered his voice, as though afraid of disturbing the ghosts lurking in the darkness.
“It is that someone began to learn how to ‘use’ it more than three hundred years ago. This is not about one person living long enough. It is about a secret that has survived for long enough.”
“Precisely.”
A faint glimmer of approval flashed through Xiao Ying’s eyes.
“For a secret to survive for more than three hundred years, this family must meet two extremely demanding conditions.”
Xiao Ying raised one long, slender finger.
“First, time and inheritance. Over these three hundred years, emperors have come and gone, yet this force has never been cut off. That means they must possess a flawless system of succession—perhaps secrets passed down orally by each family head, perhaps some kind of hidden repository of family knowledge. Whatever the method, they must ensure that every successor inherits the secret with absolute precision.”
Then he raised a second finger.
“Second, power and infiltration. Money or military authority alone would be useless. They must possess the ability to maintain access to the imperial heirs across generations. That requires extremely deep connections, enough to reach into the inner palace, the Imperial Medical Academy, the imperial household, and even influence the assignment of wet nurses and palace maids. And whenever something goes wrong or an accident occurs, someone must be able to clean up the aftermath without leaving a trace.”
“Aside from the imperial Xiao clan, the great families of Dasheng include the Li, Jiang, Xia, Sheng, and Zheng clans…”
Lord Yuexi continued reasoning along the same lines.
“All of these clans have accumulated power over generations. Their deep foundations, former retainers, old associates, and roots in the imperial court are beyond question. However, the Li family has traditionally focused more on military and administrative achievements. The Jiang family has deeper roots among civil officials and within the court. The Xia family has established its position through the lineage of Grand Tutor Xia and its prestige among scholars. As for the Zheng family, although it stands alongside the other great clans, its foundations and connections are no less formidable. Yet, based on what we currently know, the scope of influence each can bring to bear remains somewhat removed from the inner palace, the Imperial Medical Academy, and the most secretive affairs surrounding the imperial heirs.”
His fingertips tapped lightly against the edge of his wine cup.
“To wield influence freely in the imperial court, one relies on official rank, connections, former retainers, and old associates. But to extend one’s reach steadily to the very cradles of the imperial family, generation after generation… that is no longer something a noble lineage alone can accomplish.”
“Indeed.”
Xiao Ying nodded slightly, tapping his fingertip against the tabletop.
“Then what about the Xiao clan? The imperial family itself possesses every possible advantage when it comes to accessing the imperial heirs.”
“The Xiao clan might indeed have the easiest access, but… I don’t think the likelihood is very high.”
Lord Yuexi considered the matter carefully.
“Power struggles within the imperial family are the fiercest of all. If a particular branch of the imperial clan were directing this operation, maintaining the same secret for three hundred years would be extremely difficult. It could easily be exposed during a struggle for the throne or a political dispute. The center of imperial power is far too turbulent to conceal a conspiracy spanning generations. The imperial family may have the easiest access, but it is not necessarily the best at preserving secrets.”
Xiao Ying smiled, but there was no warmth in it.
“So, after filtering through the clues we currently possess, only two families still meet both conditions: long-term survival and infiltration of the inner palace across generations.”
Lord Yuexi held his breath.
“The Jiang clan… and the Sheng clan.”
Holding his wine cup, Xiao Ying spoke slowly.
“The Jiang family has held high office for generations and is deeply versed in ritual regulations and education. The current Right Chancellor, Jiang Zhiyan, comes from this family. He is upright and outspoken, and the court has always regarded him as someone who places the interests of imperial authority first. Members of the Jiang family throughout the generations have also been involved in the Court of Imperial Sacrifices, the Imperial College, and various palace departments. If any of them had once been connected to the imperial physicians, the Imperial Pharmacy, or the supply networks serving the palace, that would be enough to form a chain of influence capable of being passed down.”
Hearing this, Lord Yuexi lowered his eyes slightly, carefully weighing every word Xiao Ying had said. Then he spoke softly.
“Although the conditions fit, their political position seems contradictory. The Jiang clan’s very foundation in the imperial court is built upon ‘respecting imperial authority and upholding the established order.’ Yet the essence of the Pruning Case is the secret weakening of the Xiao imperial clan and the murder of its heirs. If the Jiang family were truly involved, they would be digging up the very roots of their own position in the court. Wouldn’t a family that waves the banner of respecting imperial authority while undermining the foundation of the imperial house be contradicting itself?”
He paused slightly.
“Unless, in the Jiang family’s eyes, what they want is ‘a legitimate ruler who obeys them,’ rather than ‘a wise and mighty sovereign.’ But I still feel that if the goal is to weaken the imperial clan, the Jiang family’s position ultimately lacks one crucial element: a convincing motive.”
It was a reasonable deduction.
Under the framework Lord Yuexi had proposed, only the Sheng clan remained after all the filtering. Yet that was precisely what made Xiao Ying fall silent.
His gaze settled upon the dark surface of the water.
In the old records of the Imperial Clan Court, the Su family, once a family of great prominence, had risen six hundred years ago, only to vanish without a trace four hundred years ago. Meanwhile, the Sheng family had entered its golden age five hundred years ago and continued to flourish to this day.
The rise and fall of the Su clan and the rise of the Sheng clan had left an intriguing overlap of eras in the weighty pages of history.
Furthermore, among the confessions previously obtained during the investigation into the assassins, the totem glimpsed briefly on the body of one dead operative had been none other than a half-open peony.
Then there was the Wu family’s grain-tax shortfall case in Jiangnan. Although the investigation had only reached the Ministry of Revenue and grain administration, not a single trace yet pointed toward the Sheng family. But if the Sheng family truly possessed a web that had lain dormant for centuries, the absence of evidence would be entirely reasonable.
And now, after filtering the Pruning Case according to the requirement of infiltrating the inner palace across generations, the Sheng family had once again emerged as the final possibility.
Moreover, the earlier scheme involving the elopement case bore certain similarities to the methods used in the Pruning Case.
Once could be coincidence. Twice could indicate a connection.
But if, across different eras, different old cases, and different government offices, those fine threads of evidence ultimately brushed past the same surname, whether intentionally or otherwise…
Why was it always the Sheng family?
Xiao Ying’s fingers tightened slightly.
The Sheng family—that half-open peony with roots spreading everywhere—certainly possessed the means to weave people and relationships together layer upon layer, whether through wealth, official connections, influence in the inner palace, or marriage alliances.
But everything was fitting together far too neatly.
The half-open peony emblem was too conspicuous, and the overlaps in history were far too perfect.
If there truly was a hand arranging things behind the scenes over several centuries, were these clues traces of an oversight by the Sheng family, or had someone learned that he was secretly investigating them and deliberately placed this peony before his eyes?
“Your Highness…”
Looking at Xiao Ying, Lord Yuexi was suddenly struck by a dangerous thought.
He recalled the medical records Xiao Ying had mentioned earlier.
“You said that these abnormal medical records began more than three hundred years ago. But during that period… were there any gaps?”
Xiao Ying’s thoughts returned to the present.
He looked at Lord Yuexi, and the profound meaning in his eyes was unsettling.
“There were.” Xiao Ying softly uttered a single word. “There was one suspected case from more than eighty years ago. Before that, there was a gap of more than twenty years. Before that, another gap of more than ten years. There were even one or two generations of the imperial family that appeared entirely unharmed, with no abnormalities whatsoever.”
Outside the waterside pavilion, the drooping clusters of weeping crabapple blossoms rustled softly in the night breeze.
Lord Yuexi felt as though all the air around him had been drained away.
“They weren’t doing it continuously…” Lord Yuexi murmured, unable to conceal the shock in his eyes. “They were ‘waiting.'”
This was not simply a matter of long-term poisoning, nor was it a case of killing every prince they encountered.
The executioner hidden behind the curtain was like an extraordinarily calm gardener, standing aside and coldly observing the great tree that was the Xiao imperial clan.
They seemed to be waiting for certain conditions to be triggered. Perhaps a particular prince would prove too healthy and intelligent. Perhaps the maternal family of a certain imperial heir would begin to develop an influence that was difficult to control. Or perhaps a particular bloodline itself posed a threat.
If that were truly the case, then only when these conditions appeared would they quietly raise the scissors known as the Tranquility Decoction and snip away the branch that was never meant to grow.
“They are controlling the composition of the imperial bloodline.”
Lord Yuexi raised his eyes and looked directly at Xiao Ying. Even if this was merely their current hypothesis, it was already terrifying enough.
“They are keeping the imperial family of Dasheng like livestock.”
Xiao Ying did not refute him. He simply turned his gaze toward the heavy darkness of the night.
“That is why I am not looking for a murderer.”
He picked up the wine pot and refilled the cup before Lord Yuexi. The liquor reflected a cold sheen in the faint light.
“I am looking for the pair of scissors that has hung over the Xiao family for hundreds of years, passed down from one generation to the next. Judging by its wealth, its connections in the bureaucracy, its infiltration of the inner palace, and its enduring political influence, the Sheng family looks far too much like the one holding those scissors, based on the evidence we have now.”
Xiao Ying’s gaze darkened slightly, and a dangerous chill entered his voice.
“Looking like the culprit does not mean it is the culprit. But it has become the central focus of my investigation. I must reorganize all the old cases and reexamine the paths its activities have taken.”
He turned and looked steadily at Lord Yuexi, whose long hair fell loosely around his shoulders. Even without makeup, his features retained their pure and distinguished elegance.
“Now, do you understand why I said that simply thinking about how to uproot that poisonous flower has already exhausted all my thoughts and energy?”
Lord Yuexi lifted his cup of wine.
In the past, all he had wanted was to survive in the Shuyu Pavilion, climb his way to the top, and exhaust every means to uncover the truth behind the Wu family’s destruction all those years ago.
Now, he had been swept into an abyss of power struggles that had lasted for hundreds of years.
Yet he did not retreat. Instead, he felt a kind of calm he had never experienced before.
Lord Yuexi raised the jade-green wine cup with both hands. The murkiness that had once shrouded his eyes as he navigated the false courtesies and deceptions of the Shuyu Pavilion had faded, replaced by a cold, clear glimmer.
“Then Yuexi will accompany Your Highness and help unravel this centuries-old game of chess, piece by piece, until not a single thread remains.”
The corners of Xiao Ying’s lips lifted into a faint but genuine smile.
He raised his cup and gently clinked it against Lord Yuexi’s, producing a clear sound like jade striking jade.
“Then let us wish that we may soon recover the light of day that should have belonged to us.”
After several cups of osmanthus wine, a faint flush gradually spread across Xiao Ying’s fair, coldly handsome face.
The tips of his eyes were tinged with drunkenness, and his unfathomably deep eyes shimmered with a hazy light.
Lord Yuexi, by contrast, swallowed the fragrant wine as though it were plain water.
There was not the slightest sign of drunkenness. If anything, his gaze grew clearer in the night breeze.
His eyes swept over the slightly tipsy Xiao Ying, and countless complicated feelings suddenly surged in his heart.
Who could have imagined that the threads of fate had been buried so deeply?
Five years ago, at that longevity banquet, they had already met.
Yet now, upon meeting again, he had long since been forced to shed the innocence and worldly ignorance of a noble-born young master, crawling through the mud and struggling to survive.
And Xiao Ying had long since buried the hopes of his youth with his own hands, concealing all his extraordinary brilliance and deep calculations beneath the absurd façade of a frivolous, carefree man.
Fortunately, tonight’s konghou melody had helped him recover the tune he had lost, along with the memories he had almost forgotten.
It had also finally allowed him to see the truest and most bitter part of Xiao Ying hidden beneath that ridiculous exterior.
Whether Xiao Ying wanted to replace the Crown Prince merely to survive or had other reasons as well, he had already resolved to accompany Xiao Ying in this game of chess.
Lord Yuexi suddenly set down his wine cup. The jade porcelain struck the stone table with a soft clink.
The faint smile at his lips disappeared, and the solemn bearing of the noble young master he had once been emerged between his brows.
“Your Highness, there is something I must correct.”
Xiao Ying propped his chin on one hand and lazily raised his eyelids.
“What is it?”
“I wish to take back the poem I wrote that day at the Shuyu Pavilion.”
Lord Yuexi lowered his eyes. His voice was slightly hoarse, yet utterly earnest.
“Even if I wrote it as a test at the time, looking back now, every word and every line was an insult and a disrespect to Your Highness, like a slow torture. Jiuling… was in the wrong.”
The name “Jiuling” caused Xiao Ying’s slightly intoxicated gaze to shift.
He looked at the person before him, who no longer referred to himself as “Yuexi” but had instead spoken the name that should have been buried long ago. His fingers tightened slightly around his wine cup.
After a long silence, he finally tugged at the corner of his mouth. He toyed with the cup, attempting to conceal his feelings behind his habitual self-mockery.
“I thought it was rather well written. It accurately reflects the first impression I give people. There’s no need to…”
“No.”
Lord Yuexi’s tone was unusually stubborn, carrying an almost obsessive determination.
There was no brush or ink at hand. He gazed into Xiao Ying’s eyes and considered the matter briefly.
Then he raised the jade-green wine cup. The osmanthus wine shimmered with a cold light beneath the moon.
Like someone chanting to the moon, he recited the lines with unwavering conviction:
“Cold frost drifts toward the night lotus, A proud and noble spirit hides beneath mortal dust.”
Each word rang out with force, as though he were restoring the good name of the imperial prince before him, a man who had borne so much humiliation and endured so much in silence.
He knew that Xiao Ying’s name concealed a purity as cold and resolute as snow.
Beneath that layer of ice and snow lay an unbroken, proud spirit, quietly hidden beneath the snow rather than shattered by it.
And Xiao Ying’s grace and careful schemes were like that silent frost, protecting him, a night lotus mired in the mud, without a sound.
After hearing the poem, Xiao Ying’s fingers stopped moving around his wine cup.
The night breeze swept past, dispersing the haze that drunkenness had brought to the corners of his eyes.
In those unfathomably deep eyes, a complicated emotion surged, difficult to put into words.
There was the trembling shock of being seen through, the bittersweet relief of setting down a heavy burden, and the burning warmth of a man who had walked alone for so many years finally encountering someone who understood him.
He remained silent for a long time. At last, he slowly set down his wine cup.
The frivolity gradually faded from the corners of his mouth, replaced by solemnity, tenderness, and a weight of emotion he could no longer conceal.
“What a fine line… ‘hides beneath mortal dust.'”
Xiao Ying chuckled softly, his voice carrying a faint, almost imperceptible hoarseness.
He raised his eyes. His gaze passed through the moonlight and the night breeze, reaching deep into Wu Jiuling’s battered yet still noble soul.
“If that is so, Jiuling, then allow me to return a verse to you.”
Xiao Ying met his gaze and spoke each word with unmistakable conviction.
“The bright moon waits for dawn’s first light, An icy heart and proud wings soar through the nine heavens.”
These were not merely lines Xiao Ying had improvised in response. They were a promise.
Even if Jiuling had once fallen into the mire, even if his body was covered in scars, in Xiao Ying’s eyes, he had always remained pure and untainted. He was still the Wu family young master with an icy heart and proud wings whom Xiao Ying had once glimpsed years ago.
This was how Xiao Ying saw him, and this was the Wu Jiuling he hoped to see one day: someone who would wash away the dust and grime and rise once more into the nine heavens.
Lord Yuexi’s eyelashes trembled slightly.
The grievances and indignities he had buried deep beneath years of humiliation seemed to crumble silently beneath those two lines of poetry. Something warm struck the depths of his heart, and an indescribable current of warmth began to spread through him.
The two sat across a table littered with the remnants of wine, gazing at each other for a long time in the quiet night. Then, as though by mutual understanding, they both smiled in relief.
Five years ago, that fleeting glimpse had passed them by, and they had brushed past each other like parallel lines.
Five years later, when they met again, both were covered in mud and wearing masks. Yet today, through a single konghou melody and two fragments of poetry, they had finally seen the flesh and bone, the pride and integrity, beneath each other’s disguises.
Though everything had changed, Lord Yuexi could now feel the strong, steady beat returning to his chest.
His heart, which had long since died, along with the name Wu Jiuling, was slowly awakening at the meeting point of the cold frost and the first light of dawn.
The night breeze brushed lightly through the flowers and trees outside the waterside pavilion.
Xiao Ying’s gaze shifted from Lord Yuexi’s face to his bare foot, which had grown slightly red after his hurried journey there.
In the darkness, a narrow silver chain encircled his snow-white ankle.
“Lift your foot up here.”
Xiao Ying suddenly spoke, patting his own knee to indicate that Lord Yuexi should rest his foot there.
Lord Yuexi froze slightly, hesitating.
But when he met Xiao Ying’s calm, gentle gaze, he realized that Xiao Ying was looking at the chain around his ankle.
In the end, he followed the instruction, lifting his left foot and gently resting his ankle on Xiao Ying’s knee.
Xiao Ying extended his long, slender fingers and carefully lifted the silver chain that lay against the cool skin, inspecting it.
Two tiny silver bells hung from the chain. The joint was sealed tightly shut, having been fused together with molten silver back then.
Xiao Ying’s brows drew together slightly.
At last, he understood why Lord Yuexi had never removed the chain.
It was a shackle that had been fastened onto him at the Shuyu Pavilion.
Yuheng, the master of the Shuyu Pavilion, appeared gentle and refined on the surface but was, in truth, shrewd and calculating. He had treated Lord Yuexi with considerably more courtesy than he showed ordinary male courtesans, but ultimately, in his eyes, Lord Yuexi was nothing more than a priceless “commodity.”
The silver bell chain looked like an exquisite ornament, but in reality, it was a hidden leash around his neck.
If the wearer ever attempted to cross the line and escape, the slightest movement would set the bells ringing, exposing his whereabouts.
Because the chain had been soldered shut, it would require a sharp tool to cut it open. Trying to tear it apart with bare hands would be nearly impossible and could easily cause injury, ripping the flesh.
Xiao Ying gently played with the two cold silver bells between his fingertips. A teasing, almost amused glimmer appeared in his eyes, though his tone remained exceedingly gentle.
“With this thing on, it will be inconvenient for you to escape if you ever need to. Why not have it removed?”
Lord Yuexi lowered his gaze to the silver chain that had bound him for three years.
On the night he had first arrived at the Shuyu Pavilion, the silver bells had been fastened around his ankle. Although the fire had been separated from his skin by a cushion and had not directly burned him, the heat had still reached him, leaving him with burns.
Those injuries had healed long ago.
At the time, he had indeed considered escaping. Yet the silver bells had bound him psychologically as well.
They had told him that even if he escaped, he would not survive outside.
Even if he were not immediately captured and dragged back, he would be wanted by the authorities and would never be able to free himself from that fate for the rest of his life.
He raised his eyes to Xiao Ying. A faint smile appeared in his clear gaze.
“Your Highness, aren’t you afraid that I might really run away?”
“If you want to leave, just tell me. I’ll prepare travel money and a carriage for you.”
Xiao Ying smiled.
Hearing this, Lord Yuexi could not help smiling as well. For once, he allowed himself to joke.
“Then I’ll have to trouble Your Highness to remove the chain for me. As for running away, I find the prince’s residence quite comfortable at the moment. Leaving now would be a terrible loss for me.”
Xiao Ying raised a hand and beckoned toward the outside of the waterside pavilion. A personal guard waiting some distance away hurried over and leaned in to listen.
Xiao Ying gave a brief, quiet instruction. Before long, the guard returned with a small pair of sharp iron shears.
Xiao Ying took the shears in one hand and securely supported Lord Yuexi’s slender, pale ankle with the other. He placed a cloth beneath the silver chain to keep the metal from touching the skin directly. The warmth of his palm rested against the coldness of Lord Yuexi’s ankle.
His expression was focused, and his movements precise, careful not to injure the foot.
With a crisp snip, the soldered silver chain broke apart.
Xiao Ying gathered the severed chain and its two silver bells in his palm. Then he took Lord Yuexi’s hand and gently placed the cold pieces of metal into it.
“What you do with them is entirely up to you.”
Looking at him, Xiao Ying spoke in a warm voice.
“You can throw them into the pond to feed the fish, melt them down, or keep them as a reminder of your past. The choice is yours. Your body will no longer be restrained by anything.”
Lord Yuexi slowly closed his fingers around the chain. The silver bells gave one final, muffled chime in his palm.
Without the chain, his ankle felt strangely empty. The oppressive sensation of invisible shackles that had weighed on him for so long gradually faded away. From now on, that ever-present ringing, constantly reminding him of his status, would never follow him again…
Lord Yuexi murmured softly, “Then I’ll keep it.”
Xiao Ying asked, “Can’t bear to part with it?”
Lord Yuexi shook his head.
“No.”
He lowered his head and looked at the severed chain in his palm, his fingertip gently tracing the cut joint.
“I just want to remember that it was once a part of me. And I want to remember that today, Your Highness was the one who cut it off for me.”
He turned to look at Xiao Ying.
There was nothing worth reminiscing about in those past years. More importantly, it was precisely because that heavy burden remained as a reminder that every memory and every kindness he had received now seemed so precious. Every day, every moment, was worth cherishing.
Xiao Ying was still of the emperor’s bloodline. That fact could never be changed, and Lord Yuexi would never forget it.
But they were different people. At least, he could still distinguish that much.
The person he wanted to accompany through this game of chess was Xiao Ying. That decision had nothing to do with whether Xiao Ying was the emperor’s son.
Xiao Ying set the small iron shears on the stone table and straightened his posture. His gaze settled on the person before him, and his expression grew more serious.
“Now that the silver chain has been removed… when we’re alone, may I call you ‘Jiuling’ from now on?”
Lord Yuexi froze slightly.
He lifted his eyes and met those gentle, affectionate eyes. For some inexplicable reason, his heart skipped a beat.
He lowered his eyelashes, avoiding Xiao Ying’s gaze, and answered softly, “Your Highness may call me whatever you wish…”
His voice faltered briefly. He pressed his lips together, seemingly at a loss, before raising his head again and adding earnestly, “But if you call me ‘Jiuling’ when we’re alone… I would naturally prefer that.”
Hearing this, a smile appeared in Xiao Ying’s eyes. He then said, “Tomorrow is my scheduled day of rest. I’ll be holding a private banquet at the residence, inviting a few close friends whom I trust. If you are willing, you can join us.”
He placed particular emphasis on the next words.
“Not in your capacity as Lord Yuexi.”
The hand Lord Yuexi had been about to extend toward the wine pot froze slightly, suspended in midair.
He was perceptive enough to understand the deeper meaning behind those words.
Not in his capacity as Lord Yuexi meant that Xiao Ying wanted him to meet the people who were truly his friends on an equal footing.
But… Xiao Ying’s friends were surely all noble young masters of distinguished status, weren’t they?
His mind involuntarily flashed back to the last musical gathering, when the young men from the great families had looked at him with eyes full of contempt, lewd familiarity, and shameless scrutiny.
The humiliation of being treated like a plaything, stripped open and examined, made his fingertips curl slightly.
Even though he should have grown accustomed to it by now, he still could not rid himself of that sense of disgust.
Yet then he remembered the binding cloth he had personally ordered to be put away that very night.
He remembered Inquiring of Plum Blossoms Amid Condensing Rain, the melody he had recovered five years later.
And he remembered the silver bell chain in his palm, the one that had restrained him for three years.
He realized that he was no longer living merely to accommodate other people’s gazes.
Seeing his hesitation, a trace of reluctance crossed Xiao Ying’s eyes. He spoke softly.
“If you don’t wish to go, that is fine. I absolutely won’t—”
“I am willing.”
Before Xiao Ying could finish, Lord Yuexi interrupted him.
He clenched his fingers, forcibly suppressing the fear hidden deep inside. When he raised his head, his eyes were clear and resolute.
“You needn’t force yourself,” Xiao Ying said, his brows drawing together slightly.
“I know that I still don’t want to be looked at in that way.”
Lord Yuexi met his gaze, the corners of his lips lifting into a relieved smile.
“But this time… I want to walk in there of my own accord. I also want to see for myself what kind of people Your Highness’s friends are.”
Xiao Ying studied his eyes in silence. There was not a trace of reluctance or retreat in them, only the solitary courage of someone whose resolve had grown stronger after weathering countless storms.
At last, the furrow between Xiao Ying’s brows relaxed, and a warm smile spread across his face.
“Very well. Tomorrow, at the Condensing Rain Pavilion, it will be nothing more than a small private gathering.”
Xiao Ying’s voice was soft, yet carried a reassuring strength.
“You needn’t feel constrained. Just relax and be yourself. I’ll be here.”
Hearing those words, Lord Yuexi immediately felt much more at ease.
The remaining wine in his cup carried the faint, elegant fragrance of osmanthus. His gaze shifted slightly toward the konghou beside the stone table. With a hint of hope and hesitation, he spoke softly.
“Your Highness… that piece you played just now, Inquiring of Plum Blossoms Amid Condensing Rain… would it be possible for you to play it once more?”
This time, it was no longer a test or an act of self-protection. He simply wanted to hear that melody again, with its cold, proud spirit and warmth that seeped deep into the marrow.
This time, he wanted to engrave the melody more deeply into his memory.
Xiao Ying was slightly taken aback, but a tolerant, gentle light soon appeared in his eyes.
He said nothing more. Instead, he brushed back his sleeves and settled himself before the instrument once again, his long, well-defined fingers rising and falling gracefully above the strings.
“Very well.” Xiao Ying lifted his eyes to meet Lord Yuexi’s gaze, a smile lingering at the corners of his slightly intoxicated eyes. “Since you wish to hear it, I shall play it once more for Jiuling.”
The sound of the konghou rose again, clear and crystalline, drifting through the stillness of the waterside pavilion.
As the melody began, it was like fine frost falling gently from the heavens, carrying a tender chill as it settled over the red plum blossoms standing proudly on their branches.
The music was delicate as silk, each note resonant and intimate. It caressed the painful memories frozen into their very bones and blood, before transforming deep within the flower’s heart into a warmth that could not be dispersed, a heat that seeped into the marrow.
The night deepened, and the dew grew heavy. Outside the waterside pavilion, the weeping crabapple trees swayed gently in the night breeze, their petals falling in scattered showers like rain.
The melody intertwined with the moonlight beneath the blossoms and the remnants of osmanthus wine, brushing past the silhouettes of two people who no longer guarded themselves against each other.
The pride and truth that had long been sealed away by the passage of time were also preparing to awaken once more in the first light of dawn.