As soon as Yushu left, Nalan began coughing. Several duty doctors from the Imperial Hospital hurried into Zhaoyang Hall, taking her pulse and brewing medicine, bustling about for over two hours.
The hall was filled with the strong scent of medicinal broth. Nalan lay on the bed, still panting weakly. The day's exhaustion had left her face even more pallid.
"Your Majesty, we've inquired—His Majesty is staying at Qinglu Hall tonight with no consorts attending."
Nalan covered her chest, her breath faint, and asked, "Is Consort Cheng not at Qinglu Hall?"
"No, Consort Cheng is having her monthly courses and is currently at Hongfang to avoid the red."
Nalan nodded, pondered silently for a moment, and said, "The weather is getting colder. Go instruct Cao Qiu to have his servants be cautious and ensure His Majesty doesn't catch a chill."
"Yes."
Just as Wenyuan was about to leave, Nalan suddenly called out, "Never mind, don't go after all."
With that, she turned and lay down facing inward, her voice very soft as she added, "Don't call me for the evening meal. I want to sleep for a while."
"Yes, Your Majesty."It had been five years since Yan Xun ascended the throne, and like many emperors throughout history, the imperial harem had gradually grown lively." Countless young, beautiful women flowed into the palace like a stream—some charming, some coldly elegant, some well-versed in poetry, some adorably naive. It was as if all the flowers in the world had bloomed overnight in this lonely palace, bustling with color and prosperity all day long.
Unfortunately, despite having been in the palace for four years, Nalan had yet to bear a single child, while other consorts repeatedly became pregnant. Consort Cheng, the younger sister of General Cheng Yuan, even gave birth to a pair of sons at once, and her status in the imperial harem was already approaching that of the Empress, who had withdrawn from court life due to illness.
And he had not set foot in Zhaoyang Hall for a very, very long time.
Today, if Yushu hadn't brought Yong'er, he probably wouldn't have come either.
The sun gradually set, and the moon climbed the treetops. A pair of red candles burned brightly, flickering with light. Nalan was very thin now, curled up in the brocade quilt like a frail bird, occasionally coughing softly.
Perhaps she had long stopped hoping.
Six years ago, on the day of the alliance at the pass, news spread across the Ximeng Continent that the young heir of Qinghai had been born. The young lord, having suffered from cold and bumps in the womb, was in poor health and nearly died at birth. The Qinghai Royal Consort was also critically weak after childbirth. The King of Qinghai's devotion to his wife and child was renowned throughout the land; he had once given up the chance to contend for the throne with Yan Xun for his wife's sake, let alone now.
Qinghai immediately issued a proclamation, offering a hefty reward of ten thousand gold for renowned physicians of the time. It was heard that Elder Qingzhu of Maoling was highly skilled in medicine, but he was old and stubborn, viewing Qinghai as a barbaric land and unwilling to travel. The King of Qinghai dared to lead only three thousand elite cavalry out of Cuiwei Pass during the peak of Yanbei and Huai Song's alliance, charging all the way to Maoling to abduct Elder Qingzhu, ultimately saving the lives of the young prince and King Xiuli.
The day the news arrived was also the day of her and Yan Xun's betrothal ceremony. The gifts and golden invitations, the bright red mandarin ducks—everything fulfilled her long-held wishes.
She opened the golden invitation, and at the top were their names written in his own hand.
Yan Xun
Nalan HongyeSide by side, stroke by stroke, each horizontal line and curved hook seemed to outline the long half of her life. Her fingers slid over the white-headed colorful phoenixes, the double-red golden invitations, the gilded seal characters, and finally rested on eight characters radiating joy:
"Guarding and accompanying each other, forever united in heart."
Though they were the simplest eight characters, they made her eyes grow slightly moist.
That evening, the two of them sat in the Hehuan Hall sharing the double happiness banquet. Outside the courtyard, an apricot tree was in full bloom, vibrant as burning clouds at sunset. When the wind blew, fallen petals scattered everywhere, filling the sky with red and pink flying blossoms like a rain of brilliance.
He sat before her, his expression calm, his words full of diplomatic rhetoric. Though he spoke sparingly, his words were flawless—neither impolite nor overly intimate.
Nalan wanted several times to speak of some long-concealed past, but each time, his indifferent expression stopped her. As dusk deepened and he was about to leave, she grew anxious and was just about to speak when his personal guard suddenly reported urgent military intelligence.
The King of Qinghai was already approaching Maoling, and these people were only now reporting this crucial news.
Yan Xun had always been cool and detached, but at that moment, his expression changed. He immediately ordered the troops near Maoling to assemble, sparing no cost to block the King of Qinghai inside the pass for one day.
But before the guard could leave, Yan Xun called out to stop him. The evening sunset cast a hazy light on his face. His hand was half-extended, held in a posture as if he wanted to say something, yet no words came out. Apricot blossoms in the courtyard fluttered and fell, scattering all over the ground.
"Forget it."
He lowered his hand and returned to his usual composure.
"Forget it?"
The guard was slightly taken aback and instinctively echoed the words. Hearing this, Yan Xun slightly raised his eyebrows but said nothing. His gaze swept over the guard’s face like a pool of icy water.
Terrified, the guard dropped to his knees with a thud and retreated backward out of the hall.
As the sky gradually darkened, Yan Xun turned his head and smiled naturally at Nalan, placing a slice of bamboo shoot on her plate. "Eat more bamboo shoots; they’re good for your health."
Having spent half her life navigating the treacherous waters of officialdom, Nalan had long mastered the art of maintaining composure.
She also smiled and nodded. "Thank you, Your Majesty."
It was merely a tiny, insignificant episode. All the attending servants forgot this trivial matter in an instant. Only she remembered it vividly.
That evening, in the lingering glow of the sunset, she seemed to vaguely realize something—yet for so many years, she had refused to acknowledge it.
A low cough came from the bedchamber. Wen Yuan, waiting in the outer hall, grabbed a handful of suhe incense and placed it in the censer, her brow slightly furrowed.
Outside the window, the moonlight was faint, and tree shadows danced gracefully. In Zhenhuang, winter was approaching once again.
**
Yushu had slept during the day, so she found herself wide awake at night.
Wrapped in a silver-fox-trimmed cloak and carrying a lantern, she went to Yong’er’s room. Yong’er was sleeping soundly, well-behaved and not kicking off the covers. His little mouth was pouted as if he were dreaming of eating something.
Yushu sat by his bedside. The night wind was so still, and the calming incense in the corner spiraled upward in coils, like wisps of smoke from a rural hearth. Yushu reached out to touch her son’s face but hesitated, afraid she might bring in the chill from outside. Instead, she merely traced a gentle outline above his forehead, then curved her lips into a soft smile.Unconsciously, the third watch drum sounded from afar, the night watchman's voice drawn out and distant. At this moment, Yushu felt completely at peace; even the "beware of fire and candles" call sounded exceptionally serene.
She stood up and walked out, closing the door for the child. Just as she was about to turn back to her room, she caught sight of the candlelit study in her peripheral vision.
In an instant, she froze there.
Just like countless times over the years, she stood rooted to the spot, quietly gazing.
It had been five years. The stone statue in the East Sea was covered in dust, the upright officials at court had forgotten that name, and even the coastal residents who once prayed for him day and night had likely removed his memorial tablet, replacing it with those of their own parents and loved ones.
Everyone was gradually forgetting that man—forgetting his achievements, his sacrifices, his voice and smile, and forgetting the immense price he had paid for this nation, for this land.
Yet only she, this foolish woman, never failed to light the candles in his study every evening as night fell.
She dared not approach, just as when he was alive. Even when she personally prepared soup, she could only have her maid deliver it for her.
He said he had official duties to attend to and could not be disturbed—so she believed him.
He said there was urgent military intelligence and idlers were not allowed near—so she believed him.
He said he would be working late tonight and would stay in the study, telling her not to wait—so she believed him.
She was just such a foolish woman, believing whatever her man said. Yet sometimes, she also wanted to say something—just a few simple words. Like how she would only deliver a bowl of soup and leave immediately, just like the servants, without disturbing him. Like how she was his wife, perhaps not exactly an idler. Like how she actually stayed up late every night, so even if he worked until very late, he need not worry about waking her.
But she still dared not speak. Perhaps she was just a bit shy, a bit unable to voice it.
And so, day after day, night after night, she would lean against the window frame, watching the lamplight in the study until it went out. Only then could she climb into bed and close her eyes in peace.
Sometimes she wondered: Did this count as sharing the same rest?
But the moment such a thought surfaced, her face would flush with embarrassment.
Every time she returned to her family home, her elder sisters would quietly whisper to her, suggesting that her prince might have someone else on the side. Whenever she heard this, she would grow very angry. What kind of person the prince was—how could they slander him with such thoughts?
But her eloquence was truly lacking. After several attempts to argue logically, she could never win against her sisters. Gradually, she even visited her maternal home less frequently.
She knew she had the best husband in the world. He was upright, kind, and immensely talented. His paintings were praised throughout the court, his calligraphy was unmatched in the capital, his poetry was widely circulated. At home, he never drank alcohol; even when socializing outside, he never got drunk. He took no concubines, never visited pleasure quarters. He was the renowned Xuanxian Prince at court and the most celebrated general in the military.
Though he sometimes neglected her due to his busy official duties, what did it matter? Compared to her mother, her sisters, and those noblewomen constantly scheming and competing for favor with other wives in their households, she was far too fortunate.
He was her husband, her heaven, her entire world.Wasn't she supposed to believe in him, care for him, and wait for him?
How could there be doubt, suspicion, slander, or the resentful discontent of lamenting spring and grieving autumn?
Moreover, even though he was gone, she still enjoyed the honors he had left behind from his lifetime, and, most precious of all, she had the child he had given her.
There was nothing left to be unsatisfied about.
She smiled faintly, her expression clear and simple. She tugged at the collar of her cloak and silently murmured:
"Tomorrow, I must buy window paper. It's getting cold—the study's window paper needs replacing."
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