Upon hearing the news of Yuan Shilan's suicide, Nalan remained silent for a long time. Wen Yuan quietly led the servants out, leaving behind a room bathed in clear, tranquil afternoon sunlight.
She recalled the last time she had seen that sharp, ice-and-snow-like woman. Back then, Yuan Shilan’s head was wrapped in layers of gauze. Even though the wounds were not visible, one could still imagine, through the faint traces of blood, the devastating state of her face beneath.
Calmly, she looked at Nalan and said in a very light voice, "Even if it isn’t me, it will never be you."
Nalan smiled faintly. Given her status, she shouldn’t have visited a deposited, disgraced consort in the cold palace. Yet she had come anyway. So now, faced with Yuan Shilan’s usual mercilessness, she didn’t react strongly. She simply watched her quietly and asked the question that had long been hidden in her heart: "Even if it isn’t you, you didn’t have to go this far. Don’t you know that everyone in the palace has been waiting for a day like this for you?"
"Who has time to engage in petty schemes with them?"
Yuan Shilan gave a cold laugh, the knife scar at the corner of her mouth revealing itself, making her look eerie and terrifying.
"I just don’t want to waste my time guarding a man who has no heart for me."
Nalan pressed on, "And what about the Emperor? Do you have no heart for him either?"
Yuan Shilan’s expression suddenly turned ferocious. She turned her head away fiercely, lowered her voice, and said resentfully, "If it’s not mine, I don’t want it."
Amid the brilliant lights of the Southeast Palace, Nalan, dressed in luxurious brocade robes, leaned back in her chair and smiled silently.
Did she really not want it? Was she truly heartless? If it were as she claimed, why would she mutilate her own face for someone she didn’t care about? Why would she wallow in endless loneliness and self-pity, ultimately choosing to end her life so decisively?
In the end, it was the recklessness of youth, the naivety and willfulness, that allowed her to act so rashly and capriciously, without ever considering the price her parents and clan would have to pay for her irresponsible suicide.
The inner palace was such a terrifying place—it could drive people mad, make them lose their minds, and even lead a young woman to slash her own face, then casually decide to die without a second thought.
She thought her suicide would make that man feel guilty, that it would make him remember her forever. Little did she know that in this vast palace, her life and death were nothing more than a fleeting firework—a brief topic of conversation among the consorts over tea, leaving no lasting ripples.
In this imperial palace, there was no shortage of wronged souls who had died in vain.
As time passed—a month, two months, a year, two years—who would still remember the once highly favored Consort Chu?
"How foolish!" Nalan sighed softly.
With such a title, she could have relied on a lifetime of glory and wealth. Coupled with her strikingly similar appearance and temperament, it wouldn’t have been difficult for her to enjoy the Emperor’s exclusive favor for life. It was a pity she lacked the wit and breadth of mind.
"Your Highness?"
Wen Yuan stood at the door, holding a bowl of freshly brewed medicinal soup, calling out softly.
Nalan casually gestured for her to enter, took the medicine, and began sipping it spoonful by spoonful. Despite the bitterness, she drank it as if it were mere soup, without even furrowing her brow. Wen Yuan watched from the side, a small bowl of rock sugar still on the tray. She parted her lips several times as if to speak but ultimately said nothing."By my decree, Lady Yuan, virtuous and gentle, kind and benevolent, has now passed from a sudden illness. She is posthumously granted the title of Sixth-Rank Huiren, to be buried in the Western Consorts' Mausoleum. Award her maternal family a thousand gold and promote her brother's official rank—let the Ministry of Revenue handle it appropriately."
Wenyuan was momentarily stunned, glancing at Nalan in confusion. Indeed, the Grand Princess had the authority to discuss state affairs and appoint local officials of the fourth rank and below in the Huai Song region. But since she fell ill, she had relinquished these powers for over two years. Was it worth it now, for the sake of a minor condemned consort?
Yet Nalan offered no explanation, merely continuing, "The Emperor has been overwhelmed with court affairs lately. The news of Lady Yuan's death should not reach him. Instruct all palaces to guard their tongues."
Wenyuan hastily nodded in agreement.
The hall fell silent once more. The earlier words seemed to have exhausted Nalan. She lay back down, massaging her temples with her fingers, a slight frown creasing her brow.
Even in the depths of anger and demotion, there must have been some lingering affection. Such exclusive favor, such doting love—could it truly have been without a shred of sincerity? And if there was even a trace of it, learning of her hanging would inevitably bring him some sorrow. With unrest on the northwestern border and relentless factional strife in the court, he already had enough worldly worries to burden him.
After taking her medicine, she felt unusually drowsy. In her hazy thoughts, she reflected: the deposed consort of the Western Cold Palace would never see the Emperor's face again. In two or three years, he might forget her entirely. Even if he remembered her someday, his feelings toward a woman who "died of illness" would not be too unbearable.
The candle sputtered—another cold, lonely night. The decree from the southeastern palace reached all quarters, and the mistresses quickly grasped the Empress's intent. Though some were indignant at her leniency toward Yuan Shilan's family, none dared voice it. The recent incident where Consort Cheng personally apologized and then secluded herself in the prayer hall had subtly reminded them: the Empress still held imperial favor and wielded authority—not to be underestimated.
The rear palace remained as tranquil as ever, like a deep lake, calm and unruffled, without a ripple in sight. Nightly, songs and dances drifted melodiously; daily, pipes and strings echoed through the halls. Beneath this facade of harmony, all schemes and manipulations were quietly buried by a blanket of winter snow. The palace was vast, worldly affairs numerous, and that woman with a heart of ice and eyes like cold steel had ultimately withered like a fading flower, drifting down without a sound.
"Living always requires more courage than dying."
Nalan's smile was always faint. Gazing at the gradually brightening dawn outside the window, she seemed to glimpse again that figure in dark robes standing in the shadows, silently watching her. The ancient, solemn sword at his waist concealed its bloodthirsty edge within its simple scabbard.
He stood there, beneath black canopies that fluttered like sinister butterflies of death.
That day was her father's burial. He stood behind the grieving, weeping princess and spoke those words.
"But..."
Suddenly, a wind rose outside. A light snow had fallen the previous night and had yet to cease. As the wind picked up, snowflakes from sky and earth swirled together, drifting and hovering like white fish in the deep sea.
"Why did you suddenly lose your courage?"Yushu remembered the day Xuan Mo passed away, when heavy rain poured from the skies. The downpour was so fierce, like a torrential mountain flood, that the physicians rushing from the Imperial Hospital were all drenched, their clothes soaked through, rainwater streaming down their foreheads and cheeks like ducks just emerging from a river.
That morning had been clear and sunny with not a cloud in sight. She had taken the servants to move his books into the courtyard to air them in the sun. The sunlight felt warm on her skin, like the waters of a lake in June.
But by evening, soldiers from the Southeast Naval Command suddenly escorted a carriage into the capital, charging straight through the gates of the Xuan King's Mansion.
He was helped down from the carriage, his face deathly pale, and went directly to his study. Moments later, having changed into his court robes, he insisted on forcing his way into the palace. Yet before he could even step beyond the main gate, he collapsed weakly. Blood gushed from his body everywhere, like winding streams. She stood helplessly by his side, trembling with fear and crying uncontrollably, while the servants rushed about in a flurry, carrying him inside before dashing out to fetch physicians.
The rain began at that very moment.
For seven days straight, it did not cease.
The common folk said it was the heavens weeping for Prince Xuan, mourning the passing of a loyal and virtuous soul.
Physicians entered in waves, only to emerge dejected and disheartened. They whispered incessantly in her ear—words about his severe injuries, excessive blood loss, exhaustion from continuous battles, physical weakness, unhealed wounds aggravated by forced exertion, deep gashes damaging his heart and lungs. But she heard none of it. She watched the white-bearded, white-haired old men pass before her eyes like a revolving lantern, each with a grave expression, their mouths opening and closing like silent fish blowing bubbles in the deep sea.
She wondered, what were they saying? Why weren't they going in to treat him? He was so strong—he could wield an eighty-catty broadsword, brandish a hundred-catty steel spear. It was just a minor injury, a little blood loss—what was the big deal? Why was he still lying there, not getting up? The Grand Princess's betrothal documents had already been approved, and the Yan Emperor was departing tomorrow. As a senior minister of Huai Song, how could he not go to bid farewell?
She deliberately shut out all the outside noises and stubbornly ran to his side, gently shaking his arm, just as she had done so many times over the years, earnestly whispering in his ear: "Your Highness, get up. Your Highness, please get up..."
But he remained motionless, his eyes tightly shut, his brow furrowed as if burdened by unresolved worries even in his dreams.
His arm was cold, like ice used to ward off summer heat. Her fear grew increasingly overwhelming, yet she still dared not shake him too hard. She continued to gently nudge his arm, calling out over and over: "Your Highness, get up. Your Highness, please get up..."
Gradually, weeping sounds arose around her; some maidservants discreetly wiped their tears with handkerchiefs. Suddenly, she grew angry and turned to shoo them all away.
Outside, the rain was torrential. As the door opened, the wind swept in icy raindrops that pierced through her thin garments, chilling her to the bone.
A physician approached and said softly, "Your Highness, the prince is beyond saving. You must brace yourself for grief."Throughout her life, she had always been a virtuous and obedient woman—filial to her parents at home, deferential to her elder brothers and sisters, and after marriage, regarding her husband as her heaven, never daring to act willfully or mischievously even once. Yet at that moment, she was suddenly overcome with rage. She slapped the third-rank imperial physician across the face and cried out angrily, "You're lying!"
But the elderly physician said nothing. He merely looked at her silently, his gaze calm yet filled with sympathy and pity.
And she, under such a gaze, completely broke down. Her legs gave way, and she sank into a deep darkness.
When she awoke, Xuan Mo was already awake. His disciples and former subordinates stood in the courtyard, entering his room in groups to hear him speak. Seeing her approach with the child in her arms, they automatically made way for her. She stood beneath the peach tree in front of the room, quietly gazing at the window flickering with candlelight, just as she had many years ago during their first meeting.
Back then, she was still young, obediently following behind her father, surrounded by her brothers and sisters, as well as a crowd of noble sons and daughters from prominent families. Dressed in an unremarkable white satin dress, she stood out among the silks and brocades like a featherless wild goose. He, on the other hand, stood on the corridor, his features handsome and distinguished, his smile as gentle as the warm breeze of early spring.
A servant followed behind her, holding an umbrella. Yong'er was still small, fair and chubby, curled up in her arms, yawning from time to time, looking very sleepy.
The discussions seemed to go on for a long time. As Xuan Mo's wife, no one avoided her presence. She overheard whispers around her, most of the topics revolving around how the old ministers of Huai Song should maintain the integrity of their state after the princess's marriage alliance, how to position themselves in the new dynasty, how to avoid conflict with the officials of Yan, how to gradually integrate into the Yan court and become the princess's support. There were also Xuan Mo's confidants, who claimed to have his letters to deliver to the Emperor of Yan.
Finally, the crowd gradually dispersed, and the courtyard grew quiet again. Apart from the sound of rain, there was no other noise.
The steward approached her, personally holding an umbrella to escort her into the room.
He was leaning against the bed, dressed in a clean and fresh long gown. When he saw her, he smiled as usual and gestured to the chair beside him, saying, "Sit."
She sat down in a daze, her eyes fixed on him. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she dared not cry, biting her lips hard to keep herself from sobbing.
"Yushu, from now on, it will be hard on you."
He looked at her and spoke these words calmly, his voice slow but clear. On the small table's tray lay two old ginseng roots, already mostly consumed. He took a shallow breath and cast a loving glance at Yong'er, saying softly, "I have not been a worthy father."
Yushu was terrified. Never in her life had she felt such fear. Boldly, she grabbed her husband's arm and foolishly pleaded, "Your Highness, this cannot be. It must not be like this."
Xuan Mo smiled, his face pale, his eyes sunken, his body emaciated beyond recognition.
"Your Highness, it cannot be like this."This simple woman didn't know what else she could say. She could only shake her head vigorously, clutching her husband's wrist tightly as she repeated: "No, we can't do this."
The night breeze gradually pushed open the window, the cold candle flame nearly extinguished by the wind several times. The air outside was so chilly, blowing from the north with a faint fragrance of autumn chrysanthemums.
She vaguely remembered her youthful days playing with her sisters, when several siblings would gather to fantasize about their future husbands. Some wanted scholarly top graduates excelling in poetry, some wanted exceptionally skilled generals, while others wanted noble sons from prominent families. Only she, after thinking for a long, long time, finally forced by her sisters' urging, stammered: "I just... just want someone who treats me well."
Just someone who treats me well.
She had always been such an unassuming person, even her own sisters despised her for lacking ambition. But so what? At least she wouldn't be insatiably greedy, she wouldn't be melancholy and depressed, she wouldn't complain about fate. Her wishes were simple yet easily fulfilled; her life might be monotonous but more peaceful and happy.
Yet at this moment, she suddenly didn't even want this last bit anymore.
Clutching Xuan Mo's hand, she trembled and said: "Your Highness, the old prince is gone. Please divorce me. I know you don't like me, I know there's someone else in your heart. I don't want anything now, I only want you to live, as long as you live, it doesn't matter if you divorce me."
At that moment, all storms seemed to suddenly cease. The battle-hardened general froze before this simple woman's determined gaze. A pang of sorrow rose from his heart - years of stubbornness and persistence turned to dust in this instant. Time flowed like a raging river, drowning all his long-held obsessions. An ocean of remorse washed over him, condensing into a sigh at life's final moment.
After years of marriage, he finally reached out and embraced his wife for the first time, sighing apologetically: "Yushu, I've failed you."
Leaning in this unfamiliar embrace, Yushu froze momentarily.
All those years of endurance, all that self-control, all those self-comforts, all that self-deception - she had always believed herself sufficiently virtuous, always thought she strictly observed wifely virtues, always assumed she wasn't sad or heartbroken.
Yet everything, everything ultimately collapsed completely in such a simple sentence, in such a simple embrace.
So it turned out there had been grievances after all, there had been disappointments after all, there had been desires and fantasies after all.
It was just that she had suppressed everything so deeply, so very deeply.
She suddenly burst into loud sobs, heart-wrenching cries that left her speechless.
This was the first time in her life, and also the last, that Yushu wept bitterly in her husband's embrace.
After speaking those words, Xuan Mo passed away, departing peacefully and serenely like an ink wash painting.
The next day, upon learning of Prince Xuan's death, the Yan Emperor who had been preparing to leave the city suddenly changed his route and headed straight for Xuan King's Mansion. The young, stern emperor stood before Xuan Mo's spirit altar for a long, long time in his black robes. All the mourners present were too intimidated to make a sound, while he remained like a stone statue, unwilling to leave for the longest time.After that came a series of appointments and honors, yet none of it truly concerned her anymore. Her heart had already withered; no matter how vibrant the world appeared, in her eyes, it remained a vast expanse of desolate whiteness.
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