In the distance, Yan Xun nodded and said, "Rest well for now. I will come to see you again tonight."
The main door was open, letting in a refreshing breeze.
Nalan sat on the couch, silently watching his retreating figure. Her expression was gentle, her gaze as serene as the drifting clouds in the sky.
"Your Highness—"
Wen Yuan beamed with joy, almost at a loss for words. Finally, she rushed out, exclaiming, "This servant will go and make preparations."
Nalan took a deep breath and nestled into the soft quilt. Suddenly, she remembered that evening many years ago—when he rode his horse, chasing after her from afar, and finally stood on the bridge, shouting to her as she journeyed into the distance, "I've buried fine wine beneath the pear blossom tree. Will you come again next year?"
Will you come again next year? Will you come again next year? Will you come again?
For so many years, whenever she closed her eyes, she could hear that voice. It felt as if it were only yesterday, as if it were still ringing in her ears.
"Yes! Wait for me!"
She leaned out of the carriage window, shouting toward his figure, which had already shrunk to a tiny black dot in the distance.
Yes! Wait for me!
Yet, in the end, she never made it back.
Her father had passed away, leaving only her, her ailing mother, and her mentally challenged younger brother to contend with the ambitious imperial relatives and powerful ministers at court. The weight of the nation and her family fell entirely upon her young and fragile shoulders.
As for him, his family was destroyed, and he was left to wander, displaced. The once-proud son of heaven had, in the blink of an eye, become a prisoner.
Ten years of life and death had kept them apart, and now they had finally returned to the place where they first met. Yet, the mountains and rivers lay in ruins, and though the surroundings remained familiar, the people had changed. Even face to face, they no longer recognized each other.
Slowly, she closed her eyes, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
Before nightfall, Wen Yuan busied herself, selecting clothes for Nalan and helping her with her makeup. The kitchen staff, knowing the Emperor was coming for dinner, put all their effort into the preparations. Though Nalan was reluctant to go along with it, seeing them so happy was rare, so she did not object.
However, as the sky grew darker and the dinner hour passed, he still had not arrived.
All the servants grew increasingly anxious. Wen Yuan sent capable attendants to inquire about the situation while repeatedly comforting Nalan.
Yet, in her heart, Nalan gradually understood. Strangely, she did not feel particularly sad—only a sense of emptiness. Yushu was right; the southeastern palace was too large and always felt desolate.
Before long, a young eunuch from Yan Xun’s side came to deliver a message: urgent military intelligence had arrived from Meilin Pass in the northwest. The Emperor was meeting with several ministers in the military council and would not be coming that night.
At that moment, Nalan could almost clearly hear the collective sigh that echoed through the hall. Calmly, she responded to the messenger eunuch and rewarded him. Then she said to Wen Yuan, "Alright, serve the meal."
Wen Yuan was taken aback. "Huh?"
Nalan chuckled softly. "For the meal. Just because the Emperor isn’t coming doesn’t mean I don’t need to eat, does it?"
Only then did Wen Yuan snap out of her daze and hurriedly led the disheartened servants to serve the food.
Nalan dined alone, partaking of over twenty dishes. Her appetite seemed unusually hearty that day, and her spirits were high. She ate for a long time before finally asking the servants to bring the soup.For the next three days, Yan Xun remained occupied with military affairs. After her defeat, Jing'an Princess Consort Zhao Chun'er had retreated to the southern borderlands. Despite Zhuge Yue's repeated attempts to eliminate her forces, she managed to escape by sheer luck. Out of respect for Zhao Che, Zhuge Yue refrained from pursuing her to the bitter end since she no longer attacked Biantang. However, recent reports from the northwest indicated that Jing'an Princess Consort's troops were frequently interacting with the Quanrong People beyond the pass, suggesting potential trouble.
Suddenly, various intelligence reports rushed to the capital, putting the Great Yan court on high alert.
During these three days, Nalan's condition fluctuated repeatedly. The southeastern palace was shrouded in gloom and desolation, enveloped in cold silence.
That evening, Nalan, who had been bedridden for three days, suddenly sat up and asked Wen Yuan to fetch the brocade box stored in her cabinet.
Wen Yuan initially wanted to advise her not to exhaust herself, but seeing her resolute expression, she didn't dare say anything more.
The sandalwood-colored brocade box appeared quite old and wasn't heavy, feeling light in hand. It was unclear what precious contents it held that required three locks placed side by side.
Wen Yuan used a handkerchief to dust off the box's surface, coughing involuntarily from the thick layer of accumulated dust, indicating how long it had been stored.
Nalan took the box and gazed at it silently for a while before retrieving three keys from beneath her pillow to open it.
Craning her neck, Wen Yuan saw the box contained a thick stack of letters. Many had yellowed with age, appearing quite ancient. She couldn't help feeling disappointed, frowning in puzzlement.
"Wen Yuan, bring me a brazier."
"Your Majesty, what do you need a brazier for?"
Nalan pointed at the letters and said, "To burn these."
"Burn them?" Wen Yuan was startled. Although she didn't know who wrote these letters, just seeing where the Empress had stored them indicated their importance. She hurriedly asked, "Why, Your Majesty? Why burn them?"
Nalan seemed lost in thought as she murmured softly, "If not burned, should I leave them for others to feel sorrow and guilt?"
Wen Yuan clearly didn't understand but obediently went out, soon returning with a brazier. The charcoal crackled and popped, radiating warm comfort.
"Wen Yuan, you may leave now."
Wen Yuan nodded: "Yes, Your Majesty. Please call for me if you need anything."
As the palace doors closed, the hall fell silent again. Nalan picked up the thick stack of letters, her pale fingers caressing the pages she had read countless times, her gaze gradually softening.
Yes, her aunt was right - she was a coward.
The dignity of a grand princess, the national integrity of Huai Song, the Nalan family name - all were false, all self-deception. She was simply afraid, simply lacked courage, simply dared not take that step.
As long as he remained unaware of everything, whenever she saw him remembering Xuan Mo, or showing extra care toward Yushu and Yong'er, she would feel sweet happiness. She would believe he still valued her as his sworn brother, and know she still held a place in his heart.
But if he learned everything yet still didn't love her, how could she bear such humiliation?She was afraid; she lacked the courage. She feared that once everything was laid bare, he would only be slightly shocked, unable to reciprocate the feelings she longed for. She feared that after staking everything, she would still be unable to compete with the one in his heart. She dreaded the moment the truth was laid out before her, destined to be the one who failed, losing even the right to continue fantasizing and dreaming. At least now, she could still deceive herself into believing that she was as important as that person.
See, she was such a coward, fully aware that she was deceiving herself yet stubbornly clinging to it.
But what could she do? Her love was like a tree that bore no fruit. She feared the arrival of autumn, so she stubbornly lingered in spring and summer, avoiding the bleak outcome.
She picked up a yellowed letter, its ink stains vivid. Her hand was raised high, her fingers pale and slender. The letter, having been stored for so long, had grown thin and brittle, emitting a crisp sound. Suddenly, Nalan gently released her grip, and the letter slipped down. The flames in the brazier surged, instantly devouring the letter she had treasured for so many years, turning it to ashes in the blink of an eye.
Back then, when she sent Xuan Mo to the southeast, it was not to harm him or to seize his military power.
At that time, Huai Song was weak, and various military factions were restless. She intended to use the power of Yanbei to save the Nalan Clan and the people of Huai Song, even if only by a slim chance. However, the court officials—those with ambitions for the throne and those blindly loyal—refused to agree. In those days, anyone who surrendered the nation would be branded a traitor, condemned for eternity, with no chance of redemption. She merely wanted to spare the generations of loyal service of the Xuan King's Mansion from bearing this infamy, which was why she transferred him far from the capital. Fearing that his personal troops might stir up trouble—if his subordinates collectively urged him to act, even if Xuan Mo refused, the Yanbei ministers would fabricate charges against him once Yan Xun took power—she reassigned his subordinates and sent him to command the entirely unrelated Southeast Naval Command.
Yet, despite all her calculations, she never anticipated that the southeastern bandits would unite to attack the Southeast Command while Huai Song was in turmoil, nor did she expect Xuan Mo, a prince of such high status, to personally don armor and lead the charge into battle.
Perhaps her current plight was retribution.
Having been in politics for many years, her hands were stained with countless blood. A single imperial decree could mean thousands of heads rolling. She had never regretted her moves; she understood, she understood it all.
So, when she realized that he was counting the days each month before coming to her palace, she suddenly understood: he did not want her to bear his child.
Even though she had once promised the officials of Huai Song, to stabilize the court, that she would preserve the status of Song ministers and ensure the next Yan emperor would carry the bloodline of Huai Song, in this matter, she was unwilling to force the issue. She did not want to brand everything between them with the mark of politics.
This was the only willful act of her life.
After each visit, she would swallow bitter medicine, eliminating any possibility of what he feared. Later, his visits grew fewer and fewer, and now, it had been two years since he last stayed overnight in the Southeast Hall.
Everything she had ever sought in her life was like sand slipping through her fingers—the tighter she tried to hold on, the faster it slipped away. Now, nothing remained.The flames spread, devouring letter after letter in the blaze. The fire consumed the last remnants of their acquaintance, bit by bit, along with her shattered life, all turning to ashes.
Some love is sweet, while others are burdens. She had failed Xuan Mo, carrying a lifetime of regret. Now that she was about to die, why let him know everything and burden him with a lifetime of guilt?
His life had already been bitter enough—why sprinkle salt on his wounds?
Let it burn, let it all burn.
The world speaks of wealth and glory, of power and influence, but only she knew, only she saw, the scarred heart hidden beneath the splendid facade.
It wasn’t for lack of love, but love was a luxury they couldn’t afford.
Both she and he bore too many responsibilities, too many missions. They couldn’t afford to be willful, impulsive, passionate, or naive.
Let it burn, let it all burn…
Thick smoke rose, and she began to cough hoarsely, a warm, metallic liquid slowly trickling down. Hazily, it seemed like that spring of blooming flowers, white pear and pink apricot blossoms dancing like morning clouds. He stood in the spring garden of March, his robes fluttering, suddenly turning his head. His eyes sparkled like stars, a teasing smile playing on his lips as he gazed at her, who had barged in uninvited. His brows were slender, his gaze sharp, and he chuckled lightly, asking, “Lost, are you? Which palace are you from?”
Dressed in men’s clothing, her face flushed crimson, she mustered all her courage to speak, yet her voice remained barely audible:
“I… I am the son of the Prince of Anling of Huai Song. My name is Xuan Mo…”
Perhaps, it was wrong from the very beginning.
That vibrant spring encounter, that radiant morning light, was ultimately buried under the heavy dust of a turbulent, war-torn era. The sky was clear, but the clouds and hues were no longer the same as before. Invisible blades and shadows had stripped away the innocence of their youth, leaving behind only ruins, flickering with dim yellow traces in the dark night, stubbornly clinging to the simple days long gone.
In his life, only two people mattered most. One, he had personally exiled; the other would forever remain his most beloved brother, residing in the softest part of his heart.
Yet, sadly, neither of them was her.
The hall was brilliantly lit, but to her eyes, it seemed veiled by a layer of dark red gauze—obscure, gloomy, and dull.
A lifetime of resilience and perseverance, weathered through storms, had ultimately dissolved into a silent ache, settling in the cold, desolate depths of the palace. Countless lives, bloodshed, and turmoil had all been quietly manipulated by a pair of delicate hands. Looking back now, she felt only weariness and the fleeting nature of existence—a momentary bloom, a dreamlike life, suddenly sinking into the vast abyss of oblivion.
The letter in her hand suddenly slipped like snowflakes, drifting lightly and scattering across the floor. In the brazier, black ashes swirled and hissed, pale flames flickering as they rose and fell.
She smiled faintly, her wrist dropping silently.
On the night of the fourth day of the twelfth month, in the fifth year of Yan Taizu’s reign, heavy snow fell. The Empress of the Nalan Clan passed away in the Southeast Hall of Yanli Palace.
“Your Majesty.”
A eunuch spoke softly from behind, “We’ve found it.”
Yan Xun slowly turned around. The Southeast Hall was now empty and silent, devoid of anyone. The mourning period for the Empress had ended, and the former attendants of the Southeast Hall had been reassigned to other palaces. Only two elderly eunuchs remained, tasked with sweeping the hall morning and night.Opening the box revealed a dark golden robe embroidered with cloud patterns, adorned with small character "fortune" motifs on both lapels. It appeared simple yet elegant, though a mended tear on the left sleeve was barely noticeable unless examined closely.
Yan Xun stood there, silently gazing at it for a long time before finally looking up and handing the garment to a servant. "Return to the palace," he said.
"Yes."
A group of attendants followed behind him as the great hall's doors swung wide open. A cold wind swept in, stirring up fine dust from the floor. The sunlight outside was glaring, and he narrowed his eyes slightly as he stood at the threshold. Suddenly, he turned back to look at the soft couch hidden behind the deep curtains, as if it were just a month ago when she sat there, softly asking, "Tonight, I’ve instructed the kitchen to prepare several delicacies. Your Majesty, will you still come?"
Your Majesty, will you still come?
The sunlight pierced his eyes, filling his heart with desolation.
A mere moment’s delay had unexpectedly become an eternal farewell.
His brows furrowed faintly, then gradually relaxed, bit by bit dissolving the sorrow within him.
Just as he was about to step away, he caught a faint scent of smoke in the distance. Turning to look, he spotted a young palace maid crouched at a far-off corner, burning something.
Slightly taken aback, he led his attendants over.
Upon seeing him, the maid was startled, leaping to her feet and immediately kneeling to pay respects.
Yan Xun looked at her, frowning slightly. "Are you Wen Yuan, who used to serve in the Empress’s palace?"
"Yes, this humble servant is."
"Why are you here?"
"These are the Empress’s old belongings. Before her passing, she instructed that all such items be burned. Recently, I was transferred to Consort An’s residence and haven’t had time to return until today, when I found a moment to take care of this."
Noticing Wen Yuan dressed in low-ranking servant attire with faint red marks on her neck, Yan Xun understood that the former servants of the Empress’s palace had likely been mistreated elsewhere. After a moment of silent thought, he asked, "Where is your hometown?"
Wen Yuan was stunned, never expecting the Emperor to ask such a question, and hurriedly replied, "I came with the Empress. My home is in the Song region."
"Are there still family members there?"
"Your Majesty, I have elderly parents, three elder brothers, two elder sisters, and one younger sister."
Yan Xun nodded and instructed a nearby attendant, "Issue an order to the Directorate of Servants: bestow upon her the title of Fourth-Rank Zhaorong Female Official, with a salary equivalent to a Fifth-Rank court official. Additionally, grant one hundred taels of gold. Arrange for her to leave the palace today and escort her back to her hometown."
"Yes, this servant will remember."
Wen Yuan seemed dumbfounded, kneeling there speechless for a long while. Instead, the eunuch beside her smiled and said, "Female Official Zhaorong, are you too overjoyed to speak? Hurry and express your gratitude for the imperial favor."
Tears instantly streamed from Wen Yuan’s eyes as she kowtowed to the ground, exclaiming loudly, "Thank you for Your Majesty’s heavenly grace, thank you for Your Majesty’s heavenly grace."
Yan Xun remained silent, his gaze sweeping indifferently over the scattered white papers on the ground before he finally turned and walked away.
The snow had stopped, and the sky was a clear blue, like a pool of jade water. A wind blew from afar, lifting a letter that drifted lightly, passing through the flames. The edge of the letter curled and began to burn slightly. Carried by the wind, it fluttered in the direction of the departing figure.Many years ago, beneath a solitary lamp, a dying general mustered his final strength to lift his brush and write this letter. The letter passed through many hands, yet no one found anything amiss. It was merely an ordinary letter addressed to the Emperor of Yanbei, detailing Huai Song’s troop deployments along the Daxia border, the standing garrisons in the rear, and the temperaments, strengths, and weaknesses of the various border generals.
However, in this world, only three people could understand this letter, and two of them were already gone.
The writing was bold and powerful, sweeping like a dragon, bearing Xuan Mo’s name and seal, yet the handwriting was unmistakably not that of the old friend who had corresponded with Yan Xun for many years.
The wind continued to blow, chasing after Yan Xun as the letter swirled and danced in the air. Flames gradually crept from the back, consuming the letterhead, the greetings, the salutations, and half of the content…
Suddenly, the wind grew fierce, and the letter soared high, nearly overtaking the figure ahead. But then, a pear tree abruptly appeared before them. The letter caught high in the branches, just one body’s length away from reaching the person in front.
Yan Xun, however, paused slightly. He gazed quietly at the tree, recalling how, as a child, he had first met Xuan Mo here. Lost and wandering foolishly, his small face flushed crimson with anxiety, he had resembled a shy young girl.
"Your Majesty?"
A eunuch called softly, "Your Majesty?"
Yan Xun snapped out of his reverie, grunted in acknowledgment, and turned toward the palace gates.
The flames slowly spread upward, hindered by the pear tree, gradually devouring the letter that had been delayed for five years and never delivered. In the end, only a fragile, charred remnant clung to the treetop, scattering into countless ashes as the wind passed by.
Far away, a young palace maid, still weeping, gathered the other letters from the ground and tossed them all into the brazier. A great fire roared to life, blazing with vivid red flames.
Even with deep affection, fate is shallow.
It was always this way, and always has been.
Historical Records:
In the sixth year of Kaiyuan, the mausoleum of Empress Nalan was completed, situated south of Yanbei’s Sunset Mountain.
Twenty-three years later, Emperor Yan Xun passed away and was interred in the Taiji Mausoleum, located north of Sunset Mountain, facing Empress Nalan’s resting place from afar.
A tributary of the Chishui River, the Qianhua River, flows through this area, connecting the two mausoleums. Because winter snow falls upon the river’s surface, resembling pear blossoms, locals also call this river the "Pear Blossom River."
[End of Yan Hong Volume]
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