The sweet, juicy pear was placed in Hong Taiji's mouth as he slowly chewed, his gaze fixed steadily on Da Yuer.
She still wore her usual gentle smile, her eyes curving warmly as she asked softly, "Is it good? Sweet? Do you get any fruit when you're out on your campaigns?"
Hong Taiji didn't answer.
Year after year of warfare had left him little time or energy for tender moments, but whenever he allowed himself to think about it, he always hoped that, ten years from now, Da Yuer would still smile as sweetly as she did today.
While Jeje always wished for Da Yuer to mature, Hong Taiji had never felt the same urgency.
But now, he regretted the words he had just spoken—it was too late to take them back. He couldn't imagine what kind of change they might bring to Da Yuer in that fleeting moment.
Suddenly, he opened his arms. "Come here."
Da Yuer blinked in surprise. "What… what is it?"
"Come here!" Hong Taiji repeated, more forcefully this time, his tone impatient.
Da Yuer had no choice but to push the small table aside and move toward her husband. Before she could understand what was happening, he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly.
"Great Khan?" she whispered, startled by his sudden embrace.
"Yuer…" Hong Taiji's arms tightened around her, holding her so firmly that she winced in pain. Feeling her squirm in discomfort, he loosened his grip slightly.
"I'm here," Da Yuer murmured, sensing his presence and warmth. She shifted lightly in his embrace, resting her face against his chest. "I'm here. As long as you want to see me, as long as you call me, I'll always come to you."
Hong Taiji asked quietly, "Even if we are separated by a thousand miles?"
Da Yuer hummed in agreement, her heart filled with unsaid words. What was a thousand miles? Even if they were separated by life and death, she would follow him beyond the bounds of this world.
Little Azhe woke up with a gurgling sound and, upon seeing her parents so close together, seemed displeased at being left out. She puckered her lips and waved her tiny hands, letting out loud wails.
Hong Taiji couldn't help but laugh heartily, pulling both his daughter and Da Yuer closer, one on each side, as he leaned back comfortably on the cushions. In a rare moment of relaxation, he mused, "One day, when there's no more war to fight, I too will enjoy some peaceful days, spending time with my women and children."
The afternoon drifted by in the comfort of Da Yuer's chambers, and before they realized it, night had fallen.
Meanwhile, outside the palace, the residence of the Fourteenth Beile remained quiet, as usual. Upon learning that Dorgon had returned, the Twelfth Beile personally came to visit, but Qiqige intercepted him at the door and refused to let him in.
Her husband was utterly exhausted, and not even if the sky were falling would she allow anyone to disturb him.
The Twelfth Beile, frustrated, left a message for Qiqige to pass on, saying that tomorrow, the brothers would attend the memorial ceremony armed with their swords. If their mother's title was not honored in the mausoleum, they would face Hong Taiji in open conflict.
As Qiqige closed the door behind her guest, she couldn't help but laugh.
Her brother-in-law, the Twelfth Beile, was nothing more than a weakling who only knew how to show off to his younger brother. She knew this all too well.
Dorgon slept deeply until late into the night, waking up dazed and a bit confused. But soon, soft hands reached out to touch his forehead, followed by a familiar scolding voice, one he had grown accustomed to over the years: "I was afraid you'd get a fever. It's been years since you've slept this deeply. Dorgon, do you want to worry me to death?"
Sitting up, Dorgon smiled but said nothing. A bowl of fragrant chicken soup was soon placed before him, the warmth and flavour giving him renewed strength as he drank it down. He felt fully revived.
"Try on tomorrow's ceremonial robe," Qiqige said, as though they had not been apart for long. She instructed the maidservants to take away the empty bowl and bring out the formal robes. "Even though it looks just about right, tomorrow is an important day. You can't afford to wear something ill-fitting and make a fool of yourself."
Dorgon complied with her every request, rising from the bed and standing tall with his arms spread wide, allowing his wife to help him dress.
Qiqige's practiced hands moved deftly, unfastening his clothes, but when she saw the new scar across his chest, her eyes filled with fury. She glared at him, and Dorgon chuckled, "It's nothing."
Her cool, soft fingers traced the ugly scar, and with tears brimming in her eyes, Qiqige gritted her teeth and whispered, "If you die, I won't live on without you. Dorgon, do as you will, but remember that."