She had not anticipated that Lan Yixuan would still be in Haitang Garden, nor could she have foreseen such a scene. Taken by surprise, she paused, her hand gripping the door handle, tilting her head slightly as tears cascaded silently down her cheeks, tracing the contours of her pale neck, lost in a daze as she gazed at Lan Yixuan.
Lan Yixuan cast his eyes down, his delicate features glistening with tears, droplets clinging to his long eyelashes. His bright eyes reflected the shimmering light of the moon, each droplet sparkling like fragments of pain. He gazed at her, so heartbreakingly vulnerable, as if the mere flutter of her eyelids would send the tears streaming from the corners of her eyes, flooding the surroundings and engulfing everyone in their wake.
He reached into his pocket and retrieved a handkerchief he had prepared in advance. As the crescent moon blinked, the cold tears brimmed from her eyes, running down her cheeks like winter's ice and snow, jolting her back to reality. In that same moment, she relaxed her grip on the door handle and turned away, taking a deep breath. Her icy fingertips swiftly wiped the cold tears from her face, leaving her unsure which was colder.
Lan Yixuan offered her the handkerchief, but she only showed him her back, slightly hunched yet stiffer than an upright posture. A flicker of tenderness shone in his gentle gaze, one she remained oblivious to; perhaps, even if she sensed it, she would dismiss it as mere illusion.
In the instant she turned, a smile graced her face—one that bore no resemblance to the radiant smiles she had bestowed upon Feng Jiulan. This smile was laced with sarcasm and mockery, a chilling mask that rendered her impervious to scrutiny. If not for her swollen eyes, one would hardly suspect the depth of her sorrow.
Her clear eyes mirrored a galaxy of stars, guarded and alert, like a hedgehog bristling its quills in self-defense.
In Lan Yixuan's palm lay the handkerchief, white as snow, adorned with quiet orchids. He smiled, and his warm gaze sparkled with a chilling light as his fingers gradually closed around it.
"Is this for me?"
Xian Yue laughed as she snatched the handkerchief from his hand, her movements swift as lightning. Her icy fingertips brushed against Lan Yixuan's heated palm, yet his smile remained intact, concealing a heart chilled to the core.
Such deception—how expertly she masked her emotions! Lan Yixuan had never felt such a gnawing rage. He looked at that smiling face, overwhelmed by the impulse to tear her apart, but he restrained himself.
"Why are you still here, Young Master Lan?"
Xian Yue waved the embroidered handkerchief, delicately decorated with black orchids, as she maneuvered around Lan Yixuan. A few steps beyond the entrance led to a long marble bench, spacious enough to accommodate four people. Xian Yue plopped down, leaning back on her arms, occupying three seats with her solitary form, her head tilted back, the handkerchief draped over her face as she gradually closed her eyes.
Bai Zhanfeng remained vigilant against Lan Yixuan, unwilling to let him linger alone in Haitang Garden. Yet, whatever Lan Yixuan desired was beyond Bai Zhanfeng's ability to thwart.
The two returned to their respective quarters. Preoccupied with thoughts of Xian Yue's earlier tears, Lan Yixuan found it hard to shake off his concern. He avoided Bai Zhanfeng and, upon arriving back at Haitang Garden, felt a start of surprise. He hesitated but resolved that since he was there, he might as well accept it. In that moment of indecision, Xian Yue had already appeared at the door.
Lan Yixuan approached her, picking up a fallen leaf from the marble bench and allowing it to flutter away with the night breeze as he sat beside her, his back leaning against the bench. The delicate handkerchief reflected her features with striking clarity.
"I came to see you."
His tone was casual as he reached out to remove the handkerchief shielding her face, grasping it tightly in his hand, his gaze fixed intently upon the serene expression of Xian Yue.
She tilted her head, regarding him with confusion; this radiant smile was in stark contrast to the usual modest demeanor of Lan Yixuan. Xian Yue forced a smile, her red-rimmed eyes wide open as they met Lan Yixuan's gaze, proud and defiant, never willing to lower her noble head.
Suddenly sitting up straight, Xian Yue leaned closer to Lan Yixuan, her lips near his chin, exhaling softly like the scent of orchids, letting out a light laugh as she blinked playfully. "Young Master Lan, your kindness and consideration are truly commendable."
With each word, she stripped away her defenses, allowing her wounds to bleed freely without a hint of discomfort, only to thrust those very thorns back at Lan Yixuan, indifferent to whether he would be hurt, wishing merely for him to share in her pain.
Her gaze remained fixed on him, searching for a hint of discord on his face, but found none—his expression retained its regal elegance, warm yet distant.
He turned to her, smiling gently. "Since we are beyond pretense, why not abandon all restraint?"
His voice was soft, as though echoing from a faraway place, causing Xian Yue to feel slightly disoriented. How could she discover a fleeting glimmer of compassion in his otherwise unfeeling eyes?
She understood what he meant. As a princess, weeping on the ground in front of powerful dignitaries from various states stripped her of all dignity. He was right; what face did she have left? If she had none, why suppress herself?
Facing the man beside her, she felt a heavy weight compressing her chest, making it difficult to breathe. She bit her lip, forcing back the tears that threatened to spill over, and then she heard her own laughter—cold, trembling laughter that mirrored her desolation.
"Did Young Master Lan come specifically to witness my sorrowful tears?"
There was no reproach, no accusation; her voice was calm, startling even herself. She believed she should fulfill his wishes, as well as her own desires, and cry freely, yet the weight of her suppressed emotions left her aching. But she refused to succumb: "If I have disappointed Young Master Lan's good intentions, am I not a sinner?"
She raised an eyebrow, as if soliciting Lan Yixuan's opinion: "Should I cry for you now?"
Her smiling face and bright eyes radiated warmth and brilliance, yet Lan Yixuan turned his gaze away, suddenly feeling that he did not recognize this person before him.
Unrestrained, untamed, and effortlessly confident—who was she putting on this strong facade for? Could she not show a little vulnerability in front of him?
Lan Yixuan looked away, his brows furrowed in frustration. He was acutely aware that their dynamic was a constant clash of wills, a perpetual refusal to yield. Before him, she would never reveal her true self; she would never be the one to bow her head. Yet, he couldn't help but wish for that.
Lan Yixuan's gaze shifted to the direction of Feng Jiulan's doorway, then returned to Xian Yue. He noticed her slender shoulders, so fragile, yet burdened with a weight heavier than any other. He couldn't help but worry—could she withstand it? But he knew, no matter how arduous the journey, she would endure until the end.
He tilted his head, gazing at the moon descending in the sky, releasing a soft sigh without uttering a word. Xian Yue watched his side profile, illuminated by moonlight, resting her face in her hand, wide-eyed as the light danced in her gaze, remaining silent.
"I merely feel you need a shoulder to lean on."
After a moment's pause, Lan Yixuan spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, dissolving into the wind, yet resonating in her ears. Xian Yue, resting against the marble, felt a tremor run through her, instinctively lifting her head to look at Lan Yixuan.
The night wind caressed her face, its icy grip biting through, and she could distinctly feel the warmth of his gaze burning into her back. He remained motionless, staring vacantly at the moon suspended in the night sky.
Xian Yue felt cold, an icy chill seeping from within her, enveloping her like the thick fog of late autumn, making her vision slightly blur.
She was not made of iron; she had flesh and blood, could feel pain, could be wounded, and could be weak. She longed to cry, not in secret solitude but to find a shoulder to rely on, to weep freely and reveal her hatred, her worries, and all her fears.
This man was infuriatingly understanding; she felt a deep sense of desolation—yes, desolation, a feeling she had never known before.
She did not comprehend his intentions. Was it merely because she was the princess of Feng Nation? Was there even a hint of sincerity in this gesture?
She felt trapped in a dead end, wrestling with her thoughts, convincing herself it was unnecessary to care; he was ultimately not her beloved. She had relinquished all aspirations for love, had she not? Yet, why did her heart brim with such resentment? What was she truly unwilling to accept? Just as she had stated, she was not entirely reliant on him, yet deep down, she had to acknowledge he was her best choice.
She withdrew her hand, pressing her cheek against the marble, her heart jolting
She felt compelled to question the man before her in a fit of exasperation. How dare he presume that he could be the shoulder she leaned on? What right did someone as indifferent as he hold? If he so fervently desired to marry a princess and attain what he wanted, why did he so easily concede in the matter of Ning Yunyan? Why not strive for victory? He was more than capable of achieving it.
Yet deep down, she recognized that if she acted on those thoughts, she would be conceding defeat—not to him, but to Lan Yixuan. And defeat was something she refused to accept, particularly at this moment.
Leaning in slightly, her gaze shifting, she let her hands snake around Lan Yixuan's waist. She could feel his body stiffen in an instant, and as her face rested against his back, she asked, "Young Master Lan, are you not weary?"
She chuckled lightly, though her words belied the intimacy of their pose: "You truly excel at acting."
As she finished speaking, her laughter grew more joyous, her tone bright and buoyant, landing like a heavy blow to his heart.
His gentle gaze roiled with a tempest of suppressed rage and coldness. He felt disdain and repulsion, mingled with frustration. He admitted he was not a good person, yet he had never harmed her. Why, then, did she constantly remain on guard against him?
Without a moment's hesitation, he pried her hands away from his waist, his expression a mixture of shock and disbelief. Rising to his feet, he met her innocent smile and returned to his previous demeanor: "Then do you think it's worth it?"
With an effortless grace, he stood before her, his demeanor a juxtaposition of warmth and aloofness.
She nodded with unwavering conviction, "Of course."
Perhaps she was not worth it, but if she bore his surname, then everything would indeed hold value.
In truth, she believed she had no reason to be angry. Why should she feel this way? Just as he questioned her, was it worth it? If not, then what was the point? She didn't care about his desires; as long as he could provide her with what she wanted, that was sufficient. In this world, there were neither eternal enemies nor everlasting friends—only perpetual interests.
In a fleeting moment, a realization dawned upon her; she felt a wave of gratitude wash over her for the suffering that Liu Xinyou had inflicted upon her over the years. Had it not been for the trials she endured over the past decade, had she merely been a caged canary in the deep palace, she would undoubtedly be fragile and weeping before him now.
She refused to allow herself to become that person. If she could not be strong, then what purpose would her weakness serve? Should she truly burden her frail brother with such weighty responsibilities?
Reality was not something to escape; she had to learn to face it bravely, regardless of who stood beside her. She could only choose to remain composed in the face of adversity.
Rising to her feet, she brushed off her hands and smiled radiantly, locking her gaze with Lan Yixuan's. "Young Master Lan, collaboration requires sincerity."
She raised an eyebrow nonchalantly, "But I see no sincerity from you."
At that moment, she thought herself quite cold-blooded and rational. In this instance, she could still negotiate with such an icy and detached tone. Yet she took pride in her resilience, sustaining herself at all times and refusing to fall easily.
"Qinghen."
She called softly, and Yun Qinghen soon appeared before her. "Have someone escort Young Master Lan back."
Having said that, she turned to leave, while Yun Qinghen clapped his hands, summoning two men clad in gray, who gestured for Lan Yixuan to proceed. Yun Qinghen trailed behind her, understanding that the princess had not permitted him to escort her personally for a reason—she had questions for him.
He found it perplexing that someone as admirable as Young Master Lan was not favored by the princess. Who else in the world could possibly capture her attention?
Concerned for Feng Jiulan, and unwilling to stray far, she seated herself on the steps at the entrance.
The moon hung lower in the night sky, gradually sinking. In the distance, the horizon appeared hazy, reminiscent of beaten egg whites, murky and indistinct. The night wind brushed against her, and though her attire was thin, making her somewhat chilly, she seemed to have grown accustomed to it long ago.
Yun Qinghen stood in front of her, slightly hunched and silent, assuming a posture of readiness.
"Please, sit."
She patted the space beside her, inviting him to take a seat.
Yun Qinghen looked at her, perhaps feeling it was too forward, and remained still.
"I can't ask questions with you standing like that."
Her tone was stern, yet it lacked any sense of annoyance. Thinking back to her earlier outburst, Yun Qinghen felt a tinge of surprise. After a brief moment of contemplation, he chose to sit where she indicated, as it seemed a better option than making her look up at him.
Resting her chin on her hand, her brows furrowed slightly. She had numerous questions swirling in her mind, yet didn't know where to begin.
"Has my brother always been like this?"
Her voice carried an unusual weight as she fixed her gaze on Yun Qinghen. There was an innate authority in her demeanor that compelled submission, and coupled with her piercing gaze, Yun Qinghen lowered his head, aware that he could not evade the inquiry today.
As he considered fabricating a lie, he cautiously lifted his gaze to meet her clear and penetrating eyes, which instantly dispelled that notion.
He understood the princess's resolve; looking up at her, he unconsciously clenched his hands resting on his knees and nodded.
Her heart tightened, and she took a deep breath before pressing on, "What illness? What did the doctor say?"
Yun Qinghen shook his head, turning away to gaze into the hazy night sky, his expression distant as he began to recount the buried past.
"When the prince awoke, he was exceedingly weak and unable to rise from his bed. His first question was about your whereabouts. We didn't dare tell him the truth and concocted a story instead. The king advised the prince that if he were to be seen by the princess in such a state, she would certainly worry. He urged him to focus on his recovery. The prince heeded the counsel, but as the saying goes, you cannot hide fire with paper, and it seems some little eunuch blurted out the truth within earshot of the prince."
"What did that little eunuch say?"
She thought to herself that the little eunuch must have spoken words he should not have, for otherwise, her brother would not bear such profound guilt.
"It was just a few idle eunuchs gossiping in the shadows. The princess knows that within the palace, misinformation spreads easily, often exaggerating the truth."
Xianyue nodded in acknowledgment. In the end, who could truly discern the origin of rumors and slander?
"They said that the princess was taken away by a woman with silver hair. Though the woman was silver-haired, she possessed the countenance of a young maiden. At the time, the prince was unconscious and on the brink of death, and the imperial doctors were at their wit's end. They labeled her a monster, claiming the princess willingly followed the creature to save him."
Her clear, wide eyes shimmered with shock and pain. It was no wonder her brother was tormented—monsters, where could they possibly exist in this world? Yet another narrative persisted: it was better to believe in such a phenomenon than to dismiss it entirely. Ten years might not be an eternity, but for her brother, it was sufficient to allow him to conjure such mystical conjectures thousands of times, ultimately believing them to be true.
"The prince scoured the Xuansang Palace, but the princess was nowhere to be found. How could he possibly locate her? He ordered his men to search for her, only to be intercepted by the king. In a fit of rage, he locked himself within Xuansang Palace for nearly a month, refusing to see anyone. If the servants delivering meals approached, he would drive them away."
Though she had not witnessed it firsthand, Xianyue could imagine the scenario. Some say that time stretches endlessly, but for her brother, each moment of that month must have felt longer than the four years that preceded it.
Liu Xinyou, Liu Xinyou—she repeated her name silently, gritting her teeth, feeling an increasing hatred for that woman.
"What of Bai Pingting? Did she not care for my brother?"
At the mention of Bai Pingting, Xianyue's gaze hardened. Her expression resembled that of a stern superior reprimanding a subordinate, rather than a princess addressing the daughter of a minister.
Yun Qinghen reminisced, lost in the memories of the past, oblivious to her intensity.
"Miss Bai was the one who persuaded the prince to leave Xuansang Palace. I don't know what she said to him, but all these years, she has cared for him diligently, more cautiously than the palace eunuchs and maidens. Everyone in the palace treated her as if she were the crown princess."
"Then how could my brother be in such a state?"
She knew she shouldn't blame Bai Pingting; she had a lingering suspicion that the true culprit behind all this was herself.
Yun Qinghen turned around, hesitation and struggle flickering in his eyes, but he ultimately succumbed to Xianyue's resolute demeanor. "From now on, the princess should not leave the prince's side."
He sighed, the first audible exhale in ten years that was not a mere whisper within his heart. "Even though I know returning to Xuansang Palace will only rekindle painful memories, each time he finishes with state affairs, regardless of how late it is, the prince still goes to check on the place. If he finds the slightest speck of dust, he chastises the cleaners more harshly than ever before. When he is in Xuansang Palace, he remains alone, quietly lost in thought, and we do not know what he is doing."
"On the night of the prince's sixteenth birthday, it rained heavily. In the middle of the night, he suddenly awoke and ran madly toward Xuansang Palace, no matter how hard we tried to stop him. I followed closely behind. That night mirrored today; he asked everyone he encountered where the princess had gone. The king arrived, but the prince did not even recognize him. He sat on the steps in the rain, insisting that he would wait for the princess to return. When the imperial doctor finally arrived, the prince's condition made it impossible for them to approach him."
"The prince's health was already frail. After enduring a day in the rain, he fell ill the next day, completely forgetting what had transpired that night. For years to come, he would exhibit such behavior, once or twice a year, running madly in search of the princess only to fall ill the next day, forgetting everything that had occurred. The palace doctors examined him, but they were powerless."
Yun Qinghen seemed to recall the prince's frantic and helpless demeanor, unable to suppress a choke of emotion; his previously indifferent gaze was now dampened with tears.
Xianyue did not cry or shed a tear; instead, she clenched her fists, the sound echoing softly, her lips biting into themselves as she suppressed something deep within.
This was a heart ailment, one long suppressed, which erupted that night.
Yun Qinghen turned to look at Xianyue and called softly, "Princess?"
Xianyue lifted her eyes to meet his, a smile gracing her face. She felt she should smile, for that was the hope of that person, living simply and joyfully.
"Have you been well all these years?"
Xianyue nodded vigorously, repeatedly assuring herself that she was doing fine. Then, looking directly at Yun Qinghen, she stated clearly, "I am doing very well."
She rose, patting Yun Qinghen on the shoulder. "You have worked hard all these years."
Pointing to the murky sky, Xianyue declared, "I will heal my brother."
Her tone left no room for doubt or contradiction. Yun Qinghen looked up, the flickering candlelight casting a warm glow on his pallid skin, tinged with a hint of yellow. He had always been acutely aware of the prince's illness, yet at this moment, he couldn't help but believe that one day, the prince would truly recover.
"I will go check on my brother."
She patted Yun Qinghen's shoulder once more, turned, and gently pushed open the door, her movements light and cautious, fearing to awaken Feng Jiulan.
Inside, the orange glow of the fire flickered, casting shadows and illuminating the dimly lit room. Xianyue approached the bedside, sitting beside Feng Jiulan, and tenderly combed through his disheveled hair, softly calling, "Brother."
His complexion was alarmingly pale, his lips a faint pink, devoid of any blood. Xianyue's fingers brushed over his brow, which was furrowed even in sleep, resembling an old man.
"Everything will be alright."
Her head rested against Feng Jiulan's chest as she spoke, more as a reassurance to herself.
She would bear the weight of those burdens for him.
Leaning against her brother, Xianyue felt a gentle smile tug at her lips as drowsiness slowly enveloped her, lulling her into sleep. When she awoke, she found the once-white blanket now appeared a delicate shade of water blue. She chuckled softly, feeling somewhat self-deprecating—she had cried in her dreams.
Supporting herself on the bed, she rubbed her eyes, only to find Feng Jiulan's cheeks flushed, as if set ablaze. Startled, she reached out to touch his forehead but quickly withdrew her hand, rushing to the door. "Qinghen! Qinghen!"
Yun Qinghen had already summoned the attending physician, waiting at the door. Upon hearing Xianyue's cries, he allowed the physician to lead the way.
Xianyue glanced at the elderly man with graying hair who passed by, her brows knitting together in displeasure. All were quacks; otherwise, how could there have been no improvement after all these years?
"Go summon Jun Pinyu."
Suddenly recalling something, she pointed at Feng Jiulan within the room. "Have that physician examine my brother first. I will personally seek out Jun Pinyu."