Chapter 126

 

As the night deepened, gusts of cold wind blew through the corridor, sometimes hitting the windows, making a rustling sound like snow tapping against the panes in the dead of night.

The lights in the room flickered, now and then accompanied by the crisp sound of game pieces being placed on the board.

Winter nights were so long and quiet. The flow of the water-clock was like the incense smoke curling from the censer in the corner—rising from the burner’s depths, dispersing into nothingness, only to emerge once more, endlessly drifting, as if it would never come to an end.

Xuyu sat on the couch, by herself alternating between throwing dice and putting down the pieces. After a while, she had finished two games of backgammon.

Before, every night in the palace, she rarely had a moment of leisure. But now, having suddenly returned here, she felt as if she had been emptied all at once. While waiting, she slowly began to feel restless.

At first, she played only to pass the long hours of the night, her moves scattered and absentminded. But after yet another round, she did not know what prompted it—suddenly, a thought flashed through her mind. It was as if she were engaged in a game against some shapeless, unknowable opponent, a formless presence locked in silent contest with her. And the wager was the very hope she harbored in her heart.

If she could win this match, then—though she had long understood the fickleness of the world, the frailty of fleeting affections—everything would be fine. The secret hope in her heart would finally come true.

How could she not know that her sudden thought was bizarre and ridiculous? However, once it came out, she could not get rid of it. With a hint of hesitation and a touch of self-mockery, she carefully arranged the white jade-carved horse pieces, then placed the tortoiseshell-green horse, the one that symbolized her nameless opponent, back into position. The dice she threw rolled lightly on the red sandalwood game table, its surface adorned with inlays of ivory and jade-green horn.

This was the most secret worry in her heart that she had never told anyone. Normally, even she herself would not want to think about it. But on such a silent winter night, in the midst of waiting, it rose quietly to the surface of her thoughts, refusing to be pushed away any longer.

Amid the crisp and melodious sound of the dice rolling, she rashly began a gamble on its outcome.

It was just a game of backgammon, it couldn’t really determine the outcome, even if the white horse lost, it didn’t matter. This was just a game she used to kill the night, she told herself.

However, she was no longer as careless as she was at the beginning. Originally, she could listen to the noise outside while playing, so much so that she mistook the sound of the wind blowing the dead branches for the footsteps of people returning home. But now she became focused, and every time she rolled the dice, she was cautious and calculated, hoping that the number she got would be what she expected.

Luck seems to be bad tonight. Halfway through the game, the green piece had clearly gained the upper hand. The tortoiseshell horse heads gleamed as they marched triumphantly toward the crescent-shaped city gate.

A foreboding sense, like an omen hidden within cryptic prophecies, crept into her heart.

She became hesitant and rolled the dice more and more slowly. After the tortoiseshell piece advanced a few more steps towards the city gate, the tide of the game shifted once again to the white jade pieces. Yet she only stared at the board, sinking deeper into thought, her fingers clutching the dice motionless for so long that she almost dared not continue.

She was so absorbed that even when a cold wind stirred the pearl curtain behind her, sending the candle flames trembling in its wake, she remained unaware. She was unaware of it until she finally threw the dice, but she used too much force and the dice rolled over the chess table, striking the wooden frame before bouncing off and falling to the floor.

It fell near one of the legs of the couch she was sitting on. She bent down to pick it up, but unexpectedly, another hand reached out from behind.

She looked up and found it was Pei Xiaoyuan.

“It’s all my fault. I didn’t know you were coming back tonight. I should have gone to pick you up. I thought you were staying in the palace tonight.”

He picked up the dice on the ground for her, stood up, looked at her with an apologetic look, and spoke.

They returned to Chang’an three days ago. That night, they entered the palace quietly. Then she stayed in the palace, while he left the palace alone. After that, they didn’t see each other again until now.

“That’s fine. I don’t need you to specially go pick me up. It’s more convenient to go back by myself.”

Xuyu finally reacted at this time and responded.

His return finally gave her a legitimate excuse to temporarily interrupt the game that seemed hopeless. Not only did she secretly breathe a sigh of relief, she was even somewhat grateful for his timely appearance.

“It’s so late, why don’t you take a rest and instead playing by yourself? When I came in just now, I saw you concentrating on the gameboard and didn’t dare to disturb you.”

He glanced at the situation of the backgammon pieces on the board, said another sentence, and then gently put the dice down.

He did not expect that she would come back from the palace tonight, and given his current embarrassing situation with the emperor, it would be inappropriate for him to enter the palace without permission.

He had no intention of returning to Yongning Mansion tonight, and wanted to spend the night in the government office. But when He shi did not see him return, she secretly sent someone to deliver a message, so he hurried back. When he arrived just now, it was already past midnight. Although the lights were on in the room, he was afraid that she was too tired and had fallen asleep, so he told He shi and others not to make any noise outside, and he quietly entered the room. But he did not expect to see such a scene.

“Nothing, I’m not sleepy, so I just playing around.”

How could Xuyu let him know what kind of game she had just played? She responded vaguely, wiped the board with her hand, disrupting the play, and ended the game that she might have lost.

“Are you hungry? He Amu made some midnight snacks. I ate them, and there was some left for you. I’ll ask her to bring it over. She said you also liked to eat it when you were a child—”

She changed the subject and went to get off the couch to call someone in, but suddenly he grabbed her arm and stopped her.

“No need. I’m not hungry,” he said.

Xuyu looked at him.

From the first moment he appeared in front of her, there was a smile on his face.

But he himself probably didn’t know that the smile could not hide the real fatigue imprinted on his brows and eyes, as well as the faint traces of melancholy.

“Alright. Then get ready to bathe. You must be tired, so go to bed early.”

She withdrew her gaze from his face and turned around to go out and call for help again. His low voice rang in her ears: “How is His Majesty’s health these days?”

Xuyu stopped and met his two eyes.

The operation to capture Li Yan fell just short of success. Meanwhile, Chengping’s murder and betrayal were now undeniable, yet he had once sought to cover it up out of personal bias.

Three days ago, on the night he returned, Xuyu accompanied him into the palace overnight. Together, they knelt behind the same screen where he had been summoned for his first audience upon entering the capital, pleading for the emperor to pass judgment upon them.

The emperor merely ordered his daughter to be brought inside. After that, the doors behind the screen never opened again.

The emperor did not meet him, nor did he hold him accountable, nor did he say a word.

He knelt alone in the outer hall for a while, before Zhao Zhongfang came out, asked him to stand up, and personally escorted him out as usual.

In the eyes of outsiders like He shi, he was indeed free from trouble, and even his official position had not changed at all. But from the next day, Luwu Division was essentially sidelined and he was no longer informed of anything.

Pei Xiaoyuan gave Liu Bo and others leave, and sat alone in the government office in meditation, spending the three days like this.

“Father’s eyesight is still not very clear…” she said.

He was still angry at Pei Xiaoyuan, but he just endured it. Xuyu was very clear about this.

And she understood Pei Xiaoyuan’s actual situation now even more clearly.

Ashina had rebelled and fled, and all attempts to track him down had failed. It was highly likely that he had already made his way safely back north. At the same time, the court received confirmed reports that Chengping’s father was nearing his final days, with little time left. Given Ashina’s cunningness, he had surely been laying plans in secret long before this. Once he returned, great upheaval in Beiting was inevitable, and the northern frontier, long stabilized, could soon descend into turmoil once more.

In the past few days, court officials have been writing letters to the emperor, arguing over whether they should immediately send troops to attack him. Wang Zhang strongly advocated sending troops to attack as soon as possible, a stance that garnered significant support. Surprisingly, Cui Daosi—who had spent a lifetime being cautious and had only recently taken up the post of historian—submitted a rare memorial on state affairs. Whether he had undergone a moment of sudden enlightenment or was simply seeking to regain imperial favor, no one could say. His opinion represented the views of another part of the court officials, who believed that it was unquestionable to strengthen vigilance at the moment, but no matter from which aspect, it was not appropriate to send troops to attack him immediately. They could first send an envoy to order Beiting to immediately arrest Ashina and punish him. If the other party refused to obey, they could discuss the attack.

Today, the final decision was made. The emperor adopted Cui Daosi’s opinion and ordered Linghu Gong, the Military Commissioner of Ganliang, to prepare for war. As for the person to be sent as an envoy, Cui Daosi was chosen. He also agreed and would set out to the north early tomorrow morning.

“Don’t take it too seriously. Father has a hot temper and is now angry with you because of Ashina’s matter. Don’t worry, he will slowly calm down after some time.” Xuyu comforted him.

“It was my fault in the first place. His Majesty is being lenient in dealing with me this way. I am fine, please don’t worry, Princess. But you, don’t get too tired and make sure to get more rest.”

Pei Xiaoyuan stared at her face and responded.

Xuyu smiled: “I know. You too.”

“If you have something on your mind, no matter what it is, you can tell me if you want, and don’t keep it to yourself.”

Finally, Xuyu hesitated and added this.

He looked at her, paused, then smiled, “Thank you, Princess. I’m fine.” He responded in his usual calm and steady voice.

In the distance, from some street corner in the alley, there were faint sounds of bells ringing.

It was past midnight.

Xuyu lay on the bed and waited for a long time.

He bathed for longer than usual, and finally came back with his long black hair loose, wearing a white home robe and a pair of lacquered shoes.

Most of the bright candles in the depths of the bedroom had already gone out, leaving only a soft, flickering light at the head of the bed to illuminate the night.

Separated by a light curtain, which looked like smoke and fog, that had been newly hung tonight, he tiptoed to the bed, but did not get on it immediately.

As if he wanted to make sure whether she was asleep, or perhaps he was afraid of waking her up, he stood in front of the bed for a long time through the curtains. Finally, he slowly reached out and opened a gap in the curtains.

She was curled up quietly in the inner corner of the wide bed, resting her head on an embroidered pillow and closing her eyes. Her black hair, tied up in a lazy bun, was like clouds, loosely scattered on the crimson silk pillow. A brocade quilt was loosely pulled over her shoulders and chest.

Perhaps because the brazier burning too hot, but she slept restlessly. The embroidered quilt lay in disarray, cascading in soft folds, its silken waves gathering loosely at her chest, where a faint glow of pale skin peeked through like hidden snow.

He entered the canopy, turning sideways as he quietly sat down on the edge of the bed. Then, he turned his face slightly, his gaze lingering in silence on the beauty beside him—so close he could reach out and touch her, yet her eyes remained gently shut. After a long time, he lay down very gently in the spacious space she had reserved for him.

“Aren’t you going to cover yourself with the quilt?”

The brazier in the room was indeed burning very hot, and it had been on all night, which even made her feel a little warm just now. But on such a winter night, if he slept without the quilt, he would probably still be cold.

She noticed that he didn’t move after lying down, and didn’t even touch the quilt.

Xuyu finally couldn’t help it, opened her eyes and spoke, giving a reminder.

He seemed to wake up from a dream. He let out a quiet “oh”, blinked his eyes, and turned his head slightly to glance at her. For a fleeting moment, his gaze met hers—her misty eyes, made to seem even larger in the dim glow of the night lamp. Then, he lowered his eyes, lifted the edge of the quilt, and pulled it over himself.

“My body is cold, and I’m afraid I’d brush against you and make you catch a chill.” He explained again.

“It’s fine.”

Xuyu responded. He smiled at her, closed his mouth, and closed his eyes again.

“Have you noticed that there is something new in the room that is different from before?” After a moment, she looked at the ceiling of the canopy and asked softly.

Pei Xiaoyuan opened his eyes again. He looked a little confused. He turned around and took advantage of the dim light coming through the candlelight at the head of the bed outside the canopy to look out through the curtain.

“What is it?”

He responded casually, obviously absent-minded at the moment.

“Nothing. I was just saying it casually.” Xuyu smiled.

“Go to sleep.”

She closed her eyes and stopped talking.

The room was as quiet as snow for a while.

Suddenly, he, who seemed to have fallen asleep, suddenly sat up, stretched out his arm outside the canopy, and extinguished the candle that was still lit at the head of the bed. The bedroom was instantly plunged into darkness.

He lay back down. Then, he stretched out an arm from under the quilt, and his hand silently passed through her waist and rested on her back, which was only covered with a thin layer of clothes. He rubbed her back slowly for a while, and then he gently held her in his arms.

Xuyu felt two slightly warm but cool lips falling on the old scar on her forehead and kissing it.

“Princess, do you need me to serve?”

His low and gentle voice of inquiry immediately rang in her ears.

“No need. I have things to do tomorrow morning, go to sleep.”

After a moment of silence, Xuyu said in a nonchalant tone, concealing the melancholy and loss that was rising in her heart at the moment.

He was clearly gentle and considerate, just as he always been when they were alone together. And yet, for some reason, a moment ago, she had felt something different—an uneasy sense that he was not merely tending to her with affection, but rather yielding to her, as if he were humbling himself in quiet submission.

He paused, continued to hug her quietly for a moment. Then, after a second soft kiss on her forehead, he loosened his embrace as she had asked. With quiet attentiveness, he tucked the quilt back around her, smoothing out the folds that had come undone because of him.

“Very well. Princess, please rest well. I won’t disturb you.

“Princess, if you have any instructions, just tell me.”

Finally, he spoke in a very soft voice in her ear.

In the second half of the night, Xuyu kept falling asleep and waking up.

Although he seemed not to have even turned over, she knew that he also seemed to be having a restless sleep.

At the beginning of the fifth watch, as a heavy sleepiness settled over her, she was roused by his restless movements beside her.

It seemed he was trapped in some nightmare. His breathing grew uneven, his body twisting on the pillow, and his fingers curled tightly into fists, knuckles cracking audibly in the stillness.

Suddenly, he sat up.

It was the darkest hour of the night when the winter moon had slowly drifted above the carved window of the bedroom, its cold light filtering through the half-drawn curtains, casting a pale glow upon the gauzy canopy overhead.

Xuyu was startled fully awake. She saw his figure, outlined by the night’s darkness and the moonlight filtering through the canopy, his back tense as a mountain of stone. With each heavy breath he took, his shoulders and back rose and fell, like a surging tide.

Without thinking, she sat up as well, reaching out to wrap her arms around his waist from behind.

“Pei Er, what is it? What did you dream about?”

The moment she embraced him, she felt his entire body turn rigid, hardened like a stone. She became more and more alarmed, raised her hands to touch him, trying to pull him back from whatever nightmare gripped him. But when her fingers brushed over his cheek and along the side of his neck, she felt the tight clench of his jaw, the way his tendons stood taut beneath his skin, the blood beneath surging wildly, as if barely restrained.

“What’s wrong with you? Wake up!”

She had never seen him like this before.

At this moment, he reminded her of the Arhats and Vajras in the sutra paintings who had turned into ferocious monsters because their hearts were invaded by evil spirits.

Her heartbeat quickened and she began to panic.

At first, he sat there motionless, letting her hold him and touch him. And fortunately, he soon relaxed and his body softened.

“I’m fine. I just had a nightmare.”

He explained in a low voice, his voice a little hoarse.

She gasped slightly, still in shock, and said nothing.

He paused for a moment, then turned toward her. Without hesitation, he reached back and pulled her into his embrace, drawing her against his chest, then let her sit on his lap and hugged her tightly with his arms.

As he enveloped her completely, his hand moved in slow, soothing strokes along her back, a silent gesture of reassurance.

“Are you really alright? What did you dream about?”

His actions finally made her feel a little relieved. She relaxed, nestling against his chest, letting her own rapid heartbeat press against his. As she felt the steady rhythm of his pulse gradually even out, her own anxiety began to settle. Finally, she lifted her face to look at him and asked softly.

“I’m fine. I scared you just now. It’s my fault.” His voice was full of guilt, but his tone was muffled.

Obviously, he didn’t want to tell her about the dream that had just made him so terrified.

She tried her best to open her eyes wide, trying to see clearly his eyes that were hidden by the night, but she could not see them. Only a few points of night light flickering in his eyes were left.

“It’s not daybreak yet. Go back to sleep.”

He finally said softly, holding her and laying her back on the pillow.

The bedroom, which had been noisy because of this nightmare, returned to silence again.

This time, he slept very soundly, breathing evenly, and there were no more accidents.

Xuyu curled herself up under the quilt, leaving only her eyes exposed. She kept them open quietly, looking at the sleeping profile of the person beside her, and stayed awake until dawn.

Never before had there been a moment like this night—one that made her so acutely aware of a single, undeniable truth.

He carried a burden of his own, something deep and heavy.

However, he would not say a word to her.

Previous     TOC