In truth, Xiao Qi was not so dull that he failed to notice the shift in Yan Qushan’s mood. The moment those clumsy words had escaped his lips, he realized he had blundered. But words spoken are like water poured upon the ground; how can they be gathered back?
He did not truly believe Yan Qushan was like those people. To him, Master Yan was the clear breeze of the mountains, the moon amidst the trees, a scholar warrior whose talent and martial prowess were enough to make anyone forget his dishonorable origins.
Xiao Qi bit his lower lip until it turned crimson, the faint taste of iron seeping between his teeth. He looked at Yan Qushan, but the gentle words of comfort he intended simply would not come. It was not that he did not want to speak; he simply did not know how to begin.
The journey back to the palace was spent in heavy silence. It was not until dinner that Yan Qushan noticed an extra bowl of Golden Thread Bird’s Nest soup in his food box.
Bird’s Nest was a rare luxury. A mere study companion could never afford such a delicacy. It took little thought to realize whose hand had provided it.
Yan Qushan looked at the soup with indifference. He lifted the lid of the celadon bowl, revealing red dates that had been carved into the shape of flowers, floating atop the crystalline liquid with a hint of sweetness.
In the next heartbeat, he suddenly loosened his grip. The porcelain shattered, and the shimmering bird’s nest spilled across the floor. The maid waiting at the door rushed in at the sound, but Yan Qushan merely offered a faint, hollow smile. “My hand slipped. It is no matter.”
The news of General Shangguan Rui requesting to marry a singing girl became the primary gossip among the capital’s noble families. Given the girl’s lowly status, everyone assumed the Emperor would reject the match. To their surprise, the Emperor raised no objection.
And so, a woman born of the mean classes donned the phoenix crown and embroidered robe, marrying into the General’s estate with full honors as his primary wife.
On the first day of the Lunar New Year, the General brought his titled lady to the palace to pay respects. While the lady went to the Fengyi Palace to see the Empress, the General waited outside.
The winter snow had ceased, leaving a landscape of pure white punctuated by clusters of red plum blossoms. Seeking to mend his relationship with Yan Qushan, Xiao Qi used the excuse of admiring the blooms to ask him to go out. It was then they spotted Shangguan Rui standing not far off.
The General was in a secluded, shadowed corner of the plum garden, but he was not alone. Xiao Qi squinted and could just make out a figure in front of him, clutching the corner of the General’s cloak with a death grip.
The hand was slender and graceful, a woman’s hand. Confused, Xiao Qi climbed behind a rockery wall with Yan Qushan, leaning halfway over to peer inside. Finally, he caught sight of the other person. It was, surprisingly, his own mother, Consort Lan (Shangguan Yan).
Xiao Qi had never seen his mother wear such an expression. Her breathtakingly beautiful face was covered in tears as she gripped Shangguan Rui’s sleeve, refusing to let go.
He gasped in shock, his foot slipping on the icy stone. He nearly tumbled down, but Yan Qushan, waiting behind him, caught him just in time. Xiao Qi instinctively grabbed Yan Qushan’s shoulders, his eyelashes trembling with fright. When he finally opened his eyes, he realized their breaths were intermingled. If they were any closer, their lips would have touched.
The thought made Xiao Qi’s face flush a deep scarlet. His heart hammered like a drum, yet he found himself strangely unwilling to let go. Over the past two years, he had developed this strange craving for physical proximity with Yan Qushan; even an accidental brush of their hands was enough to send his mind wandering.
After a long moment, Yan Qushan moved to release him. Before he could pull away, Xiao Qi reached out and clumsily caught his hand. “Yan, Yan Qushan.”
“Your Highness.”
“Did you, did you have the bird’s nest the other day?” Xiao Qi looked away, his face red and his voice stiff with unnatural tension. “Do not, do not think too much of it. It was just leftovers from the small kitchen. It was not that I did not want to drink it, no, I mean”
“Anyway.” He turned his shimmering, watery eyes toward Yan Qushan with a hidden, desperate expectation. “You drank it, right?”
In reality, it was not leftovers, nor was it something he did not want. Bird’s nest was so precious that the Internal Affairs Office only sent it once every few years. Xiao Qi had taken his own saved silver to the Imperial Kitchen to trade for it, and then, following the chef’s instructions, he had brewed it himself.
Zizhu had offered to help several times, but he had driven her away.
He had wanted to tell Yan Qushan plainly that it was an apology, a plea for him not to take the words of that day to heart. But when the moment came, he could not say it. Something he had prepared with such care ended up sounding like a condescending handout.
He was utterly tied in knots.
Yan Qushan paused, then curved his lips into a flawless smile. Now of age, he possessed a stunning countenance that made young ladies and noble sons blush at a glance. With this smile, his deep, cold features seemed to melt like spring ice.
“Since it was a reward from Your Highness, this student naturally drank it all. Not a single drop was left.”
Xiao Qi’s eyes lit up, believing him. “You really finished it? Then in the future” He caught himself and coughed twice, feigning indifference. “In the future, if there are leftovers, I will have someone send more to you.”
“I am touched by Your Highness’s kindness.”
Their banter grew a bit too loud, eventually drawing the attention of Shangguan Rui, who had just finished his heated dispute with Consort Lan. Xiao Qi froze. “Uncle.”
He looked at Shangguan Rui and saw the man’s furrowed brows and grim expression. His heart sank. “Uncle, you”
Shangguan Rui simply waved his hand. “The winter air is chilling. Do not linger outside. Return to your palace at once.”
His tone was much colder than usual. At the time, Xiao Qi did not overthink it. He shared a look with Yan Qushan, and the two returned to their quarters.
Snow continued to fall, weighing down the branches of the red plums until they finally snapped against the brick ground, scattering red petals like drops of blood.
No one expected that on this very night, as the moonlight shone like white silk and the frost grew thick, a piercing, blood-curdling scream would erupt from the Cheng’en Palace. Inside the hall, a length of white silk hung from a crossbeam, cinched tightly around a slender neck. Beneath the hem of a silken dress, a pair of legs swung limply in the empty air.
A cold wind whistled through the rosewood window frames, sounding like the weeping of a vengeful ghost. It gently blew aside the dark tresses of the hanging woman, allowing the dim moonlight to reveal half of a pale, beautiful face.
The woman who had hanged herself in the palace was none other than Consort Lan.