Xuanzheng Hall.
Tang Shunfu pushed open the door and entered with light footsteps.
He saw the man leaning back in the Yu Zuo with his eyes closed, and reported in a low voice, “Your Majesty, I have sent her back.”
Yan Pingxiao remained silent, rotating the Buddhist beads on his wrist. Beneath his indifferent exterior lay a heart that refused to calm.
Five years ago, he had searched the realm for skilled individuals, hoping to revive his Tang Tang, yet each attempt ended in profound disappointment.
Still, deep within his heart lingered a sliver of delusion—
the delusion that his Tang Tang would one day return to him.
After a long while, he opened his eyes only to find Tang Shunfu still in the hall.
“Is there something else?”
Tang Shunfu swallowed hard and mustered the courage to present the gold-leaf paper in his hand. “Your Majesty, this was sent by the abbot of Fanyin Temple.”
With the Empress Dowager’s birthday banquet approaching, the Emperor would annually inscribe congratulatory words for the monks of Fanyin Temple to offer prayers.
Yan Pingxiao stared at the gold-leaf paper before him, unable to put brush to it for a long time. Beyond the customary phrases of longevity like “pine and crane” or wishes for national peace and prosperity, he found himself at a loss for words.
All his joys and sorrows had been buried in that heavy snowfall five years ago.
Unnoticed, a wind had risen outside, scattering petals of crabapple blossoms across the courtyard.
It reminded him of his days in the northwest, and of Shen Lan Shu.
Yan Pingxiao was the seventh son of the late emperor, born to Consort Song.
In the twenty-fifth year of Yong’an, on his fifteenth birthday, he was enfeoffed as Yong Wang. Yet on that very day, his mother was accused of conspiring against the late emperor’s empress, stripped of her title, and placed under house arrest. He himself was exiled to the barren northwest by an Imperial Edict.
With his mother suffering in the depths of the palace and former allies deserting him, the fifteen-year-old lost everything overnight.
Shen Lan Shu was presented to him as a concubine by a subordinate in the northwest.
Their first meeting was in the twenty-seventh year of Yong’an, when she was just fifteen.
The young girl seemed unwilling; she fled on her way to the Prince’s manor. It was by chance that he, returning from the military camp outside the city, caught her hiding in an ox-cart at the city gates.
Yan Pingxiao had no mind for romantic entanglements and no desire to force her, so he let her stay in the manor as an idle resident.
Day after day, familiarity bred affection, and he couldn’t say who had fallen for whom first.
After five years of laying low, he entered Jingcheng in the thirtieth year of Yong’an and, within two years, seized control of the capital’s affairs.
She had accompanied him from the northwest to Jingcheng, from destitution to glory, yet she left him on the very day he ascended the throne.
She had always loved crabapple blossoms.
Even in the northwest, where even grass struggled to grow, he had personally planted rows of crabapple trees for her.
Now, the florists in the palace could cultivate crabapple blossoms of every variety, but there was no one left to appreciate them.
The drifting petals were like falling snow, veiling the scene before him. When he opened his eyes again, the crabapple blossoms of the northwest were gone, leaving only the bare branches outside the lattice window to gaze back at him.
In the deep of night, when insects and birds had fallen silent, the Imperial City was enveloped in stillness.
Tang Shunfu dozed off outside the door, his head nodding intermittently.
With a thud, his head hit the wall, jolting him awake.
Rubbing his eyes, he noticed a light still burning in the bedchamber.
After a moment’s hesitation, he fearfully pushed open the chamber door.
Behind the swaying, bright yellow curtains sat a tall, solitary figure, clutching a letter tightly in his hand.
Tang Shunfu swallowed, suddenly afraid to make a sound.
“Meow~”
A small white cat entered the hall with elegant steps, passing by his feet.
A plump little body brushed past his calf, then lightly leaped onto the couch, nestling beside the man and lazily swishing its tail.
Tang Shunfu let out a soft sigh. Only the feline master dared to disturb Your Majesty at any time and place.
He took two steps forward and asked in a hushed tone, “Your Majesty, it’s almost midnight. With the morning court session tomorrow, would you like to retire for the night?”
The hall remained utterly silent.
Tang Shunfu cautiously glanced sideways, only to catch a glimmer of moisture at the corner of the man’s eye.
He immediately lowered his head.
One should not witness an emperor’s tears.
Yan Pingxiao had been sitting here for a long time.
Ever since he saw Nan Shu today, his heart had not known a moment of peace.
The man stared at the yellowed letter in his hand, its edges unconsciously crumpled by his grip.
Suddenly, his eyes grew panicked, and he urgently tried to smooth out the creases with his fingers.
But no matter how hard he tried, it was all in vain.
He couldn’t even protect the letter she left behind.
With a loud “thud,” he hurled the teacup on the desk to the floor.
Tang Shunfu’s legs gave way, and he dropped to his knees.
Yan Pingxiao’s eyes were bloodshot, his fists clenched tightly on the desk, veins bulging on the back of his hands.
In his daze, he seemed to see the slender figure of a woman standing before the Imperial Desk, holding an inkstick and smiling gently at him.
He knew it was an illusion, for she had never set foot in this austere palace.
Yet he continued to stare intently ahead, unwilling to miss even this phantom vision.
Yan Pingxiao gripped the Buddhist beads in his hand tightly, suppressing the restless, bloodthirsty agitation within.
Just as Tang Shunfu trembled, thinking another outburst was imminent, a deep voice came from above, accompanied by a long sigh:
“Let us retire.”
The man’s figure disappeared behind the beaded curtain, and the hall suddenly fell silent.
The night breeze stirred slightly, causing the dim candlelight to flicker gently. The kitten still lay on the couch, its long tail occasionally twitching, as if lost in a pleasant dream.
High in the pavilion, the letter treasured by the emperor lay quietly.
On the parchment was the last handwriting the woman left in this world—
To Your Highness,
Time slips away like a fleeting dream. Born into humble circumstances, I resided under my uncle’s roof and was fortunate to receive Your Highness’s misplaced affection, allowing me to serve by your side.
Human life between heaven and earth is as brief as a white steed’s shadow passing a crack. During my five years in your noble household, I cherished Your Highness’s unwavering acceptance, and my heart was filled with joy. Though my body may be frail and I lack parents or siblings, from love springs resentment, from love springs folly. Foolish thoughts arose in my heart, hoping you would belong to me alone. Reflecting day and night, I am filled with shame and regret. Now I take my leave, parting from you forever. Do not yearn for me, nor seek to meet again.
I pray Your Highness ascends to great heights and achieves all your aspirations.
May you live ten thousand years, with each spring bringing renewal.
Respectfully submitted by your servant,
Shen Shi Lan Shu