Three days later, as night fell, Xiao Yan once again set foot in Changle Palace.
This time, he arrived without any ceremonial procession or grand announcement. Dressed in plain clothes, he carried a pot of warm wine in his hand, followed by Li Fuquan, who held two plates of exquisite side dishes. His steps were steady as he entered.
As he stepped into Changle Palace, the shadow guards in the shadows quietly intercepted any suspicious observers in the vicinity.
Tonight, he only wished to share a few quiet drinks with her.
Inside the hall, candlelight flickered gently, filling the space with warmth.
Murong Zhao was practicing calligraphy by the window. Seeing him enter, she rose to greet him according to protocol. Gone was the initial unfamiliarity, replaced by a calm and natural demeanor. "Your Majesty."
Xiao Yan waved off the formalities, placed the wine pot on the table, and sat down directly. "Have a few drinks with me."
Su Yue promptly added wine cups and quietly withdrew. With only the two of them left in the hall, the atmosphere grew quiet and relaxed.
The clear, mellow aroma of wine filled the air, dispelling the chill and distance of the deep palace.
After a few cups of wine, conversation gradually began to flow.
Xiao Yan looked at her gentle and delicate features and suddenly asked a question that had been buried deep in his heart. "What kind of person was your mother?"
Murong Zhao’s hand, holding the cup, paused slightly. Her gaze drifted toward the moonlight outside the window as she spoke softly, with a hint of nostalgia. "She was very gentle, yet also incredibly strong. She taught me to read and write, to hold a sword and stand my ground, to hold onto myself even in the most desperate situations."
"Unfortunately… she left too soon."
Xiao Yan’s eyes darkened slightly. "How did she die?"
Murong Zhao gently traced the rim of her cup with her fingertips. Her tone was so light it betrayed no emotion, yet it carried a faint, almost imperceptible chill. "She died of illness."
She paused, then looked up at him, her eyes clear and penetrating. "At least, that’s what they all say."
With that understated remark, Xiao Yan understood.
In the depths of the inner palace, he knew better than anyone how much dirty scheming lay hidden behind the so-called "death by illness."
He did not press further. Some wounds did not need to be torn open at this moment.
He changed the subject, his voice low. "Were those years in Beishuo good for you?"
Murong Zhao suddenly smiled.
The smile was faint, tinged with a hint of bitterness and self-mockery. "What does Your Majesty think?"
"A princess who was abandoned in the Cold Palace from the age of eight, neglected and trampled upon by everyone… could she have had a good life?"
Xiao Yan fell silent.
He could not answer.
Because he understood.
Though he sat on the dragon throne, the suffocating feeling of being controlled, monitored, and powerless was no different from the cage of the Cold Palace.
After three rounds of wine, the candlelight flickered gently.
Whether it was the wine taking effect or the night in Changle Palace being too gentle, Xiao Yan felt unusually willing to speak tonight.
The things he spoke of, he had never told anyone before.
The Empress Dowager did not know, the court officials did not know, and the women of the inner palace certainly did not know.
But tonight, to this woman he had only met a few times, he spoke every word, one by one.
"I ascended the throne at the age of ten."
He suddenly spoke, his voice low, as if ground out from his chest. "The Empress Dowager held the regency, and both the court and the government were filled with members of the Xiao clan. I sat on the dragon throne, surrounded by court officials, yet not a single one was truly mine."
"Fifteen years…"
He raised his cup, drank it all in one gulp, his Adam’s apple bobbing, a momentary darkness flickering in his eyes.
"In the first ten years, everyone around me was the Empress Dowager's people. Every word I said, every action I took, would reach the Empress Dowager's ears within an hour. If I wanted to promote someone of my own, that person would be transferred the next day. If I wanted to investigate something, all clues would be cut off."
Murong Zhao listened quietly, not speaking.
"Later…" Xiao Yan paused, a faint curve forming at the corner of his lips, carrying a hint of pride he himself hadn't noticed, "I began secretly cultivating my own people."
"Shadow guards, Imperial Guards, several generals at the Border Pass… one by one, slowly. When the Empress Dowager discovered it, it was already too late to remove them all."
He looked at her, a rare sharpness in his gaze: "The me now is not the puppet who could be manipulated at will ten years ago."
"In the court, though half are still the Empress Dowager's people, and they try to control state affairs and obstruct everywhere—I can't move against them yet—but my words are now heard. My actions are now followed."
He paused, his voice lowering: "At least, the people I want to protect, I can protect."
Murong Zhao's heart stirred slightly.
The people he wants to protect, he can protect.
This sentence was spoken for her.
She lowered her eyes, not responding, only gently refilling his wine cup.
The motion was natural, as if done thousands of times.
Xiao Yan watched that hand pouring wine, suddenly feeling that the night in this deep palace wasn't so cold anymore.
He picked up the wine cup and drank it all.
The wine was warm, sliding down his throat, burning a small fire in his stomach.
He poured another cup.
"Sometimes I think…" he began, his voice lighter than before, carrying a hoarseness tinged by the wine, "if it wasn't me who ascended to the throne that year, would it have been better?"
Murong Zhao lifted her gaze to look at him.
Under the candlelight, his features were much softer than usual, less of the emperor's stern majesty, more of an ordinary person's fatigue and vulnerability.
She suddenly realized this man was actually quite handsome.
Sword-like brows, starry eyes, features as if chiseled by a knife, but at this moment, those eyes held no sharpness, only a deep weariness.
Like a wolf that had walked too long, finally finding a place to rest.
Murong Zhao's heart inexplicably stirred.
The feeling was strange, like something lightly brushed against her.
She quickly lowered her eyes, suppressing that slight ripple.
"Your Majesty." She spoke softly, her voice steady, "If it wasn't you who ascended to the throne that year, Dayin wouldn't be what it is today."
Xiao Yan was slightly stunned: "How do you know?"
Murong Zhao looked up at him, a slight curve forming at the corner of her lips: "I don't know. I just feel that someone who could endure fifteen years under the Empress Dowager's watch and still slowly nurture their own power wouldn't let Dayin fare too poorly."
Xiao Yan looked at her, suddenly smiled.
The smile was shallow, but it was a genuine smile, even his brows and eyes relaxed.
"You do know how to comfort people."
Murong Zhao shook her head: "I don't know how to comfort people, I only speak truthfully."
Xiao Yan picked up the wine cup and drank another cup.
The wine's effect gradually deepened, the atmosphere in the hall also softening.
At some point, the distance between them seemed to have narrowed slightly.
Xiao Yan leaned on the couch, posture languid, gaze fixed on her face, unmoving for a long time.
Murong Zhao felt somewhat uncomfortable under his gaze, lowering her eyes, pretending to look at the wine cup in her hand.
But she could sense that gaze, still lingering.
Like moonlight, it fell silently, impossible to avoid.
She tilted her head slightly, trying to evade that gaze.
But as she turned, she realized he had somehow drawn closer to her.
Close enough to see her own reflection in his eyes.
Murong Zhao’s heart skipped a beat.
The feeling was too unfamiliar, so unfamiliar it made her flustered.
She tightened her grip on the wine cup, her fingertips turning pale, yet her expression remained composed. She simply lowered her eyes and said nothing.
Xiao Yan looked at her profile, at the faint shadows cast by the candlelight on her eyelashes, and suddenly felt that this was a scene he wanted to watch for a long time.
He didn’t know what he wanted to see.
He just wanted to watch.
Just like this, it was enough.
The hall was so quiet they could hear each other’s breathing.
The atmosphere suddenly grew strange.
It wasn’t the distance between a ruler and his subject, nor the ease between friends, but something… more subtle, something that quickened the heartbeat.
Murong Zhao sensed it.
Yet neither of them spoke. They simply sat there, one watching, the other avoiding.
After a long while, Xiao Yan suddenly spoke, his voice softer than before, tinged with the languor of wine: “Murong Zhao.”
This was the first time he had called her by her name directly.
Murong Zhao lifted her gaze to meet his eyes.
Those eyes, deep now like a lake under the night sky, held light and something she couldn’t understand.
“Hmm?” she responded softly.
Xiao Yan looked at her, his Adam’s apple moving slightly as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, he only shook his head, a faint smile curling at the corner of his lips. “It’s nothing.”
He shifted his gaze away, picked up his wine cup, and took another sip.
Murong Zhao lowered her eyes, no longer looking at him.
But that momentary exchange, that direct call of her name, “Murong Zhao,” was like a pebble tossed into the still waters of her heart, which had lain dormant for eighteen years.
Ripples spread, one after another, gently undulating.
It was unclear how much time had passed before Xiao Yan finally rose and left.
At the doorway of the hall, he suddenly paused and looked back at Murong Zhao standing under the lamplight.
The young woman, dressed in plain clothes, her features serene, appeared clean and resilient in the faint light.
At that moment, he clearly felt—
This woman truly seemed different.
No longer a distant pawn, no longer a stranger, a princess sent for marriage.
But…
Someone he wanted to look at a little longer.
He turned and left, his dark figure disappearing into the night.
After Xiao Yan left, the hall remained quiet for a long time.
Murong Zhao stood where she was, unmoving.
Su Yue peeked in and cautiously asked, “Your Highness? Has His Majesty left?”
Murong Zhao didn’t answer.
She only slowly raised her hand and pressed it against her chest.
There, her heartbeat was faster than usual.
She lowered her eyes, looking at her hand pressed against her chest, and suddenly felt dazed.
In that moment just now, she seemed…
To have felt a stir in her heart.
Just once.
Very brief.
So brief she could almost convince herself it was just the wine, just an illusion.
But she knew it wasn’t.
It was real.
For the first time in eighteen years.
Murong Zhao stood there, unmoving for a long while.
Outside the window, the moonlight was cold, spilling over her slender figure.
After a long time, she let out a soft sigh.
The sigh was so light, only she could hear it.
Then, she turned and returned to the lamplight, continuing to read the unfinished Records of the Grand Historian.
As if nothing had happened.
But only she knew—
In that moment just now, something had already changed.